"There are no flights until Tuesday afternoon?" Blossom asked despite the physical restraint in her.

Her last couple of days were spent growing sicker. She had developed a stuffy nose, a burning fever, and a cough—all on top of the nausea she has dealt with for the past week.

Now, Blossom couldn't properly display her distress to the situation because her body was too weak. Not to mention, Blossom was mentally exhausted by the turn of events.

In planning their trip, Blossom had scheduled for them to take a charter flight from the Turks and Caicos to the Orlando International Airport. This was because they had an earlier flight back to the Citiesville Airport than Miami did. They had boarded their plane and sat on the runway for an hour before it was announced they needed to get off. It was later learned that impending severe weather was about to hit the Midwest and most of the south. Due to this, there were no flights out of Orlando until Tuesday—and it was currently nine o'clock on Sunday morning.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm able to fit your party onto the first flight out of here, but any other flights until then have been canceled," Gale, according to her name tag, explained.

Blossom sighed heavily to show her disappointment, but she also had to breathe out of her mouth. "That will be great. Thank you."

"No problem," Gale grinned professionally. "Let me just print out your new tickets, and you should be good to go."

Blossom nodded to acknowledge her efforts. She then turned away from the customer's desk, shaking her head no to the others who were waiting for any answer on the flights.

Buttercup had rolled her eyes while Bubbles and Boomer's shoulders dropped in defeat. Butch wasn't even paying attention to her, and Brick was sitting a whole row away from everyone else.

The charter flight to Orlando from the Turks and Caicos had been silent, but thankfully, it was because everyone was still sleepy due to the early flight time.

"Here you go," Gale announced. Blossom faced her again, grabbing the tickets that were being presented to her. "Have a wonderful day."

"You too," Blossom muttered before heading over to the others.

"So, are we camping out here tonight?" Buttercup had asked once Blossom was beside her.

"The next flight isn't until Tuesday afternoon," Blossom revealed. She gained some incredibly valid sighs in response. "I'll get us some hotel rooms."

"I swear this vacation is never going to end," Boomer said.

"Trust me, I know," Blossom sighed. She was on her phone now, scrolling through the available rooms at a nearby Doubletree.

"What's going to be the rooming situation?" Buttercup whispered next to her ear. Her eyes were glued to Blossom's phone too.

Blossom shrugged her shoulders because, at this point, she didn't care. All Blossom cared about was emailing her teachers about her impending absences before drinking some NyQuil and sleeping until Tuesday afternoon arrived.

"Boom and Bubs can get a room together. I don't…" Blossom paused, feeling a rush of unequivocal sadness sweep her.

Despite Brick having slept on the couch for the majority of the vacation per Blossom's request, being separated for another night from him was starting to get to Blossom.

"I don't know about the rest," she finished after releasing a hot breath. She sniffled, but there was no point since her nose was so clogged.

"We could share," Buttercup offered.

Blossom flicked her eyes up to study Buttercup's profile. "You sure? I don't want to get you sick."

"It's fine. Just another reason to miss class, am I right?" Buttercup quipped, but her humor wasn't genuine. Blossom frowned at this, and Buttercup took notice of it. She had let out a huff of air, becoming a bit smaller. "I don't want to be alone, alright?"

Blossom wanted to hug Buttercup, but she obviously avoided the idea because she may be contiguous. She smiled weakly at Buttercup, her eyes were warm and glassy from her fever.

"I get it," Blossom replied. Her eyes went to Brick for a split-second. The same rush of agony filled her again. "I totally get it." She went back to her phone to pick out the rest of the rooms. "I guess Butch and Brick can sleep in their own rooms."

"I'm sure they'll love not having to be around any of us," Buttercup deadpanned. There was a slight woefully feeling to her words underneath it all.

"I'm sure too."


"It's so weird being back in Orlando," Bubbles mused melancholy. She stirred her iced tea, her chin was in the palm of her hand.

They were currently waiting for their hotel rooms to be ready to check into. Having spent an hour trying to get all of their luggage back and then debating on what to do, Buttercup suggested they should get something to eat. With not much variety of anything but fast food and chain restaurants near the airport, they ended up going to a place called the Ale House.

Decorated in wooden paneled walls, floors, and booths, there were flat screens placed all over the restaurants to watch sporting events—currently, the most exciting were replays of basketball games from the night before. A few wall-mounted fish and signed photographs of professional athletes were added to the ambiance—or lack of one. A large bar separated the indoor dining space into two halves.

For them, the group sat in a booth with tall, wooden walls that boxed them in from only having one way out, giving them the right amount of privacy. The bench of the booth was long enough to fit three to four people too. Blossom sat in the corner of the booth, pressing her head against the wall to her right and was barely able to keep her eyes open. Bubbles sat to her left, and then Buttercup was on the edge of their booth. On the other side, Boomer sat across from Bubbles and Butch was to his right.

Brick had decided not to join them, having opted to eat at the Five Guys adjacent to the restaurant. His choice wasn't met with much argument.

"Didn't you move to San Diego when you were, like, seven?" Buttercup pointed out.

Bubbles nodded. "Yeah."

"Then how weird can it be? I doubt you really have any memories here."

"I guess. It's just…"

Bubbles couldn't find the right words to describe it. Buttercup was right in a sense. Bubbles had vague memories of growing up in this city. There was downtown and the lake. The one trip she took to Disney World when she was four came to Bubbles in brief flashes. The roots to Orlando Bubbles used to have, were snipped away by the fleeing mind of being a child and also other memories.

What Bubbles couldn't describe was the feeling of being in this one particular place again. It was where her parents had met. This was where Bubbles was born. It was where mom had raised her. It was also where her mom had gotten sick.

It was where her mom had died.

Bubbles may not have much to remember of her time in Orlando but she did have this heaviness in her heart from just being here. It felt wrong for her to be here without her mom. Orlando was where her life with her mom had taken place, and when Bubbles had moved away, that life was left in the suspension of grief and dissociation.

Now that she was back—as briefly as it may be.

"... It's just weird," Bubbles mumbled.

"That's Florida for you," Boomer commented with a grin. "There's just something about this state that just radiates chaotic energy."

Buttercup made a baffled face. "I don't think that's possible, Boomer."

"It totally is. Haven't you heard of Florida Man?" Boomer presented with an eyebrow raised.

"As in the meme?" Buttercup inquired dryly.

"It's not a meme, Buttercup. It's a valid explanation to all the abnormal events in Florida," Boomer argued.

"Right."

"Fine, don't believe me. But you can't argue against the fact that all people from Florida share the same aura about them."

"We do?" Bubbles asked.

Boomer nodded. "Yeah. It's part of the reason why I liked you at first. You just had an aura that screamed, Florida."

"You know I'm from Florida too," Butch commented, taking his eyes off the replay of a Celtics vs. 76ers game. He narrowed his gaze at Boomer. "And I feel like what you're saying is bullshit."

"It's not my fault you can't see auras," Boomer shrugged off. "I'd tried to help you balance your chakras—"

"Oh god," Butch groaned, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Forget I said anything."

Boomer nodded once, taking their small interaction as a victory.

It wasn't much, but Butch has taken the time to address Boomer in the past few days since the power went out at the villa. He had no idea if it had anything to do with Brick telling Butch about Boomer blackmailing him or if it was because Butch wanted to move on, but Boomer was going to be patient with Butch.

Boomer simply wished for when Butch was ready, they would both get to apologize for the ways they handled the entire situation.

"So, um…" Bubbles glanced at Blossom, who looked absolutely miserable. "What are the plans for tomorrow?"

Blossom fluttered her eyes open as much as they could—they were way too warm and watery for her to be comfortable. "Are… Are you talking to me?" Blossom questioned. She was a little out of breath after doing so.

"Yeah."

"Oh." Blossom shrugged her shoulder weakly. "I don't know. Whatever you want–" She took a moment to inhale and exhale a hot breath. "–To do, I'll cashapp you the money."

Bubbles frowned. "We shouldn't do anything without you."

"I'm not much fun right now, Bubs," Blossom countered with a small smile. "Don't let me stop you."

"What is there even to do in Orlando?" Buttercup acknowledged.

"There's Disney World," Butch offered without much enthusiasm. "But if you ask me, that's for little kids and the weird people who based their entire personality around it."

"It'll probably be too crowded anyway," Bubbles added.

"Universal?" Boomer suggested.

"Man, I haven't been there since my eighth-grade field trip," Butch reminisced with a fond smile. "I saw my first boob that day too."

"How–"

Buttercup shut her mouth, shaking her head, dismissing the question that had been on the tip of her tongue. Things concerning Butch were still awkward for her, and she didn't need to hear about the first boob Butch had ogled at.

She, instead, turned to Boomer.

"I don't think Bubs would have much to do there. Isn't it mostly roller coasters?"

"Yeah," Boomer confirmed with a sigh. "It is."

"Sorry," Bubbles said meekly. She had a great fear of roller coasters and the lack of control they gave.

"It's okay."

"What about Seaworld?" Buttercup proposed.

Bubbles shook her head. "Absolutely not."

"Fuck Seaworld," Butch added firmly.

"We don't support them, Buttercup," Boomer explained solemnly. "Not after knowing how they'd treated those precious orcas."

Buttercup put up her hands to signal no harm. "Okay, geez. It was just a suggestion."

"And a bad one at that."

"Okay, Boomer," Buttercup huffed out while rolling her eyes.

"Oh!" Bubbles glanced at those around her, having gotten an idea of what to do. "What about if we go to Lake Eola? From what I remember, it was really pretty, and they have these swan boats we could ride."

Buttercup scrunched up her nose. "Is that enough for us to do for the day?"

"Probably not, but I'm sure we could find other things to do around it."

"We could go to the Eye too," Butch shrugged. "I heard it was supposed to be pretty dope."

"The Eye?" Boomer questioned, scratching at the back of his head.

"It's a Ferris Wheel."

"Ooh, I like Ferris Wheels," Bubbles cooed. She gazed over at Boomer. "They're so romantic."

Butch flickered his eyes over at Buttercup before getting skittish about it. He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe we should—"

"Let's do it then," Boomer decided excitedly.

"I'm sure I can buy your tickets online," Blossom suggested in a hoarse tone.

She tapped on her phone, prompting to look it up, but Blossom was distracted by a text message notification she had. Blossom had let out a loud sigh, grumbling under her breath a little.

"Are you kidding me…"

"Is everything alright?" Bubbles asked cautiously. She was afraid it had something to do with Brick.

"Yeah—I mean, no, but…" She exhaled her frustration, writing out a message on her phone.

"But?"

Blossom, in her emotionally exhausted state and high-fevered brain, disregarded the notions she had to maintain to keep the other secret she has been dealing with when meeting Bubbles' eyes.

"Robin's making me plan out her birthday party in a week," Blossom remarked bitterly. "And she just decided to tell me about this."

Buttercup's face was contoured with confusion and annoyance. "Why would you be planning any shit for Snyder?"

Blossom opened her mouth to reply, but she found her eyes trailing over to Butch.

He hasn't looked at her the entire time they have been seated. The only people who existed to him were: Bubbles, Boomer, and Buttercup. Blossom understood this treatment was what she deserved.

It was just an act, that in practice was a lot harder to swallow than in theory.

While Butch wanted to ignore her, Blossom wasn't going to ignore him. She stopped herself from revealing why Robin was hounding her for a birthday party because it meant talking about Brick. It meant talking about the day she had made the fatal decision of sleeping with Brick while Butch was away and was still very much her boyfriend.

