Fast Times

by Animalcrunch12

When a core group of six friends are preparing for their last year of high school at Townsville Academy and their future beyond it, they must deal with the most difficult task they've ever faced―each other. In a year full of drama, heartbreak, betrayal, laughter, tears, romance, and most of all, friendship, these six friends will never be the same. Rated M for language and content.

29. Dead Horse

Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday…

Buttercup had only two days to wait and prepare for it, but it felt like time progressed absurdly slow. So, when Buttercup woke up this morning, knowing today is the day, her heart may have embarrassingly fluttered a little.

Nothing has happened yet, but Buttercup already had a lightness to the air around her. Her rose-colored shades were resting on the top of her head, ready to slip down and hold her captive.

She didn't want to get ahead of herself. The jitters couldn't be vanquished easily, and Buttercup wasn't going to let go of the iron grip she had on her doubts just yet.

But it did feel nice to be excited about something.

Buttercup, who would usually be annoyed by the sophomores blocking her locker, decided to be polite and ask them to move instead of giving her signature death glare.

It was when Buttercup glanced over at the pimply blonde to her right, did she feel her feet swiftly retouch the ground as she saw something beyond her.

Down the hall, Blossom and Butch were talking. Blossom's back was to her, so Buttercup only had a limited view of Butch's face.

Her stomach swirled, and Buttercup had the same feeling from two days ago.

It hadn't been her choice to leave Butch alone with Blossom by the fountain. Buttercup couldn't not leave when Blossom had practically begged for her to.

The sight of them sitting together by the fountain, a vision of familiarity, battled any logic Buttercup tried to ingest. It hadn't sat well with her then. It still didn't sit well with her.

And now, they were talking in the hallway?

From what Buttercup could gather from Butch, he hasn't smiled once. His body language was cagey actually, gripping on the straps of his backpack, and he barely kept his eyes on Blossom, looking around while talking to her.

Was he nervous or did Butch just not want to talk to her?

But they were standing at Blossom's locker, which meant Butch had to be the one who sought Blossom out. Either that or Blossom had stopped Butch in his path to his third period.

Except, Butch's third period was in an entirely different building, in the entirely different direction of her locker.

Which, again, meant Butch had personally sought out for Blossom.

Buttercup pretended to not be affected, shoving her textbooks back into her locker and grabbing one of her notebooks, slamming the door with a little too much force than needed.

Turning on her heel, Buttercup began to make her way towards her class and to ignore whatever she just saw.

He likes you. He said he did. Just trust him…

"Buttercup, wait up!"

Buttercup stopped in her tracks, inhaling a fresh breath, and exhaling her doubts. As much as she tried, Buttercup couldn't hide the smile that itched its way onto her face when seeing Butch.

"Hey," Butch breathed after a light jog to reach her.

"Hey." They began making strides towards her next class without discussing it.

Butch threw an arm over her shoulder, pulling Buttercup closer to him. She was impressed by his boldness, and for doing it in public, but it wouldn't be the first time Butch has done it. The last time Butch held her close like this, Buttercup had been a cluster of nerves. Now, she felt calm, and maybe it had to do with knowing Butch meant to touch her in this way.

"So…" Butch flashed a broad grin, proudly showing off his dimples. "You got any plans tonight?"

Buttercup arched an eyebrow with amusement. "I don't know." She tapped on her chin, pretending to be in heavy thought. "I thought I had something planned, but I can't remember, for the life of me, what it was."

"If I may jog your obvious slip in memory?"

Buttercup nodded once, holding back the snort she wanted to let out. "Of course, please do."

"Well," Butch tilted his head, eyeing her up and down as they grew closer to her class, "I'm pretty sure your fine ass has a date with me tonight."

Buttercup ignored the warm rush of blood to her cheeks, mirroring the grin Butch held, knowing they probably looked like two idiots to everyone else around them.

"I highly doubt I would ever agree to such a thing."

"But you did, and there are no take-backs."

They came to a halt, standing to the right of the door to her next class. Buttercup's back pressed against the wall, while Butch stood in front of her, barely sparing any room between them.

"Well, in that case, I guess I have to."

A few classmates entering the room gave them funny looks, but Buttercup didn't care, and neither did Butch.

"Wow, you really know how to make a guy feel special."

"Mmhh." Butch's head tilted down a little to get a better view of the light in her eyes. "So, are you going to let me in on the date you have planned? Or are you just going to leave me in the dark until?"

"I could tell you. But I like it when you get all worked up from not knowing what it is."

Buttercup narrowed her eyes, huffing out hot air. "I'm not going to get worked up."

"Uh-huh, sure."

She rolled her eyes. "Just promise me that you're not going to do all that extra shit you usually do."

"Me? Extra? When?"

"When you were…" Buttercup paused, letting Butch fill in the gap. Butch pulled back a little from her, unable to disguise his brief frown. "You had a habit of making a spectacle out of things."

Butch regarded her skeptically, taking his time with his word choice. "That was for a different person and a different relationship. I'm going to make sure our date is something that fits you and us."

Buttercup chewed down on her cheek, holding back her overzealous smile from his small affirmations of our and us. "Okay, fine."

"Just make sure to wear something comfortable."

"Yeah, sure," Buttercup nodded as the bell rang, alerting them that they were now late for their third period.

"Then I'll meet you at your dorm tonight," Butch promised, taking a step back from her, winking before jogging in the opposite direction to his class.

---

"Have you tried rubbing alcohol?" Bubbles asked carefully, eyeing Blossom's locker with an enormous amount of sympathy.

In dark Sharpie, someone had written cheater across it, along with other phrases Bubbles would never want to say aloud. Based on the motley of handwriting, it wasn't just one person who had vandalized Blossom's locker.

Blossom nodded, shutting the door to it, unphased by the words. "I have, but it's whatever. Him is going to have someone clean it off and is going over surveillance to see who did it."

"Still…" Bubbles chewed down on her bottom lip, unsure of how to approach anything pertaining to the past two days since everyone found out. "This is a lot."

"Yeah, but at least Brick's locker got hit too," Blossom considered with a shrug. Her and Bubbles began making their way to the courtyard for lunch. "For what it's worth, they aren't falling victim to a vicious double standard."

"That's not what I meant, Blossom."

Blossom kept her eyes forward. "I know."

"How about your dad? Is he taking things better?"

Inevitably, Robin had leaked the video as she'd promised—which has led her to be suspended for two weeks and to lose the internship with Blossom's mom while gaining the promise of legal punishment from her too. According to Blossom, it has been a hot topic of discussion within her parents' inner circle.

"Yeah," Blossom answered quietly with a weak nod. "He's disappointed, but not enough to cut me off entirely like my mom wants too. He just wants to make sure I'm being safe. That I can trust Brick."

Can you trust Brick?

"That's good." Bubbles smiled weakly. "It's progress."

"Oh, definitely," Blossom chuckled humorlessly.

The courtyard was lively, most enjoying the warm weather. Some lounged underneath the shade on the large oak trees. Others formed clusters, passing around a volleyball or hacky sack depending on the group. A large flock gathered around a table by the fountain, fawning over Princess Morbucks and her return to the top of the food chain.

"She looks happy," Bubbles commented.

"It's fleeing, trust me."

Bubbles scanned over Blossom's profile, trying to peel back the hard layers that have coated her in the past forty-eight hours. She knew a part of it had to do with the truth getting out. But Bubbles had a nagging feeling it had to do with Brick. He has conveniently been ignoring Blossom since Saturday night.

"Do you—"

Blossom shook her head. "I'm sick of talking about myself."

"But—"

"Bubs, please."

Bubbles shut her mouth, waving her white flag. She had to respect Blossom's wishes, even if Bubbles found them to be an unhealthy way of dealing with things. But she deserved a break, a moment to breathe. So Bubbles gave it to her.

After getting in line and grabbing their lunch, Blossom and Bubbles made their way to the group's picnic table, finding Boomer and Buttercup already there. Bubbles, predictably, slid into the spot to Boomer's right, and Blossom did the same next to Buttercup.

"Hey, cutie." Boomer kissed Bubbles' cheek, before reaching down and grabbing his backpack, rummaging through it. "I got some chocolate bars from the vending machine for you."

"Chocolate?" Buttercup lifted a brow while opening up a can of Sprite. "You hate chocolate."

"Yes, except for…"

"Ah." Buttercup had let out a laugh, shaking her head. "I forgot."

"How could you forget?" Boomer exasperated, handing Bubbles two Almond Joys and a Kit Kat bar. "Sophomore year? Chocolate fountain at the Valentine's Day dance?"

"Oh, shit." Buttercup grinned widely at the lost memory. "It took so long getting those chocolate stains out of your dress, Bubs."

"Yes, I know," Bubbles grumbled, unwrapping the Almond Joy and taking a bite out of it spitefully. She swallowed, narrowing her eyes at Buttercup. "And what about you? You've made some highly questionable decisions during your period."

"Yeah, but most of them are just me getting snappy. That's almost normal behavior for me."

"I wish I could just be a little mean during my period, and that's it," Bubbles mused sadly. "But instead, I cry at coffee commercials and eat my weight in chocolate for the entire week."

"Those coffee commercials can be very emotionally manipulative sometimes," Boomer commented, flaring his eyes at the subject as if it was some sort of conspiracy.

"Trust me, you don't. You'll say a lot of things you'll regret. I'm just glad I won't get mine until next week. If I went on my first date with Butch while on my period," Buttercup flashed a sheepish grin, "well, I'll just say you would've been praying for his safety."

Bubbles pouted a little. "Aw, we're not synced up anymore? That's like the official sign of sisterhood."

"Please don't ever say that again."

"But-"

"Ever. Again."

"Fine."

"And could you even imagine if we'd synced up again during finals week?"

"God, that would be a nightmare," Boomer mumbled under his breath. His eyes went wide when finding Buttercup and Bubbles were both staring flatly at him. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Mmhh."

"Yup."

"Yeah, so, uh…" Boomer stood up, pointing off in the distance. "I'mma go get some more chocolate bars."

Buttercup chuckled as she watched Boomer scurry away with his tail tucked in between his legs.

"He's such a good boy."

"He's the bestest boy," Bubbles corrected proudly.

She glanced over to Blossom, finding it odd she had not contributed to anything since sitting down. The smile on Bubbles' face had faded away when seeing how withdrawn Blossom was.

Her phone was in her shaky hand, still open. She stared off in the distance without any life in her eyes, and there was no trace of color in her already pale skin.

"Blossom? Is everything okay?"

Blossom blinked rapidly, returning to the motions around her. She swallowed, nodding and putting on a forceful smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I, uh…" She stood up, grabbing her phone and her lunch tray of untouched food. "I just remembered I'm such an idiot and didn't finish my essay for Ms. Keane's class today."

"I'm sure you could get away with one bad grade, Blossom. You're already the valedictorian."

"I know, but I just…" Blossom chewed down on her bottom lip, and Bubbles could have sworn she saw tears in Blossom's eyes. "I really need to get this done."

"Okay." Buttercup shared a brief glance with Bubbles, portraying the same amount of confusion she held. "See you later, then?"

"Yeah."

Blossom didn't say anything else, having gone to a trash can to throw away her food and urgently walking in the direction of the residence halls.

Buttercup and Bubbles turned to each other, trying to piece together what in the hell happened to spook Blossom like that.

"That was–"

"Weird?"

"Yeah." Buttercup leaned closer into the table, arching an eyebrow. "You think it has to do with Brick?"

"When doesn't it lately?"

Using her fork, Buttercup poked at the mac and cheese she was having for lunch. "I saw her and Butch talking in the hallway. Do you think…"

"What? No. Absolutely not. Butch wouldn't, and I don't think Blossom would either."

"With their history?"

"It's their history why that wouldn't happen, Butters. Besides, Blossom would never want to intentionally hurt you like that."

"Yeah. It's just… What the fuck would they be talking about? And then Blossom's acting spacey again?"

"I don't know. But Blossom is going through a hard time. She might be, you know…"

Buttercup blinked in response, not getting what Bubbles was implying.

Bubbles sighed, talking delicately. "She might be reaching for a familiar crutch. Butch used to be that person for her, and if things are getting weird between her and Brick right now, then Blossom might be going backwards a little."

"So, she's just running back to him?"

"I highly doubt it. Blossom is probably just trying to find a little comfort from someone who knows how to be nice to her when she's emotional."

"This isn't making me feel any better, Bubs."

"I know." Bubbles frowned. "But if things were going in that direction, I really do think Butch would've told you. He wouldn't play you like that."

Buttercup had let out a puff of hot air. "I hope you're right."

Bubbles nodded, replaying how terrified Blossom looked. It couldn't be what Buttercup theorized it to be. There was no way.

Butch wouldn't have produced such a reaction out of Blossom.

It had to be something much bigger. Something that changed the axis of Blossom's world.

"Me too."

---

Blossom knocked furiously on Brick's door. He'd skipped his classes yesterday, and she had a feeling today wasn't going to be any different.

She was proven right when Brick, with a messy bedhead and dressed in a raggedy pair of flannel sleeper pants, answered the door. He barely even looked at her, leaving the door open enough to let Blossom know she could come in.

Blossom took a passive glance over to his side of the room, finding it more unraveled than usual. Brick was notorious for keeping his things in place, but papers and clothes were lying around without any regard.

Blossom knew it was because of her. She had ran after Butch, warranting Brick to be pissed again.

But Blossom didn't regret running after Butch. It happened to be one of the best decisions she had made that day.

Blossom took shaky steps to Brick's desk, sitting in the chair place there. She swallowed at her scratchy, dry throat. Her heart pounded in her head, and Blossom felt she could almost pass out from what she was about to say.

It couldn't be real. None of this could be real. They had been so careful—

"Hello? Blossom?"

Blossom snapped back to reality, finding Brick trying to get her attention. His eyebrows were furrowed, and Blossom could tell nothing had been forgiven from Saturday.

"Sorry, I, uh…" Blossom lowered her eyes to the pair of white Keds on her feet. "Brick, I…"

"Are you breaking up with me?" He asked hollowly.

"What?" Blossom glanced up to find Brick's eyes to be glassy. Slowly, she answered, "No."

"Then what's going on?"

"I… I, uh…"

Blossom moved a strand of hair out of her face, wishing she was nauseous enough to throw up instead of having to have this conversation. But she wasn't.

Instead, Blossom's stomach ached rawly. Cement filled her lungs, robbing her of any room to breathe.

She couldn't even remember the last time she could breathe properly. It felt like she's been holding her breath for weeks now.

"I think… I might be pregnant," Blossom confessed so quietly she barely even heard her own voice.

Brick shook his head, not believing her. "No, no, no. That can't be—"

"I missed my period last month," Blossom interrupted meekly, hugging herself. "And I was throwing up a lot during spring break."

"But we've been safe. We've used condoms every time, Blossom," Brick deflected. He tore a hand through his unbrushed hair. "And–And you were only sick. It wasn't morning sickness or–or anything else, you were just sick. That's all."

"Brick…"

"There's no way. We can't–No, Blossom. This isn't real," Brick rejected. His eyes were wide and crazed, not wanting any part in the idea.

"... There was the night when the condom broke," Blossom whispered, blinking back her tears. "Brick, we didn't notice—"

"It can't–That was only one time, Blossom. It can't… that couldn't…" Brick trailed off, his voice entrapped by an influx of conflicting emotions. He buried his head in his hands.

"It only takes one time," Blossom smiled weakly because she had no other idea how to react. Her mind was fried, unable to compute the proper emotions she should be having.

Her cheeks were soaked, and trails of tears dripped down to her neck, making her skin sticky.

"Have… have you taken a test yet?" Brick asked carefully, scrubbing his hand along the length of his face.

Blossom shook her head slowly. "I just realized I was late about ten minutes ago…"

"You need to take a test, then," Brick determined. "We could go get one at the CVS—"

"No, I'm not taking that risk."

Brick blinked at her, utterly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Haven't you watched TV based on high school? Every time someone takes a pregnancy test, it gets found somehow. And with my luck, I don't want to risk letting someone stumble their way into finding it."

"You can't be serious?"

"I am," Blossom murmured. She kept a steady gaze on Brick, his image hazy through her misty eyes. "I'll, uh, make an appointment for tomorrow. It's the only way I know we'll be safe from anyone knowing. And it'll probably give us more accurate results too."

"Yeah, okay…" Brick said cautiously.

Blossom held back the guttural sob she desperately wanted to let out.

It didn't take long for Brick to gather her into his arms, pulling Blossom into him, settling them onto his bed.

Blossom buried her head in his chest, balling his shirt into a fist. She shivered, wailed, cried, and sniffled. This had to be the universe's way of getting back at her.

Blossom just started to figure herself out and her own needs. A baby would shift everything, throwing a wrench in Blossom's own need for self-love and appreciation. As selfish as it may be, Blossom should be allowed to be. She was only seventeen. Her life wasn't ready for taking care of another when Blossom had only started to take care of herself a couple of months ago.

Blossom also had a feeling it would be ruinous to her and Brick. They wouldn't be able to survive having a baby, there was no possible way. Blossom's gut just knew it.

---

"You still don't know?" Bubbles grinned.

They were making their way to their rooms down the hall after killing the afternoon by getting some chocolate pastries at the cafe by campus to satisfy Bubbles' craving. They also crashed the last swim practice of the season, surprising Boomer with his own pastry to celebrate his successful season as a captain—the team went on to have a commendable 3-7 season, the most winningest margin for the school in decades.

Oddly, Brick wasn't there. Just as he and Blossom hadn't shown up for Ms. Keane's class earlier in the day. Which given Blossom's excuse during lunch, things certainly weren't adding up again when it came to her.

"He's been infuriatingly quiet about it all."

Bubbles nudged Buttercup's arm. "It must be something good then."

"Or it's something he knows will piss me off if I knew about it beforehand."

"Give him the benefit of the doubt."

"Yeah, whatever," Buttercup huffed out, despite the giddy nerves racking around her chest.

She followed Butch's advice, having changed after her classes into something more comfortable. A rust-colored Nike cropped top, and black leggings were Buttercup's choice of a first date outfit. If anyone were to look at her in passing, they might assume she was going to the gym and not on a date.

"What time is your date supposed to be at anyway?" Bubbles asked sincerely, but there was a gleam in her eyes that allowed Buttercup to assume she knew more than led on.

"He said he was going to be at my dorm by six."

Bubbles stopped at the door to her room, smiling softly. "Please don't overthink everything, okay?"

Buttercup nodded, her mouth bashfully twitching upward for a moment. "Thanks."

"Of course." Bubbles winked at her—or at least tried too. Bubbles didn't really know how to wink, but Buttercup didn't have the heart to tell her. "Have fun."

Bubbles went into her dorm, leaving Buttercup to head a couple doors down to her own. She stuck her keys into the lock, perplexed to why the door wasn't locked.

If there was one thing Blossom stressed about, it was locking the door. She had a lot of valuables in their room, and Buttercup wasn't going to argue with her on the necessary amount of paranoia she had.

The answer to why was quickly found when Buttercup opened the door.

Butch stood by her bed, tucking white sheets into the outer corners of her mattress. The linen draped over her desk, and most of the area separating her and Blossom's side of the room. From what Buttercup could see, a couple of sheets were spread across the ground, along with stacks of pillows.

When she still lived back home in Austin, Buttercup had used to craft forts in her living room. She and her brother had spent their Saturdays, painting and watching movies together, falling asleep, only to wake up to the smell of their mom making pancakes the next morning.

It was a childhood memory she'd once shared with Butch in passing a couple of months ago. It had been late at night, too, after a long day of school and soccer practice. She didn't necessarily think Butch had been listening. They were merely bullshitting and already half asleep that night. The sight of the sheets arranged together, building thin walls for a fort to be shared between her and Butch, contradicted Buttercup's assumption.

But it was a pleasant way to be wrong.

Buttercup leaned against the wall by her door, arms crossed with a half-smile. "So, this was your big surprise?"

Butch glanced up at her, taken aback to see her before a cool smile became of him. "I thought Bubbles was distracting you until six?"

"Butch. It is six."

Butch reached into the pocket of his black mesh shorts, pulling out his phone to confirm Buttercup was right.

"Shit. I thought I had a little more time to make things neater."

"You really had Bubbles in on this?"

"Do you realize how hard it is to keep a secret from you?"

Buttercup thought it over before nodding once. "Yeah, I can see why you made that decision."

"Well, now it's not a secret anymore," Butch grinned.

He made one final effort to firmly tuck the sheet in before making his way over to Buttercup, extending his hand out for her. He gestured back to the makeshift fort.

"Come. Let's appreciate my hard work."

Buttercup flickered her eyes from his warm gaze to the open palm waiting for her. She chewed back the broad smile trying to creep its way onto her lips, accepting his hand.

He led her over to the sheets, ducking down and showing off the hidden oasis made for them. Stacks of pillows were placed at one end, waiting to be used. A laptop sat on the fabric, decorated with a bunch of stickers—based on the cute designs, Buttercup could safely assume Butch had borrowed Bubbles' computer. Packages of various candies laid against the pillows and a large bowl of popcorn was in the middle of everything.

She and Butch crawled over to the pillows, leaning against them and resting on their sides to view each other.

"So, I'm guessing this is a movie night?"

"Yup," Butch beamed. He reached for Bubbles' laptop, booting it up. "I know you wanted something low key, and I wanted to do something your cinephile ass would enjoy."

"You got both of those things right."

Buttercup glanced around the fort, feeling the gravity of everything set in. He really put in the effort to surprise her, and Buttercup has been suspicious of him all day. It felt like self-sabotage—and god, she did hate it when Bubbles was right.

The bright glow of Bubbles' laptop flooded his face, and Buttercup hesitantly opened her mouth to speak in a quiet tone.

"Aren't you worried about Blossom walking in on us?"

There was a brief pause to Butch's movements, a loud exhale through his nose before he typed in Bubbles' password into the computer. "How do you think I got in here?" Butch asked casually. "I'd asked if she could stay in Bubbles' room tonight."

Buttercup blinked at him, baffled by the outrageous idea. But it did sort of explain what she saw this morning between Blossom and him, and why he would've sought her out.

"You kicked out your ex from her own room, just so you could have a date with her roommate?"

"Yeah, sounds awful when you say it out loud." He shrugged his shoulder, meeting Buttercup's eyes. "But then again, she did cheat on me with my roommate, so I don't think there are any boundaries to follow anymore."

"Well, I mean, yeah..."

"It's all good, Buttercup."

"It's still fucking weird."

"Oh, no doubt, but I'm here for you." He turned to lay on his back, pulling up a film, the screen black with a play button displayed. "I had Bubbles download three of your favorite ancient movies for tonight. First up, is what you've described to be a "visual phenomenon" despite it being old as fuck now."

Buttercup regarded him skeptically. "Jurassic Park?"

"Yup." He clicked play, settling the laptop between them.

"You hate this movie."

"I don't hate it. Does the first half drag on for me? Hell yeah. But it's dinosaurs, and there's some murder in it."

"Uh-huh."

"I will warn you that I won't keep my commentary to myself. So be prepared for my annoying shit-talking."

Buttercup laid on her back now, their shoulders brushing along each other. "Nothing new to me. I think I can handle it."

"Good."

They were barely into the opening scene, informative text telling them where Isla Nublar was, when Buttercup glanced over to the door. She did it again when the amber holding the dinosaurs' DNA in just a tiny mosquito was discovered. And once more, when John Hammond was introduced on screen.

Every time, she kept imagining Blossom walking through the door, the premonition of it itching and crawling all over her skin.

Butch, in the classic yawn, stretch, rest your arm around the girl's shoulder move, pulled Buttercup closer to him. His eyes stayed on the computer screen, the light catching his dark crescent moon lashes. "Why do you keep looking at the door?"

Buttercup stiffened. "It's nothing."

"You've barely looked at the computer." His fingertips brushed along her arm, the nerve-endings in her hyper-fixating on it. Like one of those globes full of plasma that shoot high-voltage currents to the surface when a hand got near it. "What's going on in that gorgeous head of yours?"

She sighed, feeling the hefty weight of her doubts keeping her grounded. "Are you sure Blossom won't walk in on us?"

Are you sure she won't ruin this?

Butch met her eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"How?"

"Because she won't." He softened, melting into the creamiest butter for her to indulge herself in, smothering up even the stalest bread into something worth devouring. "We're good."