"... It's not important."

"If Robin expects you to plan out her entire birthday party, then I think it is."

"Buttercup—"

"Okay, I have the mountain melt with Mt. St. Helens sauce," the waitress, Kathryn, announced with a platter full of hot food. Butch raised his hand eagerly to inform her that it was his meal.

Blossom was quietly pleased their waitress had come at just the right moment and ended the conversation between her and Buttercup. As long as Blossom ate her small cup of soup and ignored Buttercup's questioning stare, then Blossom could hold off on telling anyone about her blackmail.


It was close to midnight, and Buttercup was covered in sweat. She must have passed out after watching some reruns of Law & Order because Buttercup didn't remember falling asleep. She wasn't even covered by any of the sheets and blankets on the bed. Instead, Buttercup was dressed in the same black Adidas hoodie and mauve leggings she had worn to the airport.

But that wasn't the reason why Buttercup was sweating.

It was from Blossom and her fever burning up the entire space. The AC in their room would kick on spontaneously, but it wasn't enough to cool down the heatwave Blossom was radiating off of her body.

Buttercup glanced over at Blossom's half of the room, finding her dressed in a gray sweater and plaid boxer shorts—Buttercup was pretty sure they were Brick's. She was knocked out, drooling and snoring louder than Buttercup has ever heard Blossom sound in her sleep. The bottle of NyQuil on the nightstand separating their beds allowed Buttercup to grasp how Blossom was able to sleep so soundly despite the heat.

Buttercup sat up, staring at the television screen that was still on. An infomercial about a non-stick pan was on, and Buttercup was mildly intrigued by the product for a split-second. She then went to her luggage, looking through it for something comfortable to change into after the shower Buttercup was planning on taking.

Instead, Buttercup found herself drawn to the bathing suit lying in the corner of her suitcase.

A quick swim and a moment alone did sound quite appealing to her.

Without much further consideration, Buttercup took a swift shower to rinse off the grime of the day before putting on her bathing suit.

It was a bikini, colored a garnet red. The top looked more like a sports bra, the strap of it hooking around her neck. The bottom was low cut, letting her hips to be prominently shown.

With a towel draped over her left shoulder, Buttercup quietly left the room she was sharing with Blossom.

She wasn't surprised to find the hall outside their room to be empty or the elevator and lobby downstairs. The hallway to the right on the first floor led to the hotel gym and pool.

The gym was the last room before heading towards the exit that took hotel guests to the outdoor pool. The bright, fluorescent lights were on in the gym, and Buttercup could see one of the treadmills were being used, but she didn't bother to see who was exercising this late.

Upon going outside, Buttercup was, again, not shocked to find the space to be vacant. The sign for the pool's rules said it closed at ten o'clock, but the gate was still unlocked.

She claimed the closest chair to the pool gate, spreading the towel from her room on it. In the distance, Buttercup could hear the sounds of cars driving by the hotel and the occasional siren.

The pool was molded into the shape of a kidney bean, the deep end only dove to a height of six and a half feet. The underwater lighting of the pool made the water glow in a frosty, light blue hue.

Buttercup went to the stairs near the shallow end, shivering slightly at how cold the water actually was. She swallowed up the courage to submerge herself in it before Buttercup changed her mind. In a frigid blanket of water, Buttercup completed a lazy lap towards the deep end of the pool, growing more accustomed to the coldness.

When the initial freezing subsided, Buttercup found it to be more refreshing now. She sunk into the water, becoming stationary as the water coated every inch of her skin. She stayed underneath, relishing in the peace it brought her until her lungs began to burn.

Buttercup pushed against the bottom of the pool with her toes, propelling herself upward. She gasped for a relieving breath, feeling it course through her system. Her hands went to wipe away the stinging chlorine from her eyes. As Buttercup blinked away the remnants of water droplets on her eyelashes, she had to rub at her eyes once more to make sure she saw things correctly.

She was proven to not be hallucinating when Butch was still standing by the pool gates.

His eyes were on her. He obviously had been sweating, given how his drenched hair was sticking to his forehead. The pair of track pants and running shoes he had on, clued Buttercup in on how Butch must have been the person on the treadmill she had failed to view.

"The pool's closed," Butch informed her as if she didn't know. He grinned with amusement, and Buttercup felt she was undeserving of being on the receiving of such a reaction out of him. He leaned forward into the gate, laying his arms across the metal structure. "Are you trying to get us kicked out?"

"No."

When Buttercup would blink, she secretly wished Butch would be gone.

Things were, to say the least, weird between them. They were in this limbo Buttercup couldn't describe.

One moment, she wanted to be around him. The next, Buttercup was festering with an outrageous amount of guilt that it made her too sick to even look in Butch's direction.

For Butch, he was annoyingly able to talk to her and keep things on a surface level of pleasantries.

God, was it getting under Buttercup's skin.

Buttercup should be happy. Butch was no longer ignoring her, and she wasn't dead to him anymore. Yet, this awkwardness between them was almost as worse. They felt like strangers, but Buttercup also could recognize Butch's laugh in any room and could rattle off random tidbits about him with ease; Butch could do the same for her. They weren't meant to be strangers, but Buttercup knew they couldn't be the same pairs of friends they used to be.

That was the most dissatisfying revelation about it all. That nothing would ever be the same between them.

"The Spurs won tonight," Butch revealed in an attempt to create small talk.

Buttercup wanted to roll her eyes because small talk was never something they had engaged in before. Neither of them was subtle enough to enjoy it. Straight to the point was the way to go.

"That's great."

"Yeah," Butch exhaled. He combed a hand through his sweaty curls. "I think I might convert from being a Heat fan at this point. At least the Spurs know how to work as a team."

Buttercup arched an eyebrow. "Are you bandwagoning?"

"I see it more as me realizing there's a better team to root for," Butch grinned sheepishly. He glanced up at the barren sky of stars and the half-moon hanging above them. "I guess that is bandwagoning, huh?"

Buttercup felt her mouth tug upward halfheartedly.

I can't do this.

She couldn't pretend nothing was wrong. Things had shattered between them. Butch and/or her couldn't magically glue it back together. The pieces were too small or fragmented to be salvageable. And maybe it was better off not being touched again. Maybe it was meant to be swept away and forgotten about when enough time has passed.

"It is."

Buttercup made her way over to the ladder at the deep end of the pool, climbing out. The weight of the access water dripped off of her as she went to grab her towel to dry off. The stagnant wave of the humid air, even at night, was welcoming since the pool water had been at a chilling temperature.

She used the towel to rub off the water on her legs first, starting with her left leg to her right. It was when Buttercup switched legs to dry off, did she realize Butch was watching her. His gaze was half-lid and lazy, utterly unaware of how Buttercup was giving him a look that extremely read off, "Why the fuck are you staring at me?".

She felt heat rise in her cheeks, her neck and chest becoming itchy all of a sudden from her flustered nerves.

"Butch?"

Butch blinked at her, coming out of whatever daze he had been in. He took a step back from the gate, but he kept a grip on the metal.

His knuckles were still bruised, Buttercup noted. At least in the glow of the pool water, the lingering bruises appeared as an illusion of the shadows.

"Sorry, I–" His eyes traced over her face for a second. Butch then cleared his throat, continuing, "–I, uh, zoned out there for a second."

Buttercup briefly narrowed her eyes at him before brushing him off, returning to her efforts of removing the pool water from her skin.

"So, I'll, um…" Butch fidgeted a little behind the gate separating them. His nail chipped at the metal surface he held on to. "I'll see you in the morning."

Buttercup nodded once, not bothering to meet his stare. "Yup."

Butch frowned at this response. He had let go of the fence, turning away from Buttercup. "Goodnight, Buttercup."

When Buttercup heard the door to the hotel close, she was able to glance up and gain the wish she'd hoped for in the pool. What Buttercup didn't count on was how hollow she would feel when it was granted.


Butch didn't get much sleep.

He wanted to believe it was from the three cups of soda he had drunk during lunch. Or it was because Butch was still laced with adrenaline after working out so late last night.

But it was neither of it.

Butch didn't sleep well because his mind was hardwired to only thinking about Buttercup.

The voice in his head went through everything and anything Butch could associate to her.

He replayed, from what Butch could recall, the first time he had met her—his initial response upon seeing her was thinking she was pretty; his reaction to hearing Buttercup talk for the first time was met with mild annoyance.

Butch went through the petty arguments they engaged in over the years. He was seeping in cheek burning embarrassment and regret when re-imagining the disastrous food fight they had last year.

His voice agreed on how grateful Butch should be on making a friend out of Buttercup these past few months.

Yet, that feeling of gratitude was overshadowed by knowing Buttercup had been lying to him for just as long.

There were warnings she had given him, Butch tried to consider halfheartedly. There were plenty of them.

Was Butch still overfilled with anger towards her? No, he wasn't.

Butch had let go of it a couple days ago. He didn't like how his rage had taken control of him. It was a massive set back in his steps to becoming a better version of himself.

Brick did have a point when they had argued. Butch was being blinded by his wrath to see the larger picture in from of him. He had to find a way to re-open his eyes again to be sharp and aware of the truth. So Butch chose not to feed into it anymore. Whenever his mind considered negative emotions towards Buttercup or Boomer or Bubbles, Butch reframed from converging deeper into them.

This enabled Butch to look at Buttercup again without wishing to no longer be associated with her. It was how he was able to talk to her now. Furthermore, Butch was able to recognize the possibility of never wanting to be on bad terms with Buttercup again.

Blossom had come up during the night too, but it wasn't in the way Butch had expected.

He thought about how Blossom had been a roadblock between him and Buttercup. Their barbs exchanged in the past mostly retained to believing the other was more harmful to Blossom, produced by their protective nature over her. After their break up, Blossom was still a lingering presence to him and Buttercup. Butch couldn't even count how many times he had mentioned, whined, or ranted about Blossom to Buttercup.

But now, Blossom's shadow was no longer casting over Buttercup, and Butch was beginning to see her.

Has Butch softened up his resentment towards Buttercup because of this recent enlightenment? Maybe so.

But it also made things extremely weird for him.

Butch didn't know what to make about his prolonged thoughts towards Buttercup or why he couldn't get her out of his mind.

He just knew he wanted to be friends again. Butch also knew he had become more aware of how much he liked her smile or how Buttercup crinkled her nose slightly when she laughed.

Then there was last night, and Butch just had to see her in that goddamn bikini.

There was so much skin. So much flawless, smooth, and beautifully tanned skin.

One second Butch had been fine, just a moment away from asking if she wanted to get some food from a nearby Wendy's. Next thing he knew, Buttercup had to get out of the pool and make him aware of her bathing suit.

That cursed garnet suit hid nothing from his eyes, and when Buttercup had leaned over to dry her legs, it had shown off a moderate amount of cleavage to him.

Butch never truly appreciated how toned her long legs were until that moment. Or how soft the flat plane of her stomach appeared. Butch never wanted to grip on her hips more than when seeing her in that bikini—but, like, in a platonic way that allowed for him to do it, if such an idea existed.

He would be lying if Butch admitted to never having been turned on by Buttercup before. But those times were mere impulses. An accidental lingering stare of something he shouldn't have seen or just his blood rushed in the wrong direction at a random time. Hormones would do that to a person, and Butch was full of them. Those infrequent occasions were never from Butch actively admiring Buttercup.

But last night, there felt something different about it all. Something Butch couldn't put his finger on...