Let your guard down.

Buttercup could hear the rattling of her armor, aged and rusted, waiting to be laid down. "Could you tell me," she paused, swallowing, "What happened at the fountain on Saturday?"

"Will it help?"

Buttercup felt like she was under a microscope, questioning if she had the right to know about such a private moment. The more she replayed the inquiry in her head, the more it sounded like her saying I don't trust you to him.

But Buttercup wanted to trust him.

"Forget I'd asked."

"She'd apologized," Butch informed her regardless, equanimous. "I told her about my regrets, and we'd agreed to be civil with each other."

That's it?

"Did you forgive her?"

"She wasn't asking for forgiveness. Just apologizing."

Buttercup lifted a doubtful eyebrow because, to her, when someone apologizes, they only do it for the sake of forgiveness. Which meant Butch had to have made a choice to accept it or not.

"I'm focused on you," Butch reassured, reading her hesitation and blowing away the smoke of it fuming her head. "I'm here."

He's present. He was right here, available for her in whatever way she wanted him to be. It was now up to Buttercup to decide if she wanted to be fully here too.

Buttercup wanted to trust him. She wanted to let go of her fears, and feel the gravity lessen as Buttercup unanchored from the ground. She needed to give him a clean slate, instead of torturing them both for his past.

She smiled. "Okay."

His hand cupped her bicep, squeezing it, and Buttercup found the nerve to lay her head on his shoulder. To retire her defenses, to feel safe enough to let him in.

The movie had progressed on to one of Buttercup's favorite scenes, the capturing of a Brachiosaurus stretching up and gracefully eating while the humans all watched in awe.

It was witnessing the first glimpse of what had once been seen as unbelievable, a chimera, only to be real. It was possible.

Unimaginable things can come true, they can become so real, everything else felt like a lie.

Buttercup had once believed her and Butch were in the same category. Just wishful thinking, something that would only make her heart beat a little faster.

But it was real. They were becoming real.

Buttercup should let herself become a believer now. To trust him. Trust them.

"You deserve to be happy and get your chance at real love."

The world shifted, glowing in rosy shades, and Buttercup began to realize how much she might like the color pink.

Bubbles told her to not overthink, to get her chance.

This was Buttercup taking her advice. Letting him calm her mind, and forgetting about Blossom and Butch's relationship, releasing her grip on her cancerous doubts for once. And she silently promised to herself that she will kiss him by the end of the night because Buttercup wanted them to finally be real.

She wanted to show she can trust him.

Because Buttercup wanted to trust him.

---

"I can't believe Princess just moved out," Blossom commented quietly when pulling back the covers to the spare bed in Bubbles' dorm and sliding under them. "Where is she even staying now?"

"After the whole Grease fiasco, she'd begged her dad to get her an apartment off-campus to help with her "recovery."" Blossom snorted softly, and Bubbles let out a giggle too at the high ankle sprain Princess had milked for weeks after the musical. "Nowadays, it's just super quiet in here. I've actually been using her side of the room for my art."

"Yeah." Blossom's nail scratched at a verdant stain on what should be a blush-colored fabric. "I've noticed the dried up paint on the blankets."

Bubbles smiled sheepishly, stretching out her arms. She laid on her side, facing Blossom, who was lying on her back. "Sorry, I'd thought I got it all out."

"It's fine." She stopped picking at it, the paint too indelible to remove. "I kind of like the colors together, anyway."

Blossom had only been in her room for about an hour, but Bubbles could tell nothing with her has changed since lunch. And her flimsy excuse about Ms. Keane's essay had been disproved by Blossom not showing up to class. It saddened Bubbles, filling her head with the idea that Blossom was back to telling lies.

That she had to have a deeply persuasive reason to lie again.

It was becoming more apparent to see each day. The water has risen higher, and Bubbles has been watching Blossom struggle to surface. Bubbles knew she needed to find a life jacket, but there couldn't be any found for the life of her. She knew Blossom needed to breathe, that she has been under for way too long.

How exactly do you react when someone is drowning, but they haven't noticed it yet? What do you do when they don't even try to fight it?

"What's bothering you?"

Bubbles blinked, finding Blossom staring at her. Her pink eyes were so soft and muted, the light not catching them quite right. "What do you mean?"

"You have that thinking crinkle you get when you're upset."

As soon as Blossom had pointed it out, Bubbles relaxed the crinkle that formed between her two eyebrows.

"I'm just wondering if you're okay," Bubbles whispered softly. "If you don't want to talk about it, I get it-"

"I'm not."

Bubbles felt her heart immediately drop. "Is it Brick?"

Blossom stayed quiet for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling. "Yeah." She laid a hand on her stomach. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Have you ever felt butterflies with Boomer?"

"No." Her answer was expeditious, producing a deeper frown on Blossom's face. "My Abuela taught me to never fall for someone who gives you butterflies. Your person shouldn't make you nervous, that you shouldn't have your heart leaping for every hint of affection."

"Then what does Boomer feel like to you?"

"Home." A warmth spread from the center of her chest, the golden energy of it palpable in the room. "He calms me, and I've always felt safe with him."

There was another lull between them, and Bubbles made friends with it until Blossom was ready.

"I-I never had butterflies with," Blossom swallowed, the phantom of Butch's name floating in the air for Bubbles to catch, "but I've had them with Brick. They won't leave me alone, actually."

"Blossom."

"Yeah?"

"I think we should promise to be more truthful with each other, even if it hurts."

Blossom had asked for that to be apart of their new promises to each other, and Bubbles knew she was about to be honest with Blossom.

And she knew it was going to hurt.

"I don't think this situation is for you," Bubbles said soberly. "It's not my decision, but I think you should've gotten out of it that night on the beach. I don't think love is supposed to make you feel like this."

For a moment, Bubbles had believed she lost Blossom. That they were on the verge of a fight.

But Blossom had gently wiped at her eye, a shallow breath escaping from her lips. "... You might be right."

Bubbles opened her mouth, the influx of comforting, soft words brushing along the tip of her tongue.

"But I..." Splotches of red livened her pale skin, like a reminder to her and everyone else to show Blossom was still alive. "Bubs, you promise me that you won't flip out?"

Bubbles creased her brows, her thinking crinkle reappearing. She didn't like how upset Blossom sounded, her protectiveness ringing through her. "What did Brick do? Did he-"

"It's what we did," Blossom whispered. Her hands covered her eyes, unable to process the sight of Bubbles' reaction. "I-I think I'm pregnant."

Bubbles didn't even have to think about it. She moved on autopilot, her feet swiftly went to touch the floor, transporting her to be right by Blossom's side, slipping in bed beside her. She wrapped her arm around Blossom, letting her head rest on her chest. Her hand rubbed circles into Blossom's back, feeling her body shutter next to her, listening to her quiet sobs.

"You'd realized it at lunch," Bubbles gathered after Blossom grew to a calm state a few minutes later.

This is what changed the axis of your world.

Blossom nodded, her wet cheek rubbing against the worn-out fabric of Bubbles' Sailor Moon t-shirt.

"And you'd told Brick."

"Yes," she breathed weakly.

"He didn't give you much of a response," Bubbles assumed because it has become easy to predict Brick's behavior lately.

"He-he denied it, then he," she paused, swallowing in a breath that couldn't be vital to her survival. None of it could have possibly reached her lungs. Because nothing appeared to be helping Blossom breathe lately, Bubbles has noticed. "He just assumes I should make the decision of what to do next on my own."

"Which is?"

Blossom sat up, shaking her head, the pink in her eyes becoming paired with a redness. "I know it's against your beliefs, I don't want to-"

Bubbles reached for her hand, squeezing it tenderly. "Blossom, don't worry about me. You have to make the choice that is best for you."

"I..." Blossom's shoulders lightened for a moment, the small wash of reassurance pacifying her. "I think I am. I have an appointment in the morning, and-and I'll find out then if-if..."

"Okay," Bubbles said gently, not needing her to force herself to say anymore.

"Do you... Do you think the universe is out to get me? Like this is its way of punishing me?"

"I wouldn't say it's punishing you." Bubbles skimmed over her carefully. "I do believe you can't control what the universe decides what should happen, only how you react to it."

Blossom worried her bottom lip, and Bubbles could see her starting to break skin, the small dot of blood traceable to point out when Blossom whispered to her. "I'm doing the right thing."

"You are. You're doing the right thing for you. That's all that matters."

Blossom, wordlessly, laid back down, resting her head back on Bubbles' chest. Combing a hand through her orange hair, Bubbles wanted to give Blossom a form of safety and comfort because that's what she needed right now. Not a long discussion about Brick or the choice she was making in the morning. She needed something simple, not another Gordian knot to work through in her chest. Because sometimes you don't need to have all the answers to fix your problems, sometimes you just need someone to lean on. Someone who allows you to breathe.

"You're so warm," Blossom murmured.

Bubbles' lip curved upward. "Boomer says I'm better than a space heater."

"He's right." Blossom closed her eyes, exhaling quietly. "Thank you, Bubbles. For listening and putting up with me. I know I'm too much and I deserve all of this-"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You're not too much. You're my best friend, you're never going to be too much for me." Bubbles' fingertips continued to weave through Blossom's thick hair. "And look, I believe in damnation and paying for your sins, but Blossom, you can't keep punishing yourself for the mistakes you've made. Everyone who matters has accepted them. I mean, look at Buttercup. And Butch was able to ask you in person to use your room. I know its hard to accept, but it's you. You need to forgive yourself."

"I thought I did. I thought I was doing better, but," Blossom clutched a hand to her chest, right by her heart. "Everything keeps unraveling, and I haven't been able to keep up with it."

You're drowning.

"Bubbles."

"Yeah?"

"I think I..." Blossom stopped. Her admission having become lost in translation, realizing it wasn't meant to be shared.

Bubbles felt her stomach twist, wringing out to pressure her into finishing the sentence. There were too many choices, too many conclusions to pick from, and admittedly, Bubbles has always hated fill-in-the-blank questions.

"You what?"

"I'm just grateful to have a friend like you. That's it."

Bubbles smiled weakly, letting the obvious lie pass by. "You would do the same for me."

"I wish I could've done the same for you." Blossom opened her eyes again, glancing up at Bubbles. "We've never talked about your dad."

"We haven't." Bubbles swallowed the lodge in her throat, a negative charge swelling through her.

"We don't have to, but if you want to talk-"

"No, we can," Bubbles cleared her throat. She wasn't going to let that man who was her "dad" continue to paralyze her. "I want to."

"Are you sure?"

Bubbles nodded. "Yeah, I should've told you and Buttercup about it a long time ago. Besides, I'm sure you're sick of talking about yourself."

Blossom puffed out a light laugh. "I'm pretty sure everyone is sick of it."

"Shush, stop being so mean to yourself."

For the next hour or so, Bubbles told Blossom about her dad. The discovery of him, her contacting him, the little trip she and Boomer took, the heartbreaking truth. Blossom had added a comment here and there, providing her empathy for Bubbles or anger towards her dad. But for most of it, she had remained quiet, just listening to Bubbles. And Bubbles got to hike up the cold mountain of grief in her chest that she never thought she would've been able to climb, guiding Blossom along with her, hoping the breathless view of the magnificent peak would help encourage Blossom to venture up the one in herself too.

---

When Butch woke up, a white-blue glow greeted him, coming from the opened laptop laying by his feet, the surface of it was overwhelmingly warm.

Butch blinked to ward away the sleep from his eyes, quickly gathering he wasn't in his room.

The laptop should've been his first indication since it was way too nice to be his.

His second indication of him awakening in another place was the soft weight pressing down on his right arm. The scent of coconut shampoo filled his senses, lightening the initial response of panic from waking up somewhere else other than his bed.

Butch shifted on to his side, finding why the circulation in his arm grew fuzzy.

His arm was folded under Buttercup's waist. Her mouth parted slightly, breathing in and out peacefully. Her body was turned to him, her fingers were balled up into gentle fists by her chest.

There was too much of her for Butch to ignore it.

Her smooth skin, faultless and the shade of rich honey. The small slope of her nose. The spread of her inky hair, dark brushstrokes against the ivory canvas of the sheets they laid on. Her eyebrows were sharp over her eyes, gathering slightly together with her rest. The light of the laptop caught her eyelashes, shadows of each strand decorating her cheeks.