His face had grown feverishly, and Butch had to think of unsavory images to keep himself from getting entirely hard right in front of Buttercup. Her calling out his name was a blessing and a curse. It had Butch's heart skipping a beat before sinking down to his stomach.

He realized then too, that he liked how she said his name, even if there were no feelings attached to it or if Buttercup was full of attitude when addressing him.

Butch had been concern about her seeing how flustered he had become, and getting another glance at Buttercup in her bathing suit surely didn't help, which was why he was quick to leave her out by the pool.

He had to take an incredibly cold shower after their interaction. A mind-numbingly cold shower.

That was the other reason why Butch couldn't sleep. The garnet swimsuit had been taunting him more than Butch would've liked to admit.

Even now, as Butch was sitting on a couch in the hotel lobby, part-taking in the free continental breakfast with a bowl of soggy Cheerios in front of him as he mindless watched a news segment on CNN, Butch was still thinking about last night.

There had been so much skin, Butch mused silently.

Butch had to mental groan to himself. He really shouldn't be thinking about this. In public of all places too.

He went over his usual dissuading thoughts.

Algebra, doing twenty burpees after two-hour long practices, Professor Mojo lecturing him, Princess Morbucks' cackle, robots taking over the world—

"Are you okay?"

Butch blinked, finding the reason for his disquietude to be right in front of him. At least Buttercup wasn't in that goddamn bathing suit.

Instead, Buttercup looked more casual in a pair of olive high-waisted shorts, a white knitted tank top that was tucked into the waistband of her shorts, and white Vans. Her short, inky hair was collected into two small pigtails; the strands that were too short to be held back were left to frame her face.

Butch found his eyes going to her legs, confirming they were just as flawless and smooth as he had remembered from the night before. He then met her eyes, swallowing harshly, nodding.

He really should be thinking of more things to help himself.

"Yeah, I'm good," Butch answered with a slight crack to his tone.

Buttercup made a face that only told Butch that she didn't believe him. "Okay then."

She shifted her eyes downward, and—God, Butch was praying she didn't see anything beyond the cereal bowl he had strategically placed over his lap.

Buttercup pointed at his t-shirt. "I thought you were giving up on them?"

Butch had to glance down at his own shirt to understand what she meant. A breath of relief escaped from his lips as Butch looked over the Miami Heat logo printed on to his red t-shirt.

He grinned sheepishly at her. "This is the last clean shirt I'd packed."

"Ah."

Buttercup's eyes darted away from him, giving Butch a brief moment to get a grip on himself.

This is Buttercup, after all. Butch shouldn't be getting worked up like this because of Buttercup.

"Where's Bubbles and Boomer?" She asked without peering down at him.

"Are they supposed to be down here?" Butch countered in confusion.

Buttercup huffed out some hot air. "We're supposed to leave for the lake at nine, remember?"

If Butch were to be truthfully, he might have remembered the decision to establish a meet-up time, but he has since lost any recollection of it. His mind, and another part of him, was too focused on Buttercup and—was it just him, or was it beginning to get a little too hot in the lobby?

"Uhhhhh—"

Buttercup pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Forget I'd said anything."

She reached for her phone from her back pocket. Her fingers tapped furiously at the screen.

Butch furrowed his eyebrows, picking up on the tension Buttercup was extruding. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be?" She responded curtly. Her eyes were still on her phone, glowing with her white-blue screen.

"I don't know," Butch shrugged. "You seem a little–" Buttercup finally glanced up to glare at him. "–cranky."

Buttercup flared her nostrils at the statement, opening her mouth to say something, but she only sighed in defeat.

She went to sit next to Butch, but there was enough space between them for another person—Butch had leaned back into the couch more, keeping his uneaten bowl of Cheerios firmly in place. Her shoulders were slumped, her face softening at him for a brief moment.

"... I didn't get much sleep last night," Buttercup confessed in a tired breath.

"Me too," Butch replied, but he was sure they had vastly different reasons for their insomnia.

Buttercup's mouth tweaked upward for a split-second before becoming neutral once again. "Blossom woke me up at four in the morning because she had to throw up, what sounded like, half of her body weight."

Butch was pleased with how his body had no reaction to hearing Blossom's name other than the grimace on his face towards the image Buttercup had described. There was no painful longing. No blinding fury. Sympathy and empathy weren't found either. Just pure and absolute disgust over the idea of vomit was all Butch felt.

"Yeah, I would be an absolute fucking crank after that."

"I guess I'm valid now," Buttercup laughed lightly.

Butch felt his chest swelled up from seeing her nose crinkle up along with her laughter. It was such a beautiful sight, Butch noted.

He was even deathly close to telling her so.

"I'm so sorry we're late," Bubbles interjected once the elevator doors near the couch Butch and Buttercup sat on had opened. Her phone was in hand, and Boomer didn't portray the same amount of urgency to the matter that Bubbles did. "My phone didn't charge last night, which caused my alarm to not go off."

They were dressed for the expectantly hot weather. Boomer was in khaki shorts and a short sleeve, navy button-down shirt with a print of scattered flamingos. In black overall shorts, Bubbles wore a white tee-shirt sewn with the phrase "Love is Love" across her chest, written in a cherry-red thread. Her blonde hair was also collected into two French braids.

When standing in front of Butch and Buttercup, Bubbles' eyes darted between the two before settling on Buttercup. She raised her eyebrows, smiling slightly at her.

Buttercup, in return, glared at Bubbles. "It's whatever, Bubs. I've already ordered a Lyft, and they should be here in three minutes."

"Uh-huh," Bubbles hummed in response, but she didn't seem to care too much about the information Buttercup had just told her.

"I'm going to get an apple," Buttercup grumbled to excuse herself.

Butch, involuntarily, found his eyes following her until Buttercup was no longer in his peripheral vision. In what he had thought was an inconspicuous action, was confirmed to have been witnessed by Bubbles and Boomer. Their mutual smirks made Butch subconsciously stared at his mushy bowl of cereal.

When considering they were leaving in three minutes, Butch knew he would be in dire need of readjusting the fabric of his joggers when standing up to go.


It was an overcast day. Light gray clouds blocked out any beams of sunshine from touching the ground. The air was hot and damp, making anyone who stepped outside feel moisture collect on their skin. It was rare for a refreshing breeze to come, but when it did, it was meant to be savored.

A few were jogging around the circumference of the lake for exercise. Others were enjoying a stroll with their dogs or just by themselves.

The lake itself was dyed an artificial blue. A mint-green fountain was placed in the center, spitting out a jet of water into the air. Swans, geese, and ducks were swimming around the lake, feeding on water plants, or sleeping. There was also already a paddleboat out on the lake as a couple was pedaling their way around.

Cypress trees were scattered along the sidewalk of the lake. Towering condo complexes and small businesses surrounded the outer edges.

Their Lyft driver—Melissa in a green Kia Soul—had dropped Bubbles, Boomer, Buttercup, and Butch off by the amphitheater that sat next to the lake water.

The minute they had stepped out of the vehicle, Bubbles was hit by a strong dose of melancholic nostalgia. Lake Eola had been one of her mother's favorite places in the city. They had gone to the Farmer's Market every Sunday morning to get fresh produce, where her mom would've bought Bubbles a bag of kettle corn every single time.

Bubbles was glad it was Monday instead of Sunday. If it had been the day of the Farmer's Market, Bubbles was sure she wouldn't have been able to contain her emotions.

She glanced over the lake, watching the swan-shaped paddleboat already carving its way through the water. "We should probably go left—"

"Is that a black swan?" Boomer asked enthusiastically. He pointed at the bird in question that was over by the playground to the right of them.

Buttercup squinted her eyes, nodding. "I think so—"

"I'm so getting a selfie with it," Boomer determined before leaving Butch, Bubbles, and Buttercup in a hurry.

"Someone should probably go and make sure he doesn't get bitten by the swan," Butch considered. He darted his eyes between Bubbles and Buttercup, waiting for someone to volunteer. Butch then slumped his shoulders, sighing. "I guess I'll go," he huffed out dramatically.

"Really getting Butch to babysit your boyfriend?" Buttercup smirked when Butch was out of earshot.

Bubbles shook her head, leading Buttercup to a nearby bench to wait on until the boys were finished with the swan.

"Swans are not an animal to mess with," Bubbles responded. "I would rather keep a safe distance from them, thank you very much."

"You got a point."

"I know."

Bubbles took a moment to study her surroundings, filling in the memories she had of it with the updated version of the present.

The amphitheater had been repainted to have shades of the rainbow painted on the back. There were more buildings built around the lake than Bubbles remembered there being—but then again, Bubbles had been five or six the last time she was here. The air was unbearably muggy for Bubbles now since she has adapted to the climate of California.

"You look sad," Buttercup said to her.

Bubbles turned her head to face Buttercup. "I am, kind of, sad."

Buttercup frowned at her response. "What's wrong?"

"It's my mom," Bubbles confessed in a shaky breath. "I miss her a lot. And… I guess being here is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be."

"I'm sorry, Bubs," Buttercup said softly. "I can't even imagine what you're going through."

"It's fine," Bubbles smiled weakly with a shrug.

"It's not. You're not happy—"

"I never said I wasn't happy," Bubbles interjected gently. She tossed her eyes to the lake before them, steadying her gaze on the slow, calming movement of the water. "I'm sad that my mom isn't here anymore, but I'm also happy at the same time. I get to be here, sharing my hometown with you and Boomer and Butch. This place is a part of me, even if it's hard to look at it or recognize that it is sometimes."

"Wow," Buttercup mumbled beside her. "That was really beautiful and profound."

Bubbles had let out a small laugh. "I think you're giving me more credit than I deserve."

"Maybe I am," Buttercup shrugged. "But I do admire how you've dealt with your grief over the years. If either one of my parents were to pass away, I could never have the same amount of strength you do when it comes to handling it."

"I've had a lot of time to make friends with it," Bubbles smiled. She glanced back at Buttercup, reading over her face. "It'll always be hard to lose a parent, but I do take comfort in knowing I'll always have good memories with my mom."

Buttercup had stayed quiet for a long moment before shaking her head. She met Bubbles' eyes. "And you still don't think you're being profound, huh?"

Bubbles nudged Buttercup with her elbow, giggling off her compliment. "Stop, or I'll get a big head, okay?"

Buttercup fluttered her eyes into a roll but grinned at Bubbles. "Fine."

Beyond Buttercup, Bubbles spotted Butch and Boomer both trying to get the attention of the black swan sitting by the bathrooms near the playground. She could tell the boys were arguing over what to do just by their body language.

Her staring had gained Buttercup's attention, who had darted her vision over to the boys too.

"So he and Boomer are talking again too?" Buttercup asked while trying to hide the actual amount of curiosity she had.

"Sort of," Bubbles revealed. She removed her eyes from Butch and Buttercup. A wide, knowing grin was framing her lips as Bubbles studied Buttercup's profile. "They haven't exactly talked about what happened, but I think Butch isn't resentful anymore."

"Huh."

"What about you?"

"Mmmmmm…"

"Buttercup?"

"What?"

Buttercup flickered her eyes away from Butch and Boomer, finding herself on the receiving end of Bubbles' giddy stare. Buttercup was already mentally groaning for falling into the obvious trap.

"Did you hear my question?"

Buttercup folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head. "Nope."

"I'd asked if Butch was back to talking to you?" Bubbles leaned forward a little, showing how she might be a bit too eager to hear any positive news. "It sure does seem so."

"Why would you say that?" Buttercup deflected sharply. She could feel her heart pick up its pace in her chest.

"You'd looked pretty cozy with each other when Boomer and I got off the elevator," Bubbles acknowledged.

"We talked for, like, a minute, Bubs. It's nothing to read into."

"But you're reading into it, aren't you?"

Buttercup had let out an actual groan, throwing her head back in frustration. "You're so annoying."

"That doesn't answer my question," Bubbles sang.

"Of course, I can't stop thinking about what the hell is going on," Buttercup answered in a heated whisper. "But I can't get ahead of myself."

"He seems to be forgiving you."

"But he hasn't said he does," Buttercup pointed out. "And I…" Buttercup sucked in a shaky breath, exhaling it in a similar manner. "I'm not sure I want him to forgive me."

"Why would—"

"I did a shitty thing, Bubs. I can't just pretend like things will ever be okay," Buttercup explained.

"But what if Butch does want to forgive you? Are you just going to push him away?"

"That's what I've been trying to do," Buttercup admitted sheepishly.

"Buttercup!"

"I know, I know. It's... It's hard to describe. I want us to be on good terms, but it feels so damn selfish of me," Buttercup professed. "It's hard to be around him. Every time he smiles at me or tries to make me laugh, I just feel so unbearably guilty."

Bubbles glanced back over at the boys. "Have you tried apologizing to him yet?"

Buttercup slumped down more into the bench. "No."

"Then maybe you should today."

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't deserve to apologize. I should let Butch continue to be mad at me, then we can go our separate ways after graduation."

Bubbles shook her head, not willing to accept the future Buttercup had described.

It was infuriating to hear Buttercup be like this. This was what Buttercup should want. Butch was back on speaking terms with her, which to Bubbles, should stop Buttercup from being wrapped up in her self-guilt.

Especially when considering how Butch was staring at Buttercup this morning. If he was able to get over things this fast and be able to give Buttercup such a look of longing, then things may click together in a way Buttercup should desire for it to be. If Buttercup was in love with Butch, she should be energized by the recent development in their friendship.

And yet…

"Oh my god," Bubbles gasped in astonishment. She reached for Buttercup's hand, gaining her undivided attention. "You're scared."

Buttercup snatched her hand away from Bubbles. Daggers were also sent in Bubbles' direction.

"I'm not scared."

"Yeah, you are. You're scared of getting too close to him again." Buttercup opened her mouth to reply, but Bubbles spoke over her. "It wasn't just Butch who got hurt in all of this. In a way, he'd hurt you too."

Buttercup turned her cheek to Bubbles, not willing to accept what was being presented to her.

"You don't want to get hurt again," Bubbles continued on when noting Buttercup wasn't going to participate anymore. "I get that. But I made a promise to be honest with you, even if it hurts. So, I can't sit here and let you stay petrified by the unknown of what's going to happen next. You shouldn't self-sabotage yourself from something that may be good for you—"

"I'm not self-sabotaging," Buttercup muttered under her breath.

"If you weren't, then you would've apologized to Butch by now and explained your side of things. He appears more than willing to fix things, so why aren't you?"

It took about a full minute before Buttercup answered her.

"... I don't want to lose control again," Buttercup confessed quietly. "Everything concerning Butch is way too real for me. And I don't…" Involuntarily, Buttercup clutched at her chest, right where her heart laid. "... I can't keep getting hurt by him. I can't get close again. I can't do it again, Bubs. I swear, it's not worth it. And—And the worst part is he doesn't even know how much I've been hurting."

"It's hard, I know," Bubbles reassured gently. "But, Butters, he could be the best thing for you. The only way you can know for sure is if you don't let him pass by you because you're too busy overthinking it." She reached out to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind Buttercup's ear. "You can't have a real relationship with him—whether it be romantic or platonic—if you're just going to be reserved from now on."

Buttercup swallowed the lump in her throat. She was skittish to meet Bubbles' stare. "... What if I make another mistake, and we both get hurt again?"

Bubbles flashed a weak smile. "Sometimes, you have to dive in headfirst to know what is meant for you or not." Bubbles grasped for Buttercup's hand again, and this time, Buttercup had let her do so. She squeezed Buttercup's palm once. "But you can't dive in if you're going to keep your feet cemented to the edge, Buttercup. So, take the risk. If it ends up not being for you and you get hurt, then you just take the time to learn and grow from it."

"I should–" Buttercup cleared her throat, finally finding the strength to gaze into Bubbles' eyes. "I should apologize to him."

"That's a good start," Bubbles agreed with an encouraging grin and a nod. She squeezed Buttercup's hand one more time before letting go. "And it's okay to be a little scared. That's what happens when you're falling in love. But it shouldn't stop us from doing it, because when done right, love shouldn't be scary at all."

Buttercup snorted. "You sound like a Hallmark movie."

"Yeah." Bubbles rubbed at her neck sheepishly. "I may have marathoned some last night."

"Bubbles," Buttercup groaned.

"What? They can be actually good," Bubbles defended. Buttercup raised an eyebrow, resulting in Bubbles to sigh in defeat. "They can occasionally be good."

"Yeah, sure," Buttercup laughed off.

"Bubs, check out my picture," Boomer announced enthusiastically. He took up space in front of Bubbles and Buttercup with his phone proudly presented to Bubbles.

Bubbles grinned at the image of Boomer crouching down beside the black swan. His cheeks were radiant and flashed in the photo, his mouth was left open a little when bearing a dazzling smile. Lines of happiness had gathered by his squinting eyes. The black swan had been captured staring at his phone, aloof and elegant at the same time.

He was such a cutie to her, and this picture only exemplified it.

"Send that to me. I want to make it my new screensaver."

"You got it, babe," Boomer replied. He turned his phone around, tapping away on his screen.

Bubbles glanced over at Buttercup, finding Butch was next to her. His hand rested on the back of the bench, just an inch or two away from touching the skin of Buttercup's shoulder. He leaned over slightly to show her something on his phone.

Buttercup had let out a quiet laugh, flicking her eyes up from the phone to Butch. "Why do you look so paranoid?"

"I was fucking terrified of the swan snapping at me," Butch admitted through a smile.

He briefly looked over at Bubbles. For a split-second, Bubbles expected for Butch to show her the picture too. But instead, Butch closed his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his black joggers. His eyes were back on Buttercup, and Bubbles couldn't even be mad at him.

The way Butch was looking at Buttercup was the same as someone who was entirely smitten.

He also appeared nervous and slightly awkward, but Bubbles wanted to focus more on the smitten part.

"We should go do the paddleboat now," Bubbles suggested, being met by a round of agreement.

She and Buttercup both stood up, and the group made their way to the launch site of the paddleboats.

"Are we all riding on one?" Boomer asked after spotting a family of five pedaling on the water's surface, along with the couple from before.

"We could," Bubbles answered. She reached out for Boomer's hand, lacing their fingers together. Bubbles then glanced back at Butch and Buttercup, who were lagging a step behind her and Boomer. "What do you guys think?"

Butch and Buttercup exchanged a look, silently communicating with each other over the answer. It was a sight Bubbles couldn't help but to broadly smile at. When they had come to a quiet conclusion, Buttercup darted her eyes away from Butch and Bubbles entirely.

"Ah…" Butch scratched at the back of his head, trying to find the best way to word himself. "I think Buttercup and I could just ride together."

"Are you sure?" Bubbles checked, despite the gigantic smile she had to chew down on from fully showing.

"Yeah, it's cool."

"Alright." Bubbles turned to face forward again.

She felt Boomer lean a little closer to her. "Do you think it's a good idea to leave those two alone together?" He whispered in her ear.

Bubbles nodded. "I think it's an excellent idea, actually."

Boomer eyed her suspiciously for a second before matching her grin. "Have you been meddling?"

Bubbles held up her free hand, displaying the small space between her fingers. "Maybe just the tiniest bit."

"That's my little matchmaker," Boomer beamed proudly.


Buttercup was being too quiet, tormenting Butch with how tight-lipped she was.

They had been on the paddleboat for about ten minutes. The center fountain was growing closer to them, and Butch still couldn't get his mind off of Buttercup.

So far, that was everything today. Every assumption, conclusion, and imagined item on his brain was connected to her. It was overwhelming and agonizing, but also daze-fueled and voracious.

Butch didn't know what to make of it. This was Buttercup. And also, this was him. Buttercup and him. Him and Buttercup.

He shouldn't be entangling himself into this web.

Everything was fuzzy. His mind was foggy, and Butch couldn't even string together a sentence to explain why his heart was pounding so harshly in his chest.

He couldn't screw this up. Butch wasn't even quite sure what it was that he was trying to stop himself from fucking up, but Butch was adamant about not doing it.

Which he obviously took the risk of doing when Butch decided to open his mouth to kill the treacherous silence between them.

"Have you ever watched 10 things I hate about you?"

Buttercup wrinkled her nose at his question. Butch could already hear a siren going off in his head.

You fucked up! You fucked up! You fucked up!

"Yeah, I have," she answered after an antagonizing few seconds of waiting for Butch. "It's the only rom-com I can tolerate."

"Right?" Butch agreed over-eagerly.

He may have cringed internally, over-imagining how thirsty his voice had sounded than it actually had been.

Butch swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck and hoping he could keep it cool.

They were friends—or at least, on their way back to being friends. Why was it suddenly weird and daunting for Butch to have a conversation with her?

"This, uh, kind of reminds me of the movie," Butch recovered. Not that Buttercup even noticed his brief second of self-loathing. She had been watching the jets of water spraying out into the sky from the fountain instead. "You know, with the one scene where the main couple finally gets to really talk after sneaking out of detention?"

Buttercup glanced over at him. The squeaking of the boat's pedals was grinding in Butch's burning ears.

"Too bad there isn't a paintball place nearby," Buttercup said dryly.

Butch had let out a small laugh. He watched the methodical rhythm of his pedaling to distract the jitters he had. "If only."

"I would totally kick your ass at paintball."

Butch found Buttercup smirking at the idea of beating him. He couldn't deny how Buttercup would probably whoop his ass at it. She was more agile and strategic than him. Butch would most likely get trigger happy, and burn through his first round of paintballs without even hitting her.

"I don't think I can afford any more bruises to my beautiful face," Butch quipped.

He waited for Buttercup to snort or scoff at his comment, but she reminded mum. Her lips were pressed into a firm line, and Butch knew for sure now that he did fuck things up.

"Too soon?" Butch inquired. He prayed Buttercup didn't hear how his voice got caught in his throat.

Her cheek turned away from him. She was studying the shoreline of the lake. For a half-second, Butch wondered if Buttercup was surveying how far it would take her to swim to land. If she was that desperate to get away from him and where this conversation was leading.

"It isn't too soon for you, I guess," she responded.

It was a blatant deflection. Butch couldn't decide what was more frustrating. The long periods of quietness he and Buttercup were repeatedly experiencing or how reticent she was being?

"We should talk about what happened," Butch decided. He put on a friendly smile because Butch had no clue what his face was supposed to be expressing. "Let's just rip the band-aid off already."

"There's nothing to talk about," Buttercup mumbled.

Butch longed to his roll eyes at how stubborn Buttercup was choosing to be. He figured it would be easier to try moving an entire continent right now than it was to get her to open up.

Butch shook his head, letting out a dry laugh. "That's such bullshit, and you know it."

From the glare Buttercup was giving him, Butch knew he did fuck things up. But for once today, he didn't care. At least Butch was getting a reaction out of her.

At least, Buttercup was showing an ounce of how she may care about the awkwardness between them.