Butch was paralyzed by the idea of waking her.

Butch didn't know how late it was. They had finished Jurassic Park, having moved on to their second film of the night. The last thing he'd remembered was watching Forrest Gump, with Forrest and Jenny reuniting at the anti-war rally. After that, it was all blank.

He inched up slowly, squinting his eyes through the darkness, trying to read the alarm clock on Blossom's desk. Unfortunately, Butch couldn't make out anything from the angle he was in.

This wasn't exactly how Butch had expected their first date to go. He thought they would watch a couple of movies, take things slow, and get more comfortable with the romantic turn their relationship has taken.

Butch wasn't sure if it was a bad sign that they had fallen asleep on their first date. Or if he should be feeling the empty anxiety in his gut, worrying if this was rushing things between them. Sure, they had innocently fallen asleep together. Still, Butch didn't want any negative implications to discourage Buttercup from not believing he was taking them seriously.

"Butch," she murmured.

Butch almost jumped from hearing her call out his name. He was met with her electrifying green eyes, holding his stare, piercing him.

"We fell asleep," he smiled softly.

She scooted closer to him. "Yeah, we did."

Her lips were parted, a hot breath hitting his lips, making his mouth water.

There's always the moment before it happens. Before you kiss someone new. The debate of whether you should do it or not. The twisting, weird feeling that was both aching and leery of going through with it. Tight knots were gathered together, constricting you from getting the right amount of oxygen to your brain, making everything light and hazy.

Quietly, Buttercup rested a hand on his cheek, the pad of her thumb slowly swiping across his skin.

Butch noticed how their bodies were aligned, facing each other, side by side. His arm held her in place.

There were certain aspects Butch knew were going to become ingrained into his memory for a long time. The silent questions in her eyes, more of it being, "Is this really about to happen?" than anything else. The magnetic pulse in his veins, similar to the one flowing through hers. The rosy hue of her soft lips.

Buttercup's eyes dropped to his mouth. Her hand went down to the drawstring of his evergreen hoodie, tightening its grip on the thin strip of fabric, telling Butch this was happening. Right here. Right now.

His heart thumped wildly, begging for the inevitable, as Buttercup leaned in. Her nose bumped into his, kissing him with sleepy, gentle lips.

It felt…

It felt new. It felt overwhelming. It felt not enough.

Buttercup pressed her frame against him, fisting the fabric of his hoodie now, her eager lips consuming his.

Butch rolled their bodies, pushing Buttercup into the thin layer of the sheets covering the ground. His lips moved slow and rough against the soft curves of hers, coaxing her into exploring his mouth.

Her tongue darted, rubbing along his bottom lip, causing a needful groan to rumble in Butch. Buttercup's hands combed their way into his hair, the heat of her mouth drawing Butch in more.

Butch had no chance of hiding how hard he was, or how hungry he was or his inability to think about anything other than Buttercup.

The scent of her shampoo pervading his head, the easy give of Buttercup's body underneath him, the talons of her fingernails digging into his scalp, the sweet taste of her mouth from the candy she ate earlier. Butch wanted all of it and more.

He brought his hands to her hot cheeks, kissing her top lip, biting her bottom.

Butch rested his forehead in the slope of her neck, breathing in the citrus scent lingering on her skin. He kissed the spot below her ear, paving a path to the center of her throat.

Buttercup touched her lips to his cheek, and Butch lifted his head up, allowing Buttercup to leave a kiss on his jaw.

Butch pressed his hips into hers, wondering if Buttercup felt the same aching he did. The pad of his thumb rubbed along the corner of her mouth, to her cheek, to her chin.

Buttercup watched him, smiling at his fascination. Butch mirrored her, kissing her again. This time, he was less hungered about it.

It was instead full of wonder. The awestruck feeling consumed him, unable to comprehend how Butch was even allowed to be in the same space as Buttercup, nonetheless to be lucky enough to kiss her.

She stared up at him, flawless and rosy swollen lips. Her fingertips trailed along the back of his neck, and Butch did his best to suppress the incoming shiver.

"We're such fucking idiots," she whispered.

Butch felt a subtle puncture wound from her word choice. Concern radiated off of him, wondering if they had made the wrong decision.

He swallowed back his nerves, moving a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Why?"

"Because we spent so much time fighting each other when we could've been doing this instead." Her lips broke into another smile.

Butch rested on his elbows, returning her expression. "Yeah, I think idiots is the right word to describe us."

She raised a finger to his eyebrow, tracing the ruined skin of where the childhood scar Butch had collected was.

"I'd thought it would be way weirder to kiss you." Her fingertips lingered on his face. "But, it wasn't."

"Me too," Butch breathed.

Buttercup lowered her gaze, avoiding his. "So, um… What does this mean?"

"I…"

He didn't know what it meant. Butch liked her, and Buttercup liked him. They were way better at making out than Butch could've ever predicted for them. But Butch also didn't want to rush into things.

His silence wasn't a welcoming response to Buttercup. Confusion and doubt wrote themselves in her brows.

Butch sat up, untangling himself from Buttercup, resting his head against the side of her bed. Buttercup rolled back on her right hip, staring down at the crumpled up sheets creating a valley between them.

"... I don't know." His voice was thick with nerves Butch hasn't experienced in a long time. "I know that I'm into you, and I know that I want more of this between us..."

Buttercup's lips involuntarily twitched upward, her teeth pressed into her bottom lip to prevent a full grin from developing.

"... But I don't know," he continued. "I don't know what to think or what to do. It's just a lot, and I don't want to rush things."

"You sure you like me?"

Butch nodded, the muscle in his jaw flexing because he knew what she was really implying with her question.

"And you're okay with kissing me again?"

He wished he could tell Buttercup about how he wanted that and more, but Butch knew it would be the exact opposite of taking things slow.

"Yes."

"Okay, then."

She sat up, arranging her toned legs to wrap around his waist, finding a place in Butch's lap. Her hands were tangled in his hair once again.

"You want to go slow. I want to go slow too. We can take things impossibly slow if it means we're allowed to make out some more."

"That does sound like a tempting deal."

"Good."

In the dark pools of her dilated pupils, his reflection greeted him, and Butch liked how he looked in her eyes. Worthy, wanted, whole.

"Kiss me again, Butch."

Butch took her face in his hands, the heat of her skin inflaming his palms. He brushed his thumb along her jaw, staring at her mouth. Her lips opened as Butch kissed them, catching her breath on his tongue.

She kissed him back, her hands were fists in his hair, giving his roots a violent tug.

Butch smiled, letting out a laugh as Buttercup pulled away.

"What?"

"You're so aggressive." Butch dropped his hands to her waist, rubbing small circles into her skin. "It's cute."

"And you're a lot softer than I'd imagined you to be."

"How many times have you imagined this?" His eyebrows were raised with amusement. "How bad did you have it for me?"

Buttercup blinked at him, her hands fell to perch on his shoulders. "You're really going to ruin the moment just like that, huh?"

"I tend to have that ability," he admitted sheepishly, chuckling off his nerves. "But, um… When did you know, anyway?"

"How I felt about you?" Butch nodded. She made a point to look straight in his eyes. "I don't know exactly when it'd happened. I just know I knew how I felt the day of the musical."

"Grease really had that effect on you?"

"No," Buttercup laughed off. Her nose scrunched up in the way Butch has become incredibly fond and attached to. "Grease has the exact opposite effect on me, actually."

He kissed the corner of her mouth, whispering against her lips, "Then, what was it?"

"I, uh…" Buttercup hesitated for a moment, taking in a steady breath. "I'd finally allowed myself to acknowledge what I felt. It was pretty obvious after that."

"Huh."

"I'm not entirely good at explaining my feelings," Buttercup mumbled.

A laugh bubbled off of his lips. "Yeah, I know." He pressed the tips of their noses together. "Unfortunately for you, it doesn't change what I feel for you."

"Damn, I surely thought that would do it."

"Too bad," Butch said before closing the small gap between them.

He could do this. Take things slow, savoring each moment spent with Buttercup. It was all he wanted to do.

---

There's a cruelty to the universe. Its made up of billions of galaxies. Unimaginable star systems, fiery nebulae, stellar remnants; yet, only the tiniest fraction can be seen. Its unexplored and too vast to be comprehensible, causing the human mind to short circuit when it even tries to wrap around the idea of what the universe actually is. And the chilling truth of it all, humans were just blips on the timeline of its existence.

Our individual lives feel so important, so vital to its existence, when the universe couldn't care less.

Its why when we make promises to the universe, it doesn't have to answer back. We search for signs, share our secrets and greatest fears, and hold out that the universe will take a specific interest in us, but the universe doesn't throw out bones. It only reaches out to crush you more.

Those were just a few things Blossom found herself thinking about for hours, restless and staring up at the ceiling of Bubbles' dorm room. Maybe she was being cynical, or maybe she was right. The universe won't care, and it was useless for Blossom to ask for it to give her anything but this.

She was too insignificant, too much of a lost cause, a total blip for it to give her anything kind. The universe was too big and terrifying, and she was so small and weak in comparison.

Blossom couldn't ask for signs or bail outs when the universe only wanted to give her wake-up calls that Blossom kept letting go to voicemail.

So yeah, she understood now better than ever why the universe didn't want to be on speaking terms with her anymore. She used up her free minutes with it, and now Blossom had to pay for it in iniquity.

She glanced over to Bubbles, watching the slow movement of her breathing. The trickling of rain, the low hum of pressure, thunder rolling filled the air due to Bubbles having a hard time sleeping after their talk. Rain noises calmed her, while it only made Blossom imagine herself as the storm. The type to sweep over the Earth, covering whole landmasses, blocking out the sun.

Blossom picked up her phone, reading the time. It was five-thirty, meaning she only had three hours left until the universe delivered the final blow.

She tried to ignore the thoughts of how Brick hasn't texted since she told him and left his room, but he should've texted her. He should've said more. Blossom knew it was her choice to make, it was her body.

But if this was real, if Blossom really was growing a life inside of her, it was going to be them. Half her, half Brick. He should want to have some more say.

He should've at least texted her everything was going to be okay. Blossom knew it would be a lie, but sometimes we need lies. Because sometimes, if you convince yourself they're true, they can become true.

Her entire chest caved in on itself, becoming hollow. She needed air. She needed to breathe again.

Blossom threw back her covers, putting on a bra underneath her oversize t-shirt and slipping her feet into a pair of sandals.

And as if the universe couldn't be more brutal, Blossom found herself not alone in the hallway. Butch had been leaving her dorm, leaving Buttercup, at this time of the morning. Another had opened, two doors down from her room, but Blossom didn't focus on them.

It was like he was a magnet, pointed right at her, and Blossom was coated in metal. There was no avoiding the pull.

And when Butch met her gaze, something twisted in Blossom's chest, a strangling vine.

They didn't move for a long time. Blossom watched the montage of emotions rushing through him, a movie she had viewed many times before. Except this time, Blossom shouldn't be an audience member to it. She should've left a long time ago, but Blossom has found herself holding out for another showing. Another encore.

She didn't know who moved first, maybe it was her, but they were in front of each other now, trying to find the courage to act out the next scene.

"You're up early," he said quietly.

"Couldn't sleep."

And because Butch has seen this movie the same amount of times as her, he knew. He could just sense something made the planet feel off-balance to her.

"I, uh," He cupped a hand to the back of his neck, "I'm heading the same way."

Do you need to talk?

Blossom should say no. They weren't friends, and Blossom was sure this wasn't in the realm of being the "best of exes" to each other. And his kindness still felt too much to her.

But for a second, Blossom felt able to breathe, and it was enough to convince her.

Silently, they rode the elevator down and exited her residence hall. The campus felt like the in-between of waking up and sleeping. Quiet, but the phantoms of the students buzzing around in an hour could be heard. Birds chirped pre-maturely along the oak trees, and the sky was phasing from a pitch-black to soft sapphire with the lingering presence of the crescent moon and starlight.

It felt... odd to be around Butch. To walk beside him, and not hold his hand. To not feel him checking to see if she was having a good time or smiling like he used to do.

Because that wasn't his job anymore.

"How did your date go?" Blossom found herself asking to break the quietness between them.