"What is there to say, Butch?" Buttercup retorted. "Do you want me to go into detail on how shitty I've been to you? Do you want to talk about how much you can't trust me—"

"That's not–" Butch matched her harsh gaze, shaking his head. "Stop projecting that onto me."

"I'm not—"

"Do you want to fight, or do you want to work through this?" Butch interrupted flatly. Impatience flashed through his eyes, studying her carefully. "Because I can fight, but I would rather work things out with you."

Buttercup's lips were pressed together. She was unable to keep eye contact with him any longer. The gravity of his two options was left to hang heavily in the air, rivaling even the dense humidity coating them.

Butch was sure they were going to continuing pedaling the swan boat in thick tension until they returned to land.

That was until Buttercup inhaled a shaky breath before speaking.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. The squeaking of her pedals halted. Her hands went to scrub the lower half of her face. Buttercup's eyes were shut as she went on. "I've wanted to say I'm sorry since I found out. I should've said it by now too. I just…"

Buttercup threw her head back, opening her eyes to face the lusterless clouds in the gray sky. She groaned at her stubborn nature trying to gain a hold on her.

"... I just don't feel like I deserve to be forgiven. I don't know why you would even want to forgive me, but you do, and I'm relieved, but I'm also pissed that you would want to forgive me so easily." She turned away from Butch once again. "Maybe–Maybe I am self-sabotaging," Buttercup mused under her breath.

She peeked over at Butch, relieved to see he didn't hear everything she had said.

"I'm not entirely over what happened," Butch confessed. He slowed down his pace of pedaling, speaking to Buttercup at a similar tempo. "I would be an absolute liar to say I am, but I–"

Butch picked at his hair, fluffing the frizzed out mess that was his curls caused by the humidity. A layer of sweat coated his forehead, but Butch could only focus on how Buttercup's skin lacked perspiration to match his.

Her smooth, golden, flawless skin was the most eye-catching thing for Butch, even when surrounded by the beauty and motions of the rest of the world.

"–I had this weird interaction with Brick the other day—"

"Brick?" Buttercup repeated for clarification, unable to hide the current sneer from displaying on her face.

Butch let out a small laugh, nodding his head. "Like I said, it was weird. But, um, he'd actually helped me see how immature I was handling things."

"You, Boomer, and Bubbles. You were put in an awful fucking position, and you were just trying to help me in a funny way." Butch read over Buttercup's profile, appreciating the gentle curve of her lips and the small point of her chin. "You've had my back, and I was wrong to assume you didn't. And I wasn't fair. I should've given you the chance to explain yourself. I shouldn't have iced you out and punished you. That was real dickish of me."

Buttercup rubbed her hands along her cheeks, mumbling about things Butch couldn't quite catch. She then narrowed her eyes at him, jabbing her finger into his shoulder.

"Why the hell are you apologizing?" Buttercup chastised. "I should be the one doing that."

Butch smiled, utterly amused by Buttercup's fury. "Because I want to, and you deserve an apology. You—"

"No, I don't—"

"Yes, you do—"

"Butch, I swear." Buttercup tugged at the roots of her hair. "Why are you so infuriating?"

Butch shrugged his shoulders, not gaining an ounce of the aggravation Buttercup was carrying. "It's a part of my charm–" Buttercup snorted loudly. "–And because you can't take a damn apology without making it into a big deal."

"That's because I don't deserve to have one," Buttercup refuted.

"Shouldn't I be the judge of that?"

Buttercup's mouth was left slacked, releasing a hot breath of air to simmer down. The last of her guarded defense had crumbled down, allowing Butch to venture in and get a grip on her.

"I guess so, yeah," Buttercup muttered.

"Then let me have the opportunity to forgive you."

"But what if I do it again?" She asked quietly. "Why are you giving me another chance with no caution? Aren't you–" Buttercup swallowed, returning the anchored gaze Butch was giving her. He wondered if her heart was hammering away in the same erratic manner his heart was. "–Aren't you terrified of getting hurt again?"

"You know, I'm still pissed about a bunch of things," Butch revealed steadily.

His calf muscles were starting to get the pleasant aching that only happened when exercising. He was still the only one pedaling the boat.

"Maybe I should be more jaded. Or maybe I should resent you and protect myself from the "what ifs" that probably wouldn't even happen. Maybe I'm scared shitless about certain things blowing up in my face again to the point where they're unsalvagable," Butch theorized.

"There's no right way to handle any of this. But I do know that I didn't like ignoring you. I know things between us aren't exactly on the steadiest of grounds anymore, but the foundation is still there to put back the pieces. And I would rather give you ten more chances and salvage what has been broken with you by my side than deal with the idea of losing you completely."

The vibrant shade of Buttercup's lime green eyes became less sharp, softened into the mellowest hue of green.

It was a sight Butch wanted to say he has never seen before from her, but that would be a lie.

Butch has seen this tenderness from Buttercup. Way too many times, he has. Butch just has't noticed or associated it for what it truly was.

Her voice was treated to the same degree, gentle and faint. "Why would you?"

It took Butch a few seconds to connect that he needed to respond, and how he shouldn't be memorizing the delicate coloration of her irides instead.

Butch shrugged his shoulders, letting the answer roll off of his tongue with ease because it was easy. "Because you're just too fucking important to me, Buttercup."

Buttercup fidgeted, looking away from him. She began pedaling the boat again, moving her feet at a tortoise's pace.

"... Thank you for apologizing," she murmured after a beat. "I needed it more than I'd thought I did."

The corner of Butch's mouth turned upward. "It's no problem, B." He elbowed her, briefly gaining Buttercup's skittish attention. "Are things going to be okay between us?"

"That's up to you," Buttercup deflected.

Butch tried not to show his disappointment from her answer too much. "I would like them to be."

Buttercup stayed suspended, letting his answer sink in, before giving Butch a single nod and a meek smile. "I would like them to be too."

With all the confusion, nerves, stress, anger, and resentment pooling around in Butch, none of it mattered to him at this moment. The euphoric rush of knowing he and Buttercup would be okay after all was the only thing that was important to Butch.

Butch smiled, showing teeth and expelling a bashful yet relieved breath in all, exhilarated to know he didn't actually fuck things up with Buttercup.


After their swan boat rides and walking a lap around the lake, lunch had been well-desired.

Buttercup had searched up restaurants nearby, and after a vote, the four chose to eat at a taco place just a short travel away from the lake. After eating way too many orders of street tacos, veggie burritos, tortilla chips, and queso than they had expected, Bubbles found another activity for them to do.

Just a short distance away had been a botanical garden. Bubbles may have begged more than the others were waiting to deal with, convincing them to take a new Lyft ride to the location.

Twenty minutes into their exploration of the garden, and Boomer could tell Bubbles was totally delighted with her choice to persuade them into venturing here.

There was a greenhouse heat to the sky, making everything feel absolutely Jurassic. Despite the lack of sun rays, it was still springtime. The garden was fully awake, basking in the sultry weather.

Near the herb garden, stumpy trees filled a grove, sprinkled with pearly orange blossoms in bloom, perfuming a sweet taste to the air. A weathered fence contained the lush vegetation. Arbor trellises greeted those who walked into the garden, green plants shot up from the ground to wrap themselves around the metal of it. Rows of cropped vegetables were waiting patiently to be harvested. Eggplants, lettuce, carrots, broccoli, bell peppers. An abundance of trees was bearing avocados, plums, guava, jackfruit, peaches, pears, and starfruit to be consumed.

Tall oak trees surrounded the garden. Spanish moss hung from their twisted branches like Christmas ornaments, swaying along with the rare wind. Birds sang to the joy of spring. Chattering squirrels scurried around above, climbing to new tree branches, waving their bushy tails.

A brick pathway led to the neighboring butterfly garden. A rainbow of flowers was sprouted in every direction, wildly overgrowing the ground. Bumblebees coated in specks of pollen were buzzing around. A myriad of butterflies fluttered their merry away, drinking up nectar from one plant to the next.

Boomer, being the thalassophile he was, wasn't nearly impressed with the heady greenery. Don't get him wrong, it was unequivocally beautiful. It just didn't fulfill him like being near the ocean did. To him, the earth could never compare to the allure of the sea.

Bubbles was, doubtless, the only thing to compete with it in Boomer's mind.

Awe of the flora had captivated her face. Her full lips were curved into the broadest smile. The sun-bleached strands of her hair held a blinding sheen, even without the sunlight. There was a caramel glow to her skin, having acquired it from the past week spent on the beach. Her baby blue eyes were expressive to the delight overwhelming her.

She was a masterpiece.

While Bubbles chatted animatedly with Buttercup over the butterfly chrysalis box in the garden, Boomer admired her more than the flowers.

"Hey, Boom. Can we talk?"

Boomer tore his eyes away from Bubbles, finding Butch occupying the space beside him.

He nodded. "Yeah, of course."

Butch's gaze trailed the path of a monarch butterfly. Its tawny wings were saturated against the green leaves of the milkweed it landed on.

A hand scratched at the back of Butch's head. There was an unsure, restrained way to his face. "I wanted to say thank you," Butch revealed quietly. "For you know, everything."

Boomer furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback by Butch's gratitude. "Butch, I—"

"I still can't believe you'd blackmailed Brick for me," Butch interjected. He let out a small laugh. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"Well, you are my best friend," Boomer explained with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm going to have your back."

Butch glanced over at him, a half-smile tugged at his lips. "I'm glad you did."

He went back to following the monarch butterfly. Its delicate wings flipped energetically in the air to another flower to feast on.

"You did have my back the entire time," Butch acknowledged. "I didn't see it at first, but I do now." Butch elbowed Boomer, smirking in his direction. "I guess you were right. I would eventually realize it."

"Was it Brick?"

"Yes and no." Butch had let out a sigh. "Brick did reveal a shit ton of stuff I was apparently missing out on. Like how you tried blackmailing him, or how he was fucking my girlfriend behind my back," Butch said along with a wry laugh.

Boomer couldn't help but cringing, not knowing if Butch did find humor in the situation now or if he was rancorous.

Butch stared up at the drab clouds above them. "But I also realized I needed to let go of my grudges. One thing we learn in anger management is that if you let anger overcrowd you, you become swallowed up by your own bitterness. Keeping my grudges is only going to weigh me down, and I would rather grow and learn from the situation than be the person I'd used to be."

The monarch butterfly danced closer to them, stopping by a nearby pastel-pink zinnia.

"Brick helped me see I shouldn't assume you were malicious in keeping everything a secret," Butch continued on. "But it was my decision to want to trust you again. You've had my back through thick and thin, and I can't hold one fumbled occasion over your head for why I shouldn't forgive you."

Boomer stood, awestruck by Butch. Of the noteworthy maturity, level-headiness Butch was able to display. The growth Butch has endured over the past year, it was something Boomer has been quietly observing. Now, it was coming to fruition, and Butch's transformation was enrapturing for Boomer to witness. It was a rebirth of a sort, the right change Butch needed to make in his life.

With a stiff breeze passing by, the monarch butterfly hovered towards Butch's arm, alighting upon his skin for a teasing second before having its fill of garden, flitting away into the sky.

Butch glanced at his arm with an amazed smile for a quiet moment before turning to meet Boomer's gaze. "So, are we good?"

"Yeah, we are." Boomer grinned widely, nudging Butch's arm. "Hey, look at that, you were the one who came back to me this time," he pointed out with amusement.

He was referring to how Butch had nicknamed Boomer after a boomerang since he kept coming back to Butch despite his earlier efforts for Boomer not to.