Butch kept his eyes forward, the tension in his shoulders incredibly noticeable. "It was good."

"Just good?"

He hesitated. "Yeah."

"I'm glad then."

Butch exhaled, scrubbing a hand along the bottom half of his face. "This is fucking weird."

"It is." Blossom shrugged. "But I'd made it weird."

"Doesn't mean I should brag to you."

Blossom lifted a brow. "You have something to brag about?"

There was an uplift to her voice, one Butch knew well. She was teasing him.

The corner of his mouth hitched for a second, his eyes meeting hers for the first time since they began walking outside.

"I might."

"Must have been one hell of a first date."

"Oh, totally. Turns out Forrest Gump is great for making a move."

"Well, it is a love story."

Butch furrowed his brows, they were so dark and full, Blossom had almost forgotten how much she liked them. "I've always thought of it as more of a funny retelling of history."

"It could be, but the core of it is about Forrest and Jenny. How they found a way back to each other, no matter the circumstances." Blossom glanced up at the sky, slices of saturated yellow were cutting through the darkness, announcing the sun's arrival. "He was the only person who never gave up on her."

"Kind of fucking blows she had to die at the end," he added casually.

"Not every love story gets a happy ending." She turned to him again. "Sometimes, it's just messy and crooked, and all that matters is that they love each other."

Butch nodded, staying quiet for a few seconds. "He was too good for her."

"You're not wrong."

"But, I get it." He laced his fingers behind his head. "She had a shit ton of issues to get through," Butch paused, "Still shitty it took having a kid for her to be ready for him."

Blossom blanched, her stomach sloshing into a pool of nerves. She didn't want to think about kids or see one or even hear the word.

And Butch must have noticed the twist in her, his face softening. She could feel it at the tip of his tongue, the are you okay? But Blossom didn't let him.

Because it wasn't his job anymore.

"I should watch that movie again," she commented breezily, despite her clammy hands and the hornet's nest that was her mind. It kept buzzing and buzzing, but Blossom couldn't understand anything other than wanting it to end. "It's the only movie that gets me to cry."

Well, it used to be. Given how easy it happened nowadays, Blossom wasn't sure if it'll be the only movie to get her to cry anymore.

"Yeah, I know." There was a slight warmth to his voice. A familiarity, a silent moment of him saying hey, I know you. Blossom wanted to replay it just one more time. "I'll admit that grave scene does get a little sweat in my eyes too."

They grew close to his dorm building, but Blossom could sense their conversation wasn't finished.

Blossom should leave now. She should resist the familiarity, the kindness he was giving her.

But Butch led them to a bench, and Blossom found herself sitting beside him. Her eyes studied him, her knees pointed towards him, while Butch kept forward, his arms folded over his knees.

The sun peeked out, the fusing of golden honey and tangerine with the blue sky, kissing her skin. Shadows of the oak trees darken the ground, monstrous and creeping over her, but if Blossom looked up at the daylight, she could focus on the warmth trying to wake up the world.

If she looked at Butch, the soft glow hitting his tan skin, Blossom found herself safe enough to let out another breath.

"Remember how we used to watch the sunrise?"

Butch let out a light laugh. "We? I had to wake you up every time for it."

"I had stayed up all the way a few times."

"Yeah, right. You'd only managed it once."

They both stared at each other, their smiles faltering, silently reminiscing. It had been on their first date, they had snuck on top of the gym's roof because, according to Butch, it had the best view. They hadn't planned on watching the sunrise, it just happened after spending the entire night talking about anything they could think of. The night had felt elastic, stretching out until the daylight came to show them how fast time can move.

"Should we leave?"

"I don't know."

He had stretched, smiling at her, the tenderness of it choking Blossom for a moment. "My three favorite words."

"My least-favorite words."

"Can't have all the answers, Blossom."

"I like to think I can."

"You know, there can't always be an explanation for why. Sometimes, its better to not know and let things happen."

And then Blossom had taken his advice, kissing him for the first time under the ultraviolet morning light, for no reason other than she wanted to let it happen.

Blossom had gone into the date not expecting to talk with Butch so much, she didn't think they had enough in common to have an organic conversation. But she had found herself listening for once. Blossom had liked listening to him, to his obscure stories, the details of him, and his attempts to make her laugh. She realized halfway through of how Butch had listened to her too. He genuinely had cared for what she had to say and wanted to know her, with no expectations added or waiting to reprimand her like Blossom had been taught to experience with those she sought affection from.

Blossom didn't know it then, but she felt a sprinkling, a collecting of stardust in her lungs, telling her that this could be what love should feel like.

Now, she could feel the ghost of that night, haunting her for forgetting about it.

Blossom couldn't even remember why she ever forgot about it? Why did she let herself forget it?

Maybe it was because she lost the rights to any good memories with Butch. Because she tainted them all.

Or maybe it was because they both were supposed to be making new memories. Butch had Buttercup now, and Blossom... She wasn't sure what she had anymore.

"I don't know," she mumbled under her breath.

"Huh?"

"I said that out loud?"

"Yeah, you did."

"Oh."

"What's on your mind?"

Blossom shook her head. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Butch mirrored her, their knees pointing at each other, any guards between them having been vanquished. The trees' shadows canvassed them, the green in his eyes almost becoming black as deep space. As dark as Blossom imagined how the universe really was. "You look..."

"A complete, exhausted mess?"

"Drained."

Blossom's already liquid stomach churned into a whirlpool. She wanted to avert Butch's gaze, but Blossom couldn't find the strength to.

"This isn't your responsibility."

"I know."

"I should leave then."

"Me too."

But neither of them had moved an inch. Because they both were too stubborn, too confused to understand what they were supposed to do. There had been a rewrite, their lines no longer familiar or made any sense.

"Do you ever feel like the universe is out to get you?" She murmured. "No matter how hard you try not to be a bad person, it's always going to have it out for you?"

"I..." Butch ran a hand through his hair, his brows creasing with the weight of his thoughts. "I don't know."

"Me either."

"I just," he paused, his stare piercing through Blossom's chest. "I don't necessarily believe the universe has a hit list. Things happen, we can't explain why, but they do. And they can be pretty fucking great-"

"And they can be pretty messed up?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "It's like, you know how people are so focused on being good or bad? You do stupid shit, like recycling or helping an old person walk across a road to convince yourself that you're good?"

Blossom chuckled. "Is that what you think qualifies for someone to be a good person?"

"No, but you know there are people who love to think those small things make them better than others."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyways, there's like this stupid point system in our heads. Like we try to determine each choice by if they're going to be perceived as good or bad, because if we make bad decisions, then obviously we're a shit person. And if we make good choices, we're a saint. When really, we're just people who are making decisions. Good or bad, we're just doing things, but it doesn't make us a good or bad person. And that's why the universe doesn't care. It just lets things happen. Good, bad, destructive. It's just fucking random. All of it."

"And sometimes its better not to know?"

"Exactly." A hint of pride flashed across his face, a glint of remembrance expressed to her. "You shouldn't focus on being a good or bad person because of everyone else or because of the universe, but focus on being a better person for yourself. Whatever better looks like in your head, that's what matters."

Blossom felt the urge to fight him. That she was, by definition, a bad person. Just look at the wreckage that trailed behind her from only the past three months. That Butch had looked at her, that night on the beach, and only saw the villain Blossom has viewed herself to be.

What if this was the universe reaching out to her? Placing Butch in front of her to share this message? It could be possible humans could have some significance after all. That blips do matter and can defy the universe's wishes. The Butterfly Effect did exist for a reason. One tiny act, one tiny moment, could change the whole course of history on Earth, and maybe even the universe.

Was this her Butterfly Effect? Or was Blossom just lying to herself, trying to convince herself that it could be the truth until it was?

But it couldn't be the truth, could it? What could possibly recourse history to make her not be a bad person?

He must have known what she was thinking, because if he didn't, then Butch wouldn't have whispered, "I don't think you're a bad person, Blossom."

In the simplest manner, Butch had reached into her, releasing the toxic bulb trying to grow inside of her. He wanted it to wilt, to decay instead of Blossom becoming apart of it. And maybe he had the right idea. Maybe Blossom needed to stop plucking at her petals, to overlook the weeds growing around her, and let the sun reach her again.

She needed to bloom again.

"I think you're wrong." Butch frowned, opening his mouth, but Blossom beat him to it. "There is such a thing as a good person. It's you."

Butch averted his eyes, scratching at his arm awkwardly. "I'm only trying to be better."

"And you are. It's..."

Blossom felt weightless, floating, but her feet were solid on the ground. The universe did have something to tell her, but Blossom just didn't know what it was anymore.

She did know this has been the most she has been able to breathe in weeks.

"It's nice to see," she said.

"Thanks." He read her carefully, tilting his head a little, and Blossom felt a small kick to her heart. "I, uh... I know that's not what's bothering you."

"It's not." The sun blazed out over the trees, flooding Blossom in the morning light, making sure she was awake even if she tried to ignore it. "But, it's not your job anymore to care."

He ignored her comment. "Are you happy, Blossom?"

She had thought she was, but the universe had to crush that immediately.

Now, Blossom didn't know. She didn't know a lot of things, more than she once convinced herself that she did. Blossom didn't want to lie anymore, but when would she stop lying to herself?

"I don't know." Blossom smiled weakly, it felt lightening to be honest. She lifted a brow, her stomach settling for a second before twisting in a different direction. One Blossom hadn't foreseen. "Are you?"

His answer felt like falling water, the gravity unstoppable against the rushing current, pouring down on her. "I think I am."

"Good." Blossom meant it even if it hurt. Because she hadn't and couldn't make him happy.

Butch sucked in a breath, exhaling it. "Whatever it is that you're going through, just know everything will be okay."

She wanted to believe him, she trusted him. So Blossom started to believe that everything will be okay.

"Thank you." Blossom tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry for dampening your morning."

"Blossom, I chose to stay with you."

"Yeah, but-"

"Maybe I'm stupid, but I don't want you feeling alone." He leaned forward a little. A warm morning breeze passed through, and Blossom felt a pang in her heart at the light citrus scent wafting off of him. He already smelt like Buttercup. "I meant what I'd said. I don't think you're a bad person. You just did some shitty things."

"That you never deserved." She nudged his arm, the warmth of his skin blistering her. "If the universe does have a hit list, know that it is serving me justice on your part."

Butch let out a laugh, shaking his head. "That's so fucked up."

"But true."

"I don't know about that."

"I don't know either."

Butch cleared his throat, glancing away, avoiding the moment they both felt creeping upon them.

"This is weird."

"You've said that already."

"Tell me it hasn't changed."

"No. It's still weird. But it's like a good weird. Like when you reconnect with your childhood friend after so many years apart? It's awkward, and you feel like you're supposed to be strangers. But then they bring up some stupid joke you made when you were five, and everything starts to feel," Blossom paused, knowing she's rambling and Butch probably didn't care, but he was listening, a light smile etching his face. "Normal."

"Except, we'll never be normal."

"And we weren't friends."

"So then are we really like that?"

Blossom shrugged, smiling lazily. "I guess it's another thing I don't know."

"That's fair." He finally stood up but stayed in front of her. "I do know I'm starving, and the mess hall probably just opened. Do you," he hesitated, the conflict in him so easy to witness, making Blossom miss how open and expressive Butch was with his emotions. "Do you want to come with?"

Yes.

"No, I'm good." She smiled politely, standing up beside him. They stood awkwardly, waiting for the other to make the first move.

And it had to be Butch because he was meant to move. He has moved.

"I'll see you around."

"Okay."

He took a step away, his eyes still on her. For a second, Blossom found resentment in them. The type she couldn't understand, but maybe it was better off she didn't.

"Everything will be okay. Just remember to let yourself breathe, okay?"

Blossom nodded, not having the ability to find her voice. She watched him linger for a second longer before leaving.

The universe had something to tell her, the message of it was scrambled and disjointed. She wanted, needed it to be crystal clear. If Blossom could declutter her mind, maybe she could crack the message and figure out what the universe wanted. Or was Blossom just trying to search for signs because she wanted to? That a Butterfly Effect could be possible. Because she may want to believe that the universe might not be as cruel as she had thought it was.

But if the universe wasn't trying to crush her, then Blossom wouldn't have gone back to holding her breath again.

---

She tried not to, but Bubbles watched her every move. From when Blossom came back to her dorm, her head floating in an atmosphere foreign to the one Bubbles occupied, to Blossom getting ready for the day. For her morning.

Bubbles tried small talk, to make Blossom feel less like a ghost to her, an illusion of a person. It didn't lighten anything. It didn't spark a light in her.

She kept moving on, her actions robotic and stoic. Bubbles could feel the breath Blossom has been holding back, and she didn't know when Blossom was going to let it go.

It couldn't be soon.

"Are you sure you don't want me to go?" Bubbles asked gently.

She was in the bathroom, brushing her hair, the bright white-light flooding around her, while Blossom sat on Princess' old bed, slipping on a pair of sneakers. The sun hid behind the trees in front of Bubbles' window, shadowing the walls of the rest of the room with its branches—the dark shapes reaching out and caressing Blossom.

Blossom met her eyes through the mirror. "You shouldn't miss class because of me."

"But I can. I care more about you not feeling alone."

"I'll be fine."

There was no convincing, no argument. No "Brick is going with me."

Because going with Brick, basically meant Blossom was going alone.

"Are you sure?"

Bubbles could see the hesitation in her, the asking if Blossom deserved to take this hand lent out to her. It was the admitting, the bringing her head up to the surface, and climbing into the lifeboat Bubbles and her friends stood on, that prevented Blossom from taking it.

And Bubbles had to accept her decision because she couldn't fix Blossom. Because you can't fix anyone when they aren't broken. Bubbles just had to let Blossom figure out that she wasn't shards of flesh and bones, to know her head didn't need to be a mosaic of stained glass and dull concrete, shattered and splintering. She needed to figure out she was whole. That Blossom has always been, no one made her that way, and no one could take it away from her. No one was going to break her, especially if Bubbles has any say on the matter. And Blossom will always be whole like she was before today and long after it.

When Blossom did figure it out, Bubbles knew she would be there to continually remind Blossom was in her moments of weakness, staying loyal to the promise she made to always be honest with Blossom and have her back. But to tell the truth, Bubbles knew it would be easy to tell Blossom when she was ready. Because Bubbles was ready to let her know and has been for weeks.

Blossom inhaled. It wasn't a strong breath, not like one of those you take before diving into the deep end of a pool. She exhaled with a hollowness and the feeble strength of her lungs, "I am."

They didn't talk much afterward, both still getting ready for their drastically different days. It was when they were about to leave, Bubbles had slipped on her backpack and Blossom had reached for the doorknob, did Blossom turn on her heel to face Bubbles.

Her eyes were filled, her chest fluttering rapidly like a hummingbird's wings, her arms clinging around Bubbles, a life preserver.

Her voice was so soft and rubbed raw. "I'm so scared."

Bubbles squeezed her, hugging her hard. "Me too."

Blossom held onto her, shaking and choking back a quiet sob. And Bubbles let her until Blossom didn't need to anymore, holding on tightly, feeling Blossom's pounding heart against her chest, wishing she could pump enough air into Blossom's lungs to give her the courage to breathe again.

---

Brick hated doctor's offices.

The stiff air, the fluorescent lights, the television stuck on a movie's title screen begging to be played as the same six snippets were shown on a loop. The dusty houseplants, lumpy seats, and outdated magazines. Then there are the other patients who lacked the consideration to cover their mouths or avoid touching literally everything despite being obviously sick.

Those doctor's offices were the ones Brick has grown accustomed to visiting and loathing.

Not the one Blossom had scheduled her appointment at. He should have known given why they were there, but it didn't cross his mind what she meant until they'd arrived. They were early, having avoided the hecklers that were sure to arrive in an hour, ready to abash anyone who was using their right to choose with their picket signs and louder voices.

Illustrations of the women's reproductive system hung on the walls. Pamphlets were neatly stacked on the side tables in the waiting room, and there was a faint smell of a floral air fresher.

Brick didn't abominate this office. Instead, it scared the shit out of him.

Blossom didn't say much on the Lyft ride to the clinic, keeping to herself then and now as she wrote down her information on a form attached to a clipboard.

Brick imagined what he could say to make her feel better. Everything will be fine. It'll be over soon. You're making the right decision.

But what if Blossom changed her mind? What if she was pregnant, and decided at the last minute this was what she wanted? Brick didn't want to assume, he figured Blossom wouldn't, but what if she did?

He would be absolutely fucked.

Brick was in no way, shape, or form ready for... that type of commitment.

In his consumption of scientific research throughout his youth, Brick had once learned about an event horizon. It was a theoretical boundary, a terrain in spacetime that's created when a massive object, say a black hole, has the gravitational pull that's so great, nothing can escape from it. Not even light.

It's the point of no return. You can't escape once you're pulled in by the black void. You can only face it.

But what happens if you're too stubborn? When you don't want to face it head-on and stay ignorant? Brick may have found himself captured in an event horizon with Blossom, the point of no return for their relationship. Yet, Brick wasn't ready to face it.

Blossom. Their mistake. The possible result of it. The fear of becoming a mirror image of his parents' mistakes. Himself.

Brick was sure Blossom wasn't ready either. She had her own shit to go through, and Brick couldn't imagine having to handle her and... the impossible.

He couldn't carry her and whatever they did, or the weight of their relationship. It would be another thing sucked into an event horizon.

He wasn't meant for this. This being his mortification. Nothing, literally, nothing has made sense to Brick in the last few weeks. Blossom was the last thing he could hold on to, the last thing Brick had any say about. Now, Brick wasn't sure if he had anything.

Blossom reached for his hand, squeezing it, and for a second, Brick considered if he should've been the one to make a move to reach out for the other. A soft smile, way too kind for Brick to deal with, was shared with him.

"You look tired," she murmured to him.

God, how could she want to talk right now? The last thing Brick could fathom was having a conversation here, talking about nonsensical shit, and waiting for the absolute rug to be pulled from underneath them.

"I didn't sleep much."

Blossom sighed, her head leaning against the beige wall behind them. The lighting did no favors to hide the eggplant-colored circles under her eyes. "Me either." She paused before saying, "I'd forgot how Bubbles likes to play rain sounds when she can't sleep. It kept me up all night."

Brick stayed quiet for a second, processing why her comment made no fucking sense at all to him. "You can hear that from down the hall?"

"No, I'd slept in her room last night."

"Why?"

"Because I did?" Blossom regarded him tiredly, another sigh leaving her lips. "Please don't make this into another thing."

"I'm not," he whispered back to her harshly.

"You are."

"It's just fucking weird."

"How?" She let go of his hand, using the base of her palms to massage at her forehead. "Please, Brick. Tell me how exactly it is?"

"Because," Brick paused.

It was like a chemical reaction, the answer bouncing from cell to cell until it detonated in his brain with vicious, resentful shades of green and red. And Brick, with his overtired, paranoid, and prideful mind, felt it was intelligent enough to say it out loud. His eyes slanted at her, an accusing fire fit for a witch hunt burning behind them.

"Butch didn't sleep in our room last night."

Blossom's mouth slacked a little, shocked for a second or two before a dry laugh puffed out into existence. "Are you kidding me?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you've run back to him."

"Oh my god," Blossom said under her breath. She shook her head, staring at Brick as if he was the stupidest fucking person alive. A swell of baffled air fell out with her words, "Do you realize there is no running back to him, right? Because I threw away any chance I could've had with him for you."

"So, if you had the chance still, you would have?"

"That's what you got from that?" Blossom couldn't keep back another wry laugh.

Brick flared his teeth, whispering back hotly at her, "It's the subtext of it."

"Do you realize where we are? Why would I try rekindling something with someone I'd cheated on when I have to spend my morning here, Brick?"

Okay, Brick had to admit she had a point there. But it wasn't enough.

He still saw it all. Her defending Butch on spring break. Her having the audacity to suggest for him to apologize to Butch. Her prioritizing Butch on Saturday.

Butch, Butch, Butch.

That's all Blossom has chosen lately.

What happens if Blossom changed her mind?

She had made Brick believe she had chosen him, but what if Blossom didn't? What if Blossom has been deciding between them still, only to finally realize she wanted Butch back?

"You're already there. You're already losing her."

Brick has come to understand Butch had been egging him on then, but what if Butch had been right?

Blossom was starting to feel like an hourglass to him, the grains of sand in her falling faster and faster.

His time with her was running out, wasn't it?

"Why don't you just say it?" Blossom huffed out.

Brick scanned over her, noting how she had scooted to the farthest edge of her chair from him. "Say what?"

"That you don't trust me. You've made it pretty clear you don't lately."

"Can you blame me?" He could feel the woman behind the check-in desk watching them, but Brick pressed on. "Look how we'd started."

Blossom blinked at him, water growing in her eyes, but she didn't let it fall. And thank fucking god she didn't. That's all she did lately, cry and sniffle, get red-faced and stir up emotions of guilt just to make Brick feel bad. It was always something, and Brick has found himself getting exhausted with it, bored even.

He couldn't carry her. He couldn't make her feel better anymore or fix the brokenness Brick found in her or stop her from being a blubbering mess half of the time.

For a half-second, Brick wished it was hormones enraging her, making her constantly emotional. Otherwise, this was getting pathetic.

"Which was a start that you wanted."

"And what a mistake that was for you, right? Because I ruined any chances you have with Butch, huh? Can't go crying to him anymore."

"I never had to cry with him."

Brick let out a sarcastic laugh. "That's because you never could be real with him, and now I get why. He would've never wanted to put up with you. Just like everyone else. You were right to put up that little facade you had going on." And because Brick had no self-control, he went for the jugular. "Your mom is right about you."

Blossom glared at him. Her face twisting into the nastiest expression Brick has ever seen from her, and for a moment, Brick regretted all of it. What he'd said, getting involved with her, moving across the country. Every single second spent these past seven months.

"I'm so glad that I'm here," she practically snarled. "So glad that if I am pregnant, I don't have to be attached to you. That I know I'm making the right choice, on my own, because you didn't even want any say in it."

"It's your fucking choice!" Brick whispered, saying it with his chest. "Why would I have any say in it-"

"Because this is us, if it is, it would've been us." A tear rolled down her face, and Brick hated that tear with every ounce of strength in his veins. "And I know what my decision is and will always be, but god, Brick, this is so hard on me, and you don't even care. You're not here."

"I can't carry you." She blinked at him, his words settling in, a devouring wave taking her whole. "You should learn to walk on your own because you're starting to weigh me the fuck down."

And there it was. The engulfing black hole coming upon them, an event horizon, the vision of them inching closer.

"Don't say any more things I can't forgive you for," she promised.

"Oh, cool." Brick nodded once. "I'm the bad guy. Nothing new there."

"I'm such an idiot." A door opened, and Brick could hear a nurse and the nosy check-in lady whispering to each other. "You know what I'd thought about when we got here?"

Brick swallowed, suddenly having lost his voice because he knew. There's always a specific energy, the breathless pressure of when someone was about to fire your ass up.

"I'd thought about how if I was going through this with Butch, he would've held my hand on the car ride here, and he would've never let it go the entire time. He would've asked what I'd wanted to do, he wouldn't have just assumed. He would've wanted it to be a decision we would make together. He would've told me everything would be okay about a thousand times by now. He wouldn't have given himself points for just showing up because there's a difference between physically being here, Brick, and being emotionally here."

Blossom lifted her chin, watching him with insignificance, and in Brick's eyes, she might as well have slapped him. "But you're not mature enough, and I need to stop pretending you are. Because, Brick, you're just an insecure, emotionally-stunted little boy who's too busy trying to prove you're not your dad. But you already are. You only know how to hurt people, just like him."

The point of no return.

This was it. There was no way back after she damned him like that.

Her words were a lashing straight to his chest, a pain Brick has never been inflicted with nor could explain in any vernacular given.

"You don't mean any of that," Brick rejected hollowly, not recognizing the wounded way to his tone.

Blossom, with the blood in her veins freezing over, the frigidness of it masking her voice. "I do. I meant every single word."

"So, what?" His Adam's apple bobbed, a dry lump suffocating him. "Do you just want to break-"

"Rosemarie Blanchette?"

Both of them turned to the brunette woman with a clipboard in her hands, and then to each other. Reality sinking back in them, getting reacquainted with where they were and why they were there.