Butch slanted his eyes at Boomer. "And there goes the moment."

"No, wait!" Boomer's eyes were wide. "Can we, at least, hug it out first?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yup."

"Ugh," Butch groaned.

He rolled his eyes before giving into Boomer's request, embracing him. He gave a solid round of pats onto Boomer's back, as Boomer did the same too—they had to make sure there was a degree of pseudo-machismo to the gesture.

"Wow, Bubbles leaves for five minutes, and you've already replaced her, Boom?" Buttercup quipped.

Butch and Boomer broke apart, glaring at an amused Buttercup. Bubbles stood by her, giggling.

"We were having a moment," Boomer and Butch both retorted in defense.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm a bit jealous," Bubbles teased playfully.

"Okay, I've had enough of this joke," Butch stated flatly.

Buttercup arched an eyebrow, a gleam of mischief was in her eyes. She took a step closer towards Butch, faking her sympathy. "Aw. Did we wound your fragile male ego?"

"What? No!" Butch argued. He moved forward, challenging Buttercup in a similar manner as she was doing to him. "Why does everything have to be a feminist thing with you?"

As Buttercup countered Butch, divulging into a heated banter with Butch that had no real weight to it, Boomer reached for Bubbles' hand.

He leaned over to her ear. "Knowing them, this will take a while."

"You want to go check out the rose garden?" Bubbles offered as an escape plan.

Boomer darted his eyes over to Buttercup and Butch, noting the engrossed smiles on their faces despite the harmless jabs sent in each others' direction. A palpable magnetism between them was almost as overwhelming as the strength of the humidity in the air.

As entertaining it may be to watch their obvious flirtation with each other—although it apparently wasn't too obvious—Boomer would rather have time with Bubbles instead.

"Yeah, I think it's best if we let them be alone for now."

Without Butch or Buttercup even noticing their departure, Bubbles and Boomer ventured on the pathway towards the rose garden. It was a short walk adjacent to where they were.

A stone pathway craved out the circular garden, rooting the rose bushes into different aisles. The velvety petals of the varicolored flower were flourishing. Apricot, white with magenta tips, sunset orange dipped with salmon, fuchsia, buttery yellow, ivory, scarlet. There were colors Boomer hadn't even known existed grown right in front of him.

A five-tiered, beige fountain centered the garden, babbling out clear water, where visitors tossed pennies to make a wish.

"Oh, wow," Bubbles breathed upon her initial reaction. Her hand squeezed his, strolling around the walkway of the garden. "I know sunflowers are my favorite, but I think roses just took second place in my preference."

Boomer inhaled the sweet, delicate scent canvassing the air. "I think I'm a rose guy now."

Bubbles had let out a laugh, smiling adoringly at him. "Huh, I've always pictured you as an orchid type of person."

"Orchids are pretty nice," Boomer mused.

"They are," Bubbles agreed with a heart-filled sigh. "They were actually my mom's favorite."

"She had impeccable taste," he smiled softly.

"Yeah, she did."

Boomer read over Bubbles' profile, gathering the apprehension behind her cheeriness. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm just missing my mom a lot, that's all," she confessed. Bubbles rested her head on Boomer, keeping their pace at mild speed. "Being here, it's a lot. Especially since it's been a crazy couple of months for me."

"I found out my dad is alive, and I actually got to meet him too. But you obviously know, he turned out to be a human trash-bag, and I'm kind of glad he is."

Boomer furrowed his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah. He, unknowingly, has made me appreciate a lot more things in my life. My friends, my Abuela, my mom." Bubbles tipped her head back, glancing up to meet Boomer's loving gaze. "Your family. You."

Boomer leaned down to kiss the crown of Bubbles' head.

"I'm happy you were able to get something out of the entire experience," Boomer commented afterward. His stare narrowed at the fountain, watching the water trickle down each tier until it reached the bottom. He squeezed her hand with a more considerable amount of pressure than Boomer had realized. "I can't even imagine how a dad would abandon their kid like yours did. Like when we have kids, I would be damned to allow for that to happen."

A blackbird squawked overhead. A couple spoke privately on the opposite side of the rose garden. The water flowed with a steady, tranquil current.

Yet, there was no reply to Boomer's statement. He felt a panic-fueled bang in his chest, spreading throughout his body.

Did he say the wrong thing? Should Boomer not have insulted her dad?

There was always that weird, blurry line where you were allowed to crucify your own parents, but if someone else did it, then a fierce protective nature could be brought out.

Nice going, Boomer! Way to screw that up!

From the glazed expression on Bubbles' face, Boomer knew he said something he shouldn't have.

"Bubs, I'm sorry I—"

"When we have kids..." Bubbles repeated gently. Her baby blues eyes were flooded by a brightness. She remained nonplussed. "You said, "When we have kids.". You–" Bubbles sucked in a shaky breath. With the exhaled, a bashful grin overcame her. "–You want to have kids with me?"

Boomer ballooned from the question, smiling brightly at her. "Of course, I do." Boomer paused their steps around the garden, stopping right in front of the fountain, standing before Bubbles. "I think it's safe to say I struck the jackpot on my first try." He cupped her chin, lifting her head up a degree to face him. "Obviously, I mean it in reference to the future, but I already know this is what I want. You. Us. A family. It's inevitable for me."

Bubbles' face softened, becoming the way Boomer wished for Bubbles to always look at him. "I like that future."

"You do?" Boomer asked. His breath got stuck in his throat, but he didn't care.

Bubbles nodded once. "It's everything I could ever ask for."

The fountain behind them streamed quietly, questioning if they were going to throw a penny into it in hopes of making a wish.

It would be a futile effort, however.

As Boomer closed the distance between him and Bubbles, he already knew anything they could wish for between them, has already been granted and made into a reality.


Despite her bolstering fever and endlessly dripping nose, Blossom felt content.

She had gotten a good night of rest—Thank you, NyQuil!—and was able to hold down some hotel oatmeal despite throwing up yesterday's lunch earlier in the morning. Now, Blossom has been lying in bed, tissues plugged in each nostril, entirely grateful a marathon of Project Runway was playing for the day.

She had the room's AC cranked to the lowest it was allowed. The chilling air was at war with the radiating heat of her skin, unable to fully embrace Blossom with the coldness she desperately longed for.

When the TV went on commercial breaks, Blossom would go on her phone. She did her best to ignore Robin's latest demands, picking and choosing the ones she was willing to commit to.

Book a large venue? Yeah, no. The party would take place in the agricultural building like all other parties on campus.

A hired celebrity chef? Ha. Blossom planned to have her mother's company cater instead.

A country-western theme? Blossom guessed that was something not worth fighting against, deciding she would let Robin have the chosen theme.

Blossom considered how she should be bending over backward to give Robin each and everything she asked for, but Blossom couldn't be bothered to do more.

Did Robin even matter anymore? Blossom wasn't sure. She felt too depleted, achingly ill, and fatigued to care.

In her feverish haze, Blossom almost messaged Robin to say, No, I don't give a single damn about your party, and just let the eventual fallout happen.

Butch already knew.

Given the comments made by Brick's mom during the disastrous dinner they had experienced, it led Blossom to believe her parents weren't blind to the knowledge of how she was less than virginal.

What was the point anymore?

Blossom only had to worry about the audio between her and Brick leaking.

Prickly heat spread across Blossom's chest, not from her sickness but from her embarrassment and shame of recounting the contents of the video.

If she could go back, Blossom would. She would change everything about that single day.

She would've waited. Blossom wouldn't have dove in with Brick so quickly as she did.

Blossom couldn't forget how confident she had been in that moment, how she had nearly initiated each step of her relationship with Brick.

And now…

Now Blossom wasn't sure how to feel.

She had left the safety net that was Butch, a love where Blossom didn't have to fret over which mood Butch would be in or if he cared enough to emote to her.

Hell, when Butch's grandmother had passed away two winters ago, he had leaned on her during the time, making it the first time Blossom has ever seen a guy cry.

It struck her how Butch hadn't hesitated to be open with her then, and even now. The anger he had portrayed at the beach, it was all for Blossom to observe and examine. Butch didn't put on a front. He didn't back down from letting Blossom know just how deeply she had wounded him.

Blossom couldn't lie anymore. Their relationship had never been perfect. They argued more than desired, and their personalities weren't a soluble mixture, but it had all been because of her.

Blossom had resisted, struggling with Butch's love. It overwhelmed her with how calm and steady it had been. That love, the smooth current of it, wasn't what Blossom has been taught to be accustomed to receiving.

When describing a relationship, there was the concept of butterflies. You know you're in love because the carnal fluttering captivates your gut, pulling you closer to the other person.

But what if the butterflies weren't a good sign? What if they didn't thrive off of nice, pleasant ideas of love but from nerves and fear instead?

They craved the grand-romantic-gestures and inappropriate confessions. They lusted after a spotlight from the person producing them, even if the light was only on sporadically. They're there to punch you in the face with love, reminding you how love exists, but it has to come with the hefty price of hurting. Because all the hurt was worth the I-can't-get-you-out-of-my-head, the I've-never-felt-this-way-before feelings. It's so worth it, you begin to view everything else to be exchangeable just for the rush of inconsistent good days.

Blossom never truly felt butterflies when with Butch, but she has with Brick.

Maybe it was all wrong. Maybe butterflies shouldn't be the big, blinking green light saying, "Go!". Maybe they're actually warning signs.

Maybe love shouldn't be the delirious, addicting struggle of wanting more from a person and having to celebrate the mild victories of begrudging responses.

Love, perhaps, should be dealt with caution. It should be about having your beating heart in the other person's hand, giving them the risk of squashing and mashing it together, but knowing they wouldn't do it.

It was about feeling safe. To be yourself, to know where you stand, to have a consistent partner who communicates and assures the love being shared.

It shouldn't be derived by swept up emotions, professions that only come when the other person wants to finally open up. That love couldn't possibly be sustainable, right?

There was a portrait in Blossom's head. One where she saw herself holding Butch's heart, only to end up smashing it into a bloody mess with her grip.

He had given her a secure and kind type of love.

But she had picked someone more shiny and new.

A dueling image appeared. It was of Brick, and her heart laid in the weapon that was his hand. It was unharmed, but for how long could Blossom trust it not to be?

Brick would like to say he knows what he feels and shows it, but Blossom has recognized Brick only likes to display the emotions he feels are expected from him or when he wants something.

Like if the football team wins a game, obviously Brick is going to be exhilarated, flying high enough to be animated for all to see. Or when he saw how Blossom became conflicted over the growing feelings she felt for him, Brick had turned up his charms to woo her away from Butch.

But when it came to the real deals, when Blossom needed Brick to care about something other than her, to let her know why he slips into dark places, Brick shuts down. He punishes her like an island, keeping her at a distance Blossom was unequipped to conquer.

There's a line Blossom has been frightened to cross. Slowly, she has begun teetering along the edge, never knowing which Brick was going to appear.

Was it going to be the sweet, thoughtful boyfriend Blossom had originally fallen and risked everything for? The over-competitive, arrogant alpha male who always had to win despite the repercussions? Was it the aloof asshole who had no remorse for any of his actions? Or could he be the mum, brooding character straight out of a YA romance novel which portrays all of the ill-conceived images of romance to a fawning, youthful audience?

The replays of Brick's sweet lines, the ways he was there to pick up the pieces and make Blossom feel stronger, the happiness she hadn't questioned for months, was it all real? Was it truly what he meant? Or was it a way to keep her hooked? Was it enough to make Blossom feel safe to leave her heart in Brick's hands, to let it beat out and be kept in his protection?