Brick felt the need to reach out for her, to give her the sense it will be okay because he did still care about her. Because he wanted to prove her wrong. He could be and do better than Butch at this moment.

But Blossom snatched her hand away, standing up. She glanced down at him, and he could feel how much Blossom wished he wasn't there. That she wished he was Buttercup and Bubbles.

How she would have been better off coming alone.

"Not that it matters, but Butch was on a date with Buttercup last night," Blossom whispered frostily to him. "He's moved on, and I'm trying to move on too. It's not us that's the problem."

It's you.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his heart sinking into his stomach.

"That's not good enough, Brick." Blossom gave him one last read over. "Not when you weren't even sorry the last time."

She left before Brick said anymore, disappearing behind a door with the brunette who wore purple scrubs. And Brick came to the sudden thought of how it wasn't them both caught together, pulling into the black hole.

It was only him.

---

"So," Boomer sang, an excited grin pulling at his lips as he slid into the seat in the back of the first period classroom he shared with Butch. "How did last night go?"

Butch eyed him, silently calling Boomer a weirdo with his look. "You hang out with Bubbles too much."

"Well, yeah. She's my favorite person. Now," Boomer gestured for Butch to go on, "How did it go?"

"It was good." He flashed a big, crooked grin before pulling out a notebook from his bag. "We'd watched some movies, and then we made out pretty hard."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that was mostly it."

Boomer rolled his eyes. "You're such a guy."

"And so are you," Butch said along with a light snort.

"Yet, I can tell you the exact details to my dates with Bubbles."

"That's because you're obsessed with her."

Boomer turned up his nose. "I like to think of it as being her biggest fan."

Butch snickered. "Okay, Boomer."

"Not funny." Boomer narrowed his eyes for a second before letting it go. "So, are you going on a second date? We could do a double date."

"We didn't talk about it." Butch lowered his voice, an influx of glimmering stardust in his eyes as their biology teacher began the day's lesson ahead of them. "Taking things slow, remember?"

"Right, but don't you think you should've asked?"

"I'll let Buttercup ask this time." His face was rapturous, smirking. "She likes to be in charge."

Boomer grimaced. "Gross."

"Get your head out of the gutter. We didn't do anything serious."

"Still gross."

"Hey, you encouraged this."

"Yeah, I know."

Boomer's eyes drifted to the front of the class, writing down some of the notes and doodling cells during mitosis. He felt Butch's eyes on him, infrequently coming back to him. The text bubble above them waiting patiently to be filled already.

"Hey, um... Has Bubbles told you anything about Blossom?"

Boomer pressed his pencil harder, the lead breaking into a shifting mess of graphite. His drawing smudged, surely ruined now.

Bubbles did tell him about Blossom, having sworn him into secrecy during their morning meet up by the fountain. He wished he could reach out to Blossom, to hug her, and tell her how fucked up this all was. Because that's all Boomer could describe it to be.

Boomer glanced up to meet Butch's eyes, flashing an aloof smile. He wasn't supposed to know, and Boomer was definitely sure Butch wasn't either.

"What do you mean?"

Butch flicked his eyes around them, looking for any eavesdroppers, but with finals coming up, no one was going to risk not paying attention. Everyone except for Boomer and Butch.

"I, uh, ran into her this morning, and she seemed out of it." He met Boomer's gaze, and...

He knew.

There was no way Butch didn't know. The best and worst thing about Butch was his lack of a poker face. And there was no hiding that Butch had figured out what was going on with her.

"She's just been sick lately," Boomer shrugged off, keeping a lightness to his voice. His stomach curled, wishing he didn't find himself keeping another one of Blossom's secrets.

But Boomer finally felt this was a secret worth keeping.

There was a brief glint in Butch's eyes. The red string in his mind hard at work, piecing together the evidence.

"Right." He nodded once, pretending to write something down in his notebook as their teacher searched for someone to answer her question. When the coast was clear, Butch turned back to Boomer, whispering, "Do you think it's serious?"

"Why do you care?"

Boomer had to deflect. Butch had set him up with that question, and Boomer needed to find a quick way to evade it.

Butch slanted his eyes, staring flatly at him.

Yeah, Boomer should've known better. Scorned or not, Butch had too much of a good soul to not be concerned.

"She should be okay," Boomer eventually said, brushing away the leftovers of his broken lead. The metallic coloring stained the back of his hand, like long and wide sprinkles, and Boomer felt a piece of armor guarding Blossom's secret fall off. "Bubbles said she's going to the doctor's today."

"That," he paused, "That makes a lot of sense."

Boomer regarded him cautiously. "Did you talk to her?"

"For a little, yeah."

And did she say anything to you?

But Boomer didn't need to ask that question.

If Blossom had told him, they would be having an entirely different conversation.

Blossom and Butch, they were complicated to understand. They've been so out of orbit with each other, rotating in opposite directions, picking up new objects to satellite around them, that the stars and charts didn't make sense anymore. But there was always someone who tried to decipher it, to find the significance of the patterns and how it might decide the future. They were a working theory, not a sound science but there was a reason why they were a theory, even if the explanation felt too clunky and implausible to grasp in one or two sittings by a non-scientific mind.

But then again, how exactly do you understand something that felt so broken beyond repair?

"Are you trying to be friends again?"

"We were never friends, to begin with. But I don't know." Butch sighed, slouching back into his chair. "I should probably stop talking to her, anyway."

"Because...?"

"Buttercup keeps bringing her or our relationship up. I don't want her getting the wrong idea."

Boomer's mouth hitched downward. "Does she have a reason to?"

"No, not at all." The sincerity in Butch's sentiment let Boomer know he was telling the truth, and Boomer let out a quiet breath of relief because of it. "I just want Buttercup to trust me."

Boomer nodded, cringing internally when noticing how much of the notes he'd missed out on. He was definitely going to have to copy them from someone else afterward.

He glanced back at Butch, hesitating. "I'll let you know what Bubs says if you want."

Butch sat up, shaking his head. "It's none of my business anymore."

"You're allowed to care, Butch." He kept his gaze steady on him. "You're not some fool or dumbass for being a good person."

"I don't know." He averted his eyes, his brows creasing with confusion from the material on the board neither of them understood anymore. "I just wish I had all the answers for once."

Boomer pressed his lips together, wishing he could do more because Butch should be able to do what he wanted. To be with Buttercup, to care about Blossom. They should work hand-and-hand, not generate conflict. His kindness shouldn't be seen as a weakness or a mistake or charged with suspicion. It was just him.

"I want to help you find one, but I don't know what I could do."

"I know."

---

Buttercup has never been this high up before. She couldn't stop looking up from the clouds she was walking on, becoming acquainted with the light pink sky. The sunshine she could taste and feel, the warmth spreading and lightening her.

She and Butch were going to take things slow, so Buttercup might as well luxuriate in the golden feeling. She felt safe enough for once to.

For another morning, Buttercup felt to be pleasant, not getting pissy with those obnoxious sophomores who still haven't learned to not block her locker seven months into the school year. It was shocking to feel, to have a positive charge jolting through her.

Buttercup liked to believe she was a realist, but the truth of it was she's really a pessimist who tried to deny her optimistic heart. And the innocuous thrill Butch has brought her, uncaged that sanguine part of her.

Am I wrong to?

She only asked herself the question while switching out her textbooks, before brushing it away. Buttercup wanted to trust it. She wanted to trust Butch.

With the closing of her locker, Buttercup turned on her heel, only to be blocked by a fiery nightmare.

"Buttercup," Princess purred out with a sly grin to match that of the Cheshire Cat. "Trishelle told me that you had a little visitor in your room this morning."

Shit.

Trishelle lived two doors down from her and went on a stupid jog every morning around the time Butch had left her room. Stupid fucking Trishelle.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Buttercup grumbled, taking a step to get around Princess, but it wasn't effective.

"I must say I'm impressed with your commitment."

Buttercup stared blankly at Princess, imagining how nice it would be to just punch her face. She had such a punchable one already, it was just begging for it practically all the time.

Princess reached out for Buttercup's hair, twisting it around her finger until Buttercup slapped her hand away.

"Don't fucking touch me."

"Come on, Buttercup. We're friends now."

"We had one decent conversation at a soccer game two months ago. That doesn't change the fact that I hate your annoying, privileged guts."

"Oh, well." Princess shrugged it off, her grin growing wider. "But we still have a common goal."

Buttercup blinked at her, the obvious WTF read off from her face.

"Has she lost her shit yet? Did she cry, Buttercup?" Princess looked at her like an addict, and Buttercup was her dealer, dangling her choice of drug, debating on whether to give it to her or not. "I'd heard she saw him leaving this morning."

And that's when Buttercup understood what this was all about.

It was about Blossom, because, of course, it's about Blossom. Why would anything be different?

"Blossom and I are cool again." That's all Buttercup felt like giving her because it was none of Princess' business to know her shit involving Blossom or Butch. "So drop whatever bullshit theory you have going on in your head."

Princess snorted, a dry laugh leaving her glossed lips. "Huh." She tilted her head, laughing a bit more when shaking her head. "I didn't think he had the balls."

Buttercup furrowed her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Butch," Princess filled in. "Why else would he be messing around with you? Blossom's best friend and roommate?"

"You think he's using me?" Buttercup scoffed, her chest hollowing at the thought.

Slowly, she felt the cloud underneath her beginning to dissipate. Each tiny, fluffy piece floating up and flying away, teasing her with the impending freefall back to Earth.

She wasn't as safe as she had believed, was she?

"Obviously. It's all right there." Princess scanned over her face, and for a second, there was a spark of sympathy behind the dark pools of her eyes. "It's just a game, Buttercup. He's only ever going to want to play with her."

"No." He'd said he liked her. Buttercup wanted to trust him. "You're only trying to start shit because you're bored."

"Be blind to it, but we both know what's going to happen. She always wins somehow, and it'll eventually be shown Butch is just using you to find a way to get back at her." Princess lifted a brow, a flash of a memory burning through her mind. "When she spoke at Robin's party, Blossom did look for him in the crowd. Not Brick. You don't just do that for someone you don't care about anymore."

Buttercup opened her mouth, but her voice had been snatched from her throat.

It wasn't Princess.

No, it was Buttercup's doubts weighing her down, allowing her to fall. How could she have possibly allowed herself to believe Butch actually liked her?

It's always been about Blossom for him. Why would anything be different?

Princess did the best possible thing for Buttercup. She took her rose-colored glasses straight off and smashed them for Buttercup to see the truth she already knew. It was a killer, but Buttercup couldn't leave it alone. She had to take the bitterness of it, the stinging on her tongue, and become friends with it because that's the only thing Buttercup should believe. Not Butch or Blossom, or their twisted game. Just her gut, who saw through the sugar disguising the acid she has been convincing herself to drink.

There was no logical reason for how Butch could forgive Buttercup so easily without a motive. Buttercup had the sinking feeling of it for days, it screamed at her to connect the dots. And now she did because Butch saw the opportunity and seized it. He knew Buttercup would be too much of a fucking mess. He knew how on-and-off things have been between Blossom and her. He saw the avalanche waiting to happen that was Blossom and Brick's relationship. There couldn't have been a better set-up for him.

"It's always been them," Princess said for her. Buttercup hated that Princess Morbucks, of all people, could be capable of pity, and Buttercup has found herself on the receiving end of it. But Princess knew better than anyone else what it felt like to come second to Blossom, time and time again. "Maybe we've all gotten played with. You, me, Brick."

Buttercup shook her head, no longer able to hear anymore.

There's no way. Blossom and Butch, they couldn't...

What was worse? Butch using Buttercup as revenge or the possibility that he and Blossom were never really over? That they had enough love between them to heal the scrapes and bruises their relationship has taken?

She has spent enough time with Butch to know he would never stop loving Blossom. That you don't just go from months and months of back and forth, of wanting someone and being triggered by them in any way, to flipping it off like a switch. It wasn't even a month since Butch got paralyzed by seeing Blossom and Brick dancing together during parents weekend. You can't bounce back that quick, no matter how destructive the secret that had kept Butch and Blossom apart was. Because when you think about it, chaos and love are sometimes the same thing. It's reckless, consuming, messy, inexorable.

He will always love her.

And Blossom...