Blossom has experienced two types of love.

One that she had taken for granted. A mellow, slow simmering love where it was built on safety. The type of love similar to a song being heard from another room, but it didn't matter because you knew all the lyrics by heart and sang along to it regardless because it was just the natural response.

Butch, despite the arguments and misunderstandings and secrets, loved her in the sense of it being innate. And Blossom had been unfair and unwilling to do the same for him.

Then there was the other love. The one built on hushed lines, scandal, and lies. Where Blossom felt she had to walk on eggshells to get the right reaction. A love that tarnished way too many of her relationships, and it had been by choice, not on accident or coincidentally. It was a love that churned her stomach lately, festering her with butterflies since Blossom has no clue where either of them stood.

Yet—

Blossom glanced over at the door to her hotel room. Someone had knocked a couple of times, gaining Blossom's attention away from the clustering thoughts in her complicated mind.

The joints of her body ached, her knees cracking with a nice pop when she fumbled to get out of bed. A vibrating rush filled her light head, blurring the room, cautioning Blossom to take it easy. She unplugged her noses, throwing the used tissues into the already filled trash bin in the bathroom by the door.

Through the peephole of the hotel door, Blossom found Brick to be on the opposite end. A brown paper bag was tucked underneath his arm.

Her heart skipped eight beats, heavy in her chest from the grouping of congestion and nerves. Those butterflies were awake and alive, screaming and demanding for Blossom to make a move.

Open the door! Open the door! Open the door!

She has been avoiding him for almost a week now. Blossom should continue to do so when being physically and mentally weak like this.

But

Her hand slipped to the doorknob, twisting it open and hoping she didn't look as dead as she felt.

Blossom blinked through the gross warmth in her eyes. "Hi."

"Hey," Brick greeted with a slow grin. There was a sense of relief wafting off of him. He presented the brown bag to her. "I bought you some soup."

Ha, he's the sweet boyfriend today!

Blossom reached for the bag, realizing it was from Panera. She grinned the best she could. "You know this is my mom's biggest competitor?"

Brick slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, leaning into his toes. The corner of his mouth was still turned upward. "I'd figured that would make it even more enjoyable."

"Thinking ahead, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely," Brick nodded.

His eyes went into the room, tracing over the crumpled disarray she had left her bed in. Then he went back to her, daring to ask the inevitable but damning question that Blossom shouldn't be in the position of being asked.

Don't let him in, her gut warned.

Don't let him into the room. Don't let him into her life anymore. Just, for the life of her, Blossom shouldn't let him in.

But those butterflies, the frenzy of them swirled around in her stomach to her chest and head. The motley of chromatic patterns on their wings blockaded her gut. Those warnings were long forgotten in favor of the dazzling, enticing swarm of butterflies.

There was the yet Blossom hadn't gotten to address. The one Brick had ironically cut her off from fully developing.

There were two loves she has experienced. One that was warm and gentle for her to trust. The other one discarded Blossom's moral compass; it was messy and maddening.

Yet, despite how foolish or imprudent it may be, Blossom would still choose the second type of love.

The euphoric rise of when things were good, jolted Blossom alive, and she couldn't part away from it. The irresistible pull to Brick had a fierce grip on her. The fireworks, the adrenaline-mongering butterflies, the disapproving advice from her friends saying she was making a mistake, the hot and cold moods Brick experiences, the potential Blossom desperately wanted to see in Brick, and the mortifying truth Brick could smash her heart into a bloody pulp at any given chance; it was all worth it to Blossom.

Blossom loved Brick. She couldn't help it.

The surge of getting to make up with him, to have Brick's arms around her again, to be able to snuggle into the soft fabric of the moss-colored tee-shirt he was currently wearing; it would all taste just so sweet.

"Do you want to come in?" Blossom asked.

The light caught his eyes when he nodded once more. "Yeah, I would."

"I would advise not sitting next to me," Blossom recommended after letting him in and returning to her temporary bed. She put the takeout bag between her legs, pulling out a paper carton full of chicken noodle soup. "Unless you want to be sick."

"I don't really care, Bloss," Brick shrugged, aloof as ever when taking up space beside her.

Oh, how she missed being called Bloss.

"Suit yourself," Blossom hummed. She opened a packet of plastic utensils, opting for the spoon.

On the television, a designer was complimenting another's fabric choice, but they were comparing it to a garbage bag in their confession.

Blossom could feel Brick's eyes were on her, but she pretended to not notice. She had missed a good portion of the episode currently playing, and she needed to catch up on what the challenge was.

Plus, what girl wanted to become more self-conscious about how they looked when they were sweating through their clothes and couldn't stop their nose from running? Absolutely none.

"Are those my boxers?"

Blossom glanced down at the plaid fabric colored in multi-shades of red and green. She then lifted her gaze, finding Brick's stare still lingering on her choice of pants.

"I may have stolen them a couple weeks ago," she confessed sheepishly.

"Huh."

His jaw twitched, and Blossom could find the burning questions waiting to be released by him. All it would take was for Blossom to initiate the conversation.

Because Brick couldn't possibly be the one to strip down to his feelings. No, it was Blossom's job to carefully remove each layer and to present them for Brick to ooh and aah over.

Blossom darted her vision to the TV, hoping it wasn't on a commercial break.

And guess what? It was on a commercial break.

She felt Brick notice it too, figuring out the same thing simultaneously. Blossom had no valid reason to ignore him without creating more problems between them.

Blossom sniffled, trying her best to ignore the instinct to wipe at her nose with the back of her hand, feeling the radiating blast of urgency Brick's body gave off.

Blossom shifted slightly in the bed, making herself view Brick.

"... I've been thinking things over," she said softly.

"And?"

"I'm still not happy with how the situation was handled." Among other things…

"Yeah, I… Yeah, I know," Brick whispered. His hand went to take off his hat, laying it on the bedspread and choosing to comb his fingers through his auburn locks. "I can't stop replaying our fight in my head."

Blossom's heart flooded with love. He sounded genuinely sad, and Blossom felt partly awful for inflicting it.

"Me, either."

"I get why now." Brick met her eyes, seizing her sympathy completely. "I get why you'd reacted the way you did and how I was out of line. I just–" His shoulders went limp. "–got protective of you."

Blossom kept her thoughts to herself, choosing to slurp on the broth of her soup instead. She figured Brick would continue on eventually. People tend to find a way to fill in silence just to avoid the awkwardness of it, and this moment needed the gaps to be few and far between.

She was proved right when Brick opened his mouth after about thirty seconds of quiet.

"And I'm sorry," he murmured.

Here it was. The apology Blossom has longed for since their argument.

And that was it.

Just a simple, plain, boring I'm sorry. There was nothing more Brick wanted to add. No flowery explanations of how genuinely remorseful he was or what he'll do to fix the damage caused.

Just I'm sorry.

Blossom fought with her response.

Should she label it as an after-thought? Was it genuine?

Blossom could ask if Brick even knew what he was apologizing for—oh, that would be killer.

She should milk it and make Brick show the absolute grief he held over the entire ordeal.

But suddenly, Blossom felt afraid.

Instability between them was a livewire waiting to strike again. It was just so easy to mismanage Brick, and Blossom didn't want for him to push away again. Blossom was frightened to use her voice and say the wrong thing—just look at what happened that last time she did.

Besides, he was being a sweet boyfriend today. He bought her soup and apologized for something. Maybe his actions today were a sign Brick could care for more like Blossom wanted to believe he had the capability of doing.

Blossom knew Brick cared for her and has for a while. It may be spotty when considering how he withholding and selfish he has been lately, but Blossom couldn't risk losing the exciting buzz of getting the good side of Brick and his affections.

"Thank you," Blossom smiled.

The flapping of the butterflies in her stomach sickened Blossom into losing her appetite. She placed a lid back on her soup, having eaten only a quarter of it.

"I called my mom."

Blossom couldn't hold back the wide-eyed stare she'd given him. "You did?"

Brick nodded once, averting his gaze from her to the rumbled up sheets of her unmade bed. "We talked last night. It wasn't the most pleasant conversation, but it was a start."

Blossom hovered her reach over his hand, hesitating on grabbing it based on what it could mean.

If she grabbed his hand, then it meant all was seemingly forgiven. It meant they were moving past this bump in the road. It meant Blossom had to employ a temporary memory of the events from the beginning of the week instead of getting to hold onto and maintaining her grudges like they were her little pets. It meant she couldn't reschedule the correct ending to this conversation when she was in a better shape of mind to process it.

Brick, however, made the decision for Blossom, gripping onto her hand to close the space. Their fingers were laced together, becoming the first display of affection between them since the night Brick punched Butch, and there was no turning back now.

"I'm glad you called her," Blossom confessed. She ignored the scratchy feeling racing along the skin of her palm. "I know it was hurting you more than you wanted to admit."

"I wouldn't have called her if it wasn't for you," Brick admitted, completely dodging Blossom's last statement like his life depended on it. "Your persistence is a hell of a thing."

Blossom hadn't noticed his apparent deflection, having been filled to the brim with pride for Brick.

He called his mom! He was making an effort! She enthusiastically told her forewarning gut.

"I'm proud of you," Blossom smiled sweetly. She then made the irrevocable action of laying her head on his shoulder.

A lightness could be found infiltrating Brick as he grinned at Blossom. "That's all I wanted."

Blossom flickered her eyes to the television, disappointed to see she had missed a whole runway and elimination by now.

But it was worth it, she reminded herself. She had Brick by her side again

Blossom, in the dark looming fears crowding her mind, did push for one disagreement to surface one last time for now. She couldn't be satisfied leaving it untouched forever.

"I want you to know I'm still not happy about you punching Butch."

"I know."

"You should apologize to him."

"Yeah… I should," Brick considered, but Blossom had a feeling he wasn't going to give it much effort. He squeezed her hand, changing the subject in such a break-neck speed it could've given Blossom whiplash. "I still like you."

Blossom flashed a smile, feeling the ends of it falter with each passing second.

"I still like you too."


"This is way bigger than I thought it would be," Boomer commented, tilting his head back to stare up at the Ferris wheel in front of them.

The capsules carrying passengers were flooded with red and purple exterior lights, illuminating the white surface of the wheel against the night sky.

"Definitely bigger than the one I've seen at the fair," Bubbles added.

Her, Butch, Buttercup, and Boomer stepped forward, waiting patiently for the group before them to step into their own capsule.

Buttercup flickered her eyes from the wheel to Butch, not holding back her disappointment. "Doesn't it go faster than this?"

Butch had let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "But it would be so metal if it did."

The four stepped forward on the platform, listening to the safety advice from a worker. They were then granted permission to enter a capsule as it slowly moved by them. Once inside, the door slid shut, encapsulating them.

Bubbles and Boomer were quick to take up space in the back of the pod, gawking over the view already despite having only gotten ten feet into the air so far.

Butch was about to join them, but he followed Buttercup's decision to sit on the bench placed in the center of the capsule.

He may have done it to avoid the mild irritation he may get from having to hear Bubbles and Boomer acting like a cheesy, old couple on vacation. Or Butch may have made the choice because he couldn't prevent himself from being around Buttercup today.

"We should've let them have some alone time," Buttercup said.

Butch glanced over his shoulder, smirking at Bubbles and Boomer. He leaned closer to Buttercup, nudging her arm.

"I don't think they mind."

Buttercup groaned loudly, witnessing the sight of Boomer and Bubbles in the middle of a make-out session. "We haven't even been on here for three minutes!" She exasperated in a hushed tone.

Butch fought back the laughter wrestling to come out of him. "Hey, let them have some fun. They usually have to put up with all of our shit."

"Yeah, I guess so. I just wish we weren't literally four feet away from it," Buttercup grumbled, glaring back at them one last time.

"You do have a point," Butch chuckled.

Slowly, the wheel turned, lifting their capsule to a new horizon. Everything about the night was melting together: the liquid black sky, the metallic tadpole stars swimming over the darkness, and the neon lights bleeding from the surrounding tourist attractions.

Buttercup looked out at the foreground as they ascended higher at a sluggish pace.

Butch's attention was split. He peered at the beyond, memorizing the confetti of lights below them and the growing distance from the solid ground. But his eyes kept getting caught on Buttercup's face.

From below, it was traced by the assorted lights; from above, it was the silver moonlight.

Butch's mind had become similar to tangled-up Christmas lights. There was so much charm and beauty wrapped in it, but it twisted all together made it too blinding to observe. It needed to be sorted out and handled with care to be fully utilized. So Butch began the process of disentangling each string until he could see the whole thing through.

They were nearing the peak. The world under them was microscopic in comparison.

Miles away from them, a firework shot up. Erupting away, jolts of color inflamed the darkness of the sky to life.

"That must be Disney," Butch mused without realizing he said it out loud. His head was more preoccupied with something else.

"Maybe the capitalistic mouse is doing something right," Buttercup marveled—no, she really did marvel for the first time in Butch's experience of being around her.

The flaring sparks dazzled across her face. Her short chin was sketched out boldly from the shadows, becoming even more intriguing to Butch than earlier in the day. The fringe of her dark eyelashes caught the exploding colors in a dewy glow. Her lips appeared too soft and sensitive for Butch to handle.

It was beautiful. The moment. The fireworks. Her.

His head was on a rampage, desperately gathering each detail of the sight. A camera shuttered in his mind. An incandescent light-bulb flashed to make sure everything became frozen for a moment, producing the perfect mental photo of Buttercup.

How could Butch not realize her beauty until now? Sure, Butch found her hot—he was a hormonal teenager, must girls were hot to him.

The uncomfortable moments from last night and this morning weren't the first time Butch has gotten aroused by Buttercup. However, they were the first occurrence of Butch becoming cognitively aware of it being because it was Buttercup; it wasn't because she was a girl, and he was a big fan of the female anatomy.

But this rush of sweet blood to his head, the rioting in his chest, the breathlessly wonderstruck feeling holding his body captive? It wasn't something Butch experienced on any given day.

If Buttercup were to move, if their skin were to make contact just in the slightest bit, Butch knew it would sprout a chemical reaction within him.

I want to kiss her, Butch thought.

He blinked. The gravity of his single tangent grounded him instantly.

Holy shit.

Buttercup looked over suddenly, and Butch whipped his head forward. "We came at the right time."

"Yeah, we did," Butch mumbled. He could feel Buttercup smiling.

Butch waited for the plunge. All day long, it has been building up with loud ratcheting, lurching forward until he finally crested the first peak of discovery. He waited for it to dip into an absolute panic that would be traveled at lightspeed.

But he gained the opposite.

There was no freefall. No total freak out from realizing that he, Butch Santos, had feelings for Buttercup.

Instead, the nerves, oblivious questions, and bumbling factors incorporated into the day had fizzled out.

There was a sunset in his veins, mellowing his reaction to the cognizance. His body was languid and light. The bright, whimsical Christmas lights in his head were sorted out, flickering with an obvious display of affection for Buttercup.

I like Buttercup, Butch gathered confidently. Hell, he may even be in love with her.

Maybe it came from Butch realizing how much he wanted Buttercup in his life. Their fight had been a floodlight, washing over every aspect of that ideal.

Or maybe it has been there, slowly stockpiling for him to notice. It was only after everything, that his feelings finally got a firm grip on Butch, overpowering him to view the fact, shouting out, "Hey, dumbass! You're missing out on a real winner right here!"

There had been the clues. His need to be around her. His want to hang out with her at any given chance. The way Buttercup had become his favorite person so quickly.

Butch had elected her to be the guide of his moral compass, the first he looked towards to clear his mind and make things feel tolerable. She has been there, not to solve all his problems, but to be a friendly face and hand to help him back up on his feet. Buttercup simply moved Butch while she was moving too.

Butch just hadn't been able to see it. Not when Blossom had blocked him from even trying. Butch has stupidly been blinded for too long, but not anymore.

Now, Butch didn't want to see anything else besides her. He didn't want to think of anything else now that he thought of her.

The wheel froze for a moment, suspending them at the top. The fireworks were coming to their spectacular conclusion, but Butch didn't care for them. Not when Buttercup existed, living and breathing right next to him.

Her hand had laid on the bench surface this whole time, gripping on the subtle edge of the curve. Subconsciously, Butch found himself placing his hand near hers. The skin of their pinky fingers brushed up against each other.

Butch took a breath in and out. He counted. He waited for Buttercup to move her hand away.

Yet, she didn't.

There was a distance to her face. The last pop of color danced along her skin gracefully. Her eyes darted over to him briefly, catching his lingering stare.

She tilted her head, giving him a funny look that was half perplexed and half flustered.

Butch relaxed, mirroring her posture, smiling at her more bashfully than Butch would've hoped for. His heart moved at a balanced pace, overflowing with a golden feeling.

Buttercup blinked at him. The rough exterior of her initial response had been eroded away. The corner of her mouth twitched upward, a shy grin similar to Butch's, captivated her lips too.

There was a small shift between them. One where everything paused for a second, and a quiet click could be heard.

Maybe, just maybe, Butch wasn't the only one feeling the weight between them.

"What's going on?" She asked in a softer voice than expected.

Butch shook his head, never taking his eyes off of her or letting his smile lapse. "Nothing much."

"You sure?"

Butch nodded once. "Yeah." His gaze fell to her lips—it took all of the willpower in him not to just kiss her right then and there—and then back to her eyes. "Today was just a really great day, that's all."

Buttercup's face lit up at this, rivaling the brightness of the crowded lights below them or even the since-ended, glow of the fireworks.

"I want to disagree with you just to be a dick, but it was actually a nice day." Buttercup trailed down to their hands. The ledge of her lips cascaded a shadow Butch couldn't stop looking at. "I'm glad we got to spend it together."

They were close, mostly on purpose and coincidentally. Somehow, Butch didn't realize how they both scooted to the center of the bench. Their elbows were touching, their bodies aligned naturally, and his pinky was overlapping hers.

"Yeah," Butch said. The body of his voice had become lost. "Me too."

There was a restrained softness to her. Buttercup opened her mouth, her lips curving to accommodate the words forming on her tongue.

"Butch, why are you—"

"Butters, can you take a picture of us?"

Butch and Buttercup jumped apart, coming to the earth-shattering realization they weren't actually alone.

But it felt as if we had been, Butch noted.

Maybe they were the ones who actually needed some alone time.

Bubbles and Boomer weren't aware of the moment they had interrupted or the flustered, wound up state Buttercup and Butch were in. Instead, they had been swept up with each other too, not risking a second to look away from the other.

Buttercup huffed out a breath of annoyance, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Butch remained on the bench, recovering from the expired moment.

He had feelings for Buttercup. Incredibly strong feelings, Butch must add. And it didn't freak him out at all.

Instead, it felt natural. It was welcoming. It felt right.

He and Blossom had been pieces of an identical puzzle, but no matter how hard you tried or how much it appeared to work, their cuts were never going to align. They were always going to be a mismatched pair.

Buttercup, however, may be his missing piece.


It had been around eleven when the others returned to the hotel. They had been rowdy coming up the elevator, having decided to extend their time together by hanging out in Bubbles and Boomer's room.

It was then, knowing everyone was back and could learn Blossom had forgiven him, was when Blossom had politely asked for Brick to leave.

Brick didn't put up much of a fight, already understanding not to test the limits of Blossom's wants.

She needs to get some sleep anyway, Brick reasoned after the fact.

He chose to ignore how Blossom practically jumped at the noise of Buttercup's voice from the other room. Or how fast she sprung away from him.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Blossom still allowed for Brick to give her a quick kiss when leaving—Brick had to kiss her. He had to firmly signify the end of their quarrel, no matter the risk.

Blossom had forgiven him, and that was that.

Brick trudged back to his room at the end of the hall, glaring at Boomer and Bubbles' door along the way. A burst of deep laughter ruffled through the thin walls when he passed it.

It was Butch's laugh.

Brick gritted his teeth together from the fact. He had hoped Butch would continue to spiral, but instead, Butch was back in everyone's good graces and enjoying himself more than ever. It was infuriating for Brick.

Upon entering his room, Brick flopped onto his bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, utterly drained from the past week.

On his nightstand, his phone flashed from an incoming call. Brick didn't even bother to check who it was.

He already knew.

When his phone halted from buzzing, Brick finally sat up, tapping in his passcode, only to see another red highlighted missed call from his mom.

There were ten of them now, each from the past week.

Brick hovered his finger over the edit option, clicking on it and deleting all of his recent call log. He couldn't risk Blossom seeing it.

So, yeah. He lied.

Brick hadn't called his mom the other night. He hasn't even considered doing it at all.

He had to lie. Brick couldn't let him and Blossom fall apart. Not when Blossom was the only thing Brick could make sense of lately.

He did what was expected of him. Brick apologized for his actions because it was what Blossom wished for.

But was he truly sorry?

Brick was more apologetic about engaging in an argument with Blossom than anything else. She wanted to believe in him, and Brick was happy to give it to her if it meant the radio silence between them would end.

Was lying worth it?

Well, Brick just spent most of his afternoon and the whole evening with Blossom. She forgave him almost immediately when he had apologized—it had been so easy, in all honesty. Blossom enabled him, believing Brick was fully able to be remorseful.

Consciously, Brick had been the mirror image of what she wanted him to be.

To Brick, lying had been the only option to fix a problem that didn't even need to exist.

Brick had protected her, what else was he supposed to do as her boyfriend? Let Butch denigrate her?

If Blossom didn't get so high-strung on her emotions about Butch that night—God, it drove Brick insane when recalling how quick Blossom had been to defend Butch—then there would've been no reason for Brick to lie.

Whose fault was it really?

Brick didn't see it as his.

One lie and some blurred explanations were totally acceptable to Brick. It saved his and Blossom's relationship. It was the perfect band-aid to cover up the nasty gash.

So what if he had lied?

Brick had gotten what he wanted. It had given back the power Brick had almost misguidedly given to Blossom. It renewed the need for him to keep up his defenses. He was in control now, and Brick felt audacious about it. There was nothing much that was going to change his opinion or try to vilify his decision.

It had been a natural choice for him. The most logical one.

Now Brick just had to keep up his lie.


Author's Notes:

This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I'd tried out some new things with my writing for this story, and I just felt good about writing for this project for the first time in a long time. This may be because of the Greens and how much they amuse me or because Halsey's new album inspired me for certain scenes (which is a fantastic, lyrical beautiful album, and I highly recommend it), but I thoroughly enjoyed this chapter, and I hope you did too.

I'm aiming to be more active in the upcoming months since I'll be home for the next foresee months since school has been moved online, and so has my job. Please stay safe and clean and practice social distancing! Sending love and well-wishes to all of you!