Bubbles had said Blossom was looking for familiarity, but what if Blossom was searching for something else? She finally reached a dead-end, realizing the mistake of the detour she had taken with Brick, only to turn back. And turning back only meant rejoining the path Blossom had abandoned Butch on.

That's why she'd chased after him at Robin's party. That's why Buttercup got sick to her stomach when seeing them by the fountain. The intimacy, the familiarity, the unspoken love. It was still there, all for Blossom to take whenever she wanted it.

What happens if Blossom changed her mind? When she comes to realize it should've been her and Butch all along?

Because that's what it had to be. Butch and Blossom. They were inevitable, weren't they?

Of fucking course they were.

Buttercup was coming down to the ground, hard and fast.

And then she heard it. His fucking laughter from down the hallway. His dumbass grin and infuriating voice probably spilling out more lies to Boomer.

Buttercup pressed her nails into her palms, clenching her fists.

"I like you, Buttercup. Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard?"

Turns out, it was. Hindsight can be a real bitch, huh?

Buttercup forgot about Princess, or how her heart caught on fire, only to be charred into ash. She ignored the classmates who were maddeningly stupid for not knowing to get out of her way. All Buttercup focused on was wanting to rip Butch's head off.

It'll be the only rightful trophy for enduring his little games.

His mouth hitched up more when Butch had spotted her, his eyes so soft and open. I could've loved you, Buttercup thought for a brief second, forcing herself to reconsider everything.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Buttercup found almost every reason in the book to not trust him.

Because Buttercup didn't want to trust him. She's been ignoring it, filling her head up with lackluster rainbows and eating cheap glitter, only to realize she couldn't force herself to trust him.

"Hey, Buttercup. Tell Boom-"

Buttercup slammed him against the lockers, balling up fists with the collar of his shirt. "I'm going to skin you alive."

"What the fuck, Buttercup?" Butch rubbed at the back of his head, wincing. "Jesus fucking Christ, am I just a punching bag to everyone lately?"

"You're about to become mine," she threatened, tugging him forward and slamming him back into the lockers with more force.

"Okay, we're not doing this," Boomer said cautiously, prying Buttercup's hands from Butch's shirt. All eyes in the hallway were on them, including some teachers.

Butch's eyes flared at her, his confusion evident, stroking more at the fury in Buttercup. "What the hell has gotten into you?"

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"You're literally one of the smartest people I know." Butch took a step forward, Buttercup took a step back. The piercing of it shadowed his face. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Uh." Boomer clipped Butch's shoulder, but he wouldn't remove his stare from Buttercup. "You might want to take this somewhere else."

"Make sure to get notes for me," Butch mumbled out. He then took Buttercup's wrist, dragging her to the nearest empty room, which happened to be the chemistry lab. The lights were turned off, the blinds were drawn down on all of the windows except for one towards the back, providing only a sliver of natural light in the dim room. Closing the door behind them, Butch let all of his frustration spill out. "Okay, what the fuck? What's gotten into you?"

Buttercup crossed her arms, leaning back into the corner of a table. She kept her eyes on the blackboard filled with illustrations of chemical compounds. "I know about your stupid little game."

"What game?"

She almost cringed at how agitated his voice sounded.

"Oh, I don't know. The same one you've been playing for months with Blossom."

"Are you kidding me? What the hell happened between four hours ago and now?"

"Only that I've realized that you've been using me-"

"Why would I do that?"

"Isn't it obvious? To get back with Blossom!"

She could feel his eyes burning into her, she could imagine the look on his face that dared to frame her out to be the stupidest person alive.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice was calm, the quiet wrath brimming right below the surface of it, lurking closer.

"It's not like you haven't already done the most to get back with her-"

"She fucking cheated on me!" The strain in his voice almost made Buttercup glance over at him because Buttercup knew she was hurting him now. But if she did, then Buttercup knew he would rope her in again. Somehow, someway.

"Her cheating on you is the only reason why you even started liking me."

"That's not true, and you know it."

Buttercup pressed on regardless. "Tell me, Butch. If Blossom wanted you back, you would jump at the opportunity. If she and Brick broke up right now, you would-"

"I like you, Buttercup. I-"

"But you love her."

Buttercup forced herself to look at him, to get the answer she needed.

He looked so much like a little boy, scared and confused. So unsure of himself.

Buttercup lifted her chin, looking him directly in the eyes. "Tell me that you don't love her."

"Buttercup..." He was barely audible to her, and the silence that followed was devouring.

But Buttercup could fill in the gaps for him.

He couldn't.

"I'm done." Buttercup went for the door, but Butch blocked her. His hands gripped her wrists, pressing his fingers into her skin like claws, so different from how he had touched her only a few hours ago.

"It's you," he murmured before swallowing. "Stop overthinking this. Stop trying to ruin it."

"No. It's her. It's always been her. I know you're not over her, and that's a huge fucking problem for me."

"Then why did I go on a date with you? Why did I kiss you and think about how you're what I want?"

"Because you're lying and vindictive and looking for any way to piss on me and Blossom and Brick-"

His grip on her tightened, to the point Buttercup could feel her circulation pulsate, her poor optimistic heart crying out for her to shut up. "Do you honestly believe I could be so fucked like that? That I would purposely hurt you-"

"I think you're angry-"

"I'm not angry anymore." His eyes felt like soft charcoal, darkened and so easy to break under the right pressure. "I haven't been since I'd started thinking about you and I." He leaned forward, skimming over her. His voice tender and warm, a blanket to comfort her, but Buttercup would rather test her luck with the cold. "This is all in your head."

"No. This is in my gut. You," Buttercup paused, Princess' words suddenly coming back to her, a revelation Buttercup had looked over at first. An obscure answer that made her theory feel like a law. "She saw you this morning."

Butch stayed quiet, nodding. There was no hint of regret or shame—just a confirmation to a fact.

"And what? Did you just ignore her? Or did you feel the need to boast in her face?" Buttercup slanted her eyes further. "What did you say to her, Butch? Because I know you wouldn't have been able to resist her."

Buttercup could hear the scuffing of shoes and the chattering of her classmates in the hallway as Butch regarded her carefully in the dim lighting. As if he was searching for a secret in her that Buttercup didn't even know she was keeping from him.

"We'd talked, yeah," he finally said steadily after coming up short in his search, before neutrally adding, "She's not in a good place."

Buttercup snorted. "When isn't she? Her life is miserable and draining all the fucking time. It's nothing new."

Butch blinked at her, and Buttercup could just feel how much he didn't like what he saw coming out of her. Jealousy, apparently, didn't wear well on her. Who knew?

"Dude, she's also your friend."

"And she's your ex who cheated on you."

"Yes, thank you for throwing that in my face. It's not like I constantly have to remind myself of that every day since I've found out."

"Why do you have to keep reminding yourself, huh? Because it's the only thing keeping you from her, right?"

She could feel it already. Her losing him. She knew she was lashing out like a wounded animal, and he may not deserve it... But what if he did?

All Buttercup could process was to hurt. Hurt him. Hurt him before he could hurt her. Like he already has hurt her, back on that beach in the Turks and Caicos. Hurt him like he was currently hurting her.

She didn't stop to think about how she could be the sole reason for why her heart was nothing more than a pile of ash, or why the sky she was falling from shifted from a dreamy soft pink to a ghastly dark gray. The sun was retreating away because she didn't deserve the warmth anymore. It was never hers to lavish in, anyways. It was too perfect, and Buttercup could never hold onto anything perfect without wanting to destroy it.

So she continued to demolish them, to build up her defenses because he got too close to causing her to lose control. She won't stop, not until they were just two ghosts to each other.

Butch slowly unpeeled his hold on her, letting her hands fall. "Or maybe I got my heart fucked with, and I can't help picking at the wounds of it sometimes. Because, maybe, I'm not some heartless prick you're making me out to be."

His voice was so soft, juxtaposing with how deeply fucking pissed he was.

Buttercup stared at him, displaying a cruelty in her eyes she had never thought he would receive from her again. He didn't flinch at all, and somewhere, it scorched another part of her.

"I can't have any sympathy for you anymore. You should be over her by now. Not playing this stupid game with her."

"Oh my fucking god," he said under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face, sliding it up to tug on his hair. "There's no game, Buttercup."

"So, I'm totally making shit up for thinking you're not over her?" Buttercup tilted her head, wishing she could see through him, to find the exact thing in him that she was accusing him of. For a sprout of guilt, shame, something she could magnify and prove she wasn't wrong. Because she couldn't be wrong... Right? "Why aren't you ghosting her? It's not your job to be there for her because she's in a bad place."

He pressed his lips together, the I-don't-have-to-explain-shit-to-you radiated off of him, except he did need to explain shit to her. So he did mindfully, enraging Buttercup even more.

"We have a history, I can't change that. I can stop talking to her, but you can't just erase her from my life. We happened. There's nothing else I can explain about it."

"Like you would even want to erase her."

A dry laugh puffed out of his chest. "You know what? I don't think it's me who's not over Blossom and I's relationship. It's you."

Wow, that one...

That one stung her like a bitch, scarring her immediately.

"Can you blame me? You'd spent weeks pissing and moaning about her. You-"

"Yeah, I did. But I haven't thought about wanting a relationship with her since I've found out. I've only wanted you-"

"So there's never been a moment where you thought about getting back at her? You haven't tried sabotaging her and Brick?"

"No, I," Butch paused, sighing. He blanched, his shoulders bowing. "There may have been a moment where I did try making Brick doubt her a little, but that was only once, right after I found out everything. I still was irrationally angry, and it was before I'd started thinking about us-"

"And you want to have the fucking audacity to try and say you're over her?"

Butch regarded her with resentment, the hurt swimming in his eyes speaking volumes to Buttercup. "Stop doing this. Stop projecting your own damn insecurities on to me."

Buttercup shook her head. "This is about you-"

"No." Butch pointed an accusing finger at her. "Haven't you noticed you're the only one who keeps bringing Blossom up? You're the one putting words in my mouth, convincing yourself of this other version of me, when I've done nothing but try to reassure you. You're the one who won't let it go."

His words singed Buttercup enough to where she couldn't breathe for a few seconds.

That's when Buttercup felt the thud of her rupturing the cold, hard ground. And when she stood back up, brushing the dust off and licking her wounds, Buttercup came to the curdling realization there was no way back up. She was stuck now, a thunderous storm churning above her, robbing any light from the sky, and it was her own damn fault.

"Do you trust me?" Butch whispered softly, robbing Buttercup more of her breath. His eyes were devoid of color, looking as if she had sucked all the energy out of him.

Just a poor little vampire she was.

Her throat felt like sandpaper, trying to find the words for him, but they were nonexistent.

"Cool," Butch huffed out after waiting an appropriate amount of time for a response, nodding. "That's good to know."

Buttercup blinked harshly, those seemingly impenetrable walls around her were eroding and crumbling down fast. "Butch, you... we-"

"This isn't going to work out," he decided for them, dour. "I can't be with you when you cannot make up your mind about me. I can't go through it again, especially with you."

And because Buttercup couldn't find another way to save herself, to save them. Because she couldn't see past her pride or the poisonous insecurities clogging up her brain, all she could say was, "Fine."

He lingered for a second, feeling the final twist to the knife she has been repeatedly striking into him. "This was real for me, you know? You were never the second choice for me. You weren't even a choice. You were just... you. And that's all I wanted."

Butch leaned forward, so close that she could taste his lips. Buttercup could feel her inclination to move forward, to kiss him and believe him. To ask for forgiveness and admit he may be right, she was the one at fault. She may be overreacting and self-sabotaging.

And it was so damn unfair how human he could be, how good his heart was.

"One thing I know for sure with Butch is that he thinks with his heart."

It was too bad Buttercup didn't do the same, it was too bad her gut didn't like the idea of Blossom knowing anything about Butch. That it had to remind her of the fact Blossom knew him in a way that Buttercup might never be able to reach.

Her shoulders stiffened. Her chin itched away from him, breaking off the connection between them.

Buttercup wouldn't let herself believe him. Even if it was the truth, Buttercup wasn't going to believe him. She didn't trust him.

They stood there, staring at each other, feeling every moving inch to the sudden divergent shift between them until Butch couldn't take it anymore.

"I'll see you around," he mumbled before leaving her alone in the dark classroom.

And Buttercup was glad he left when Butch did because she couldn't hold back her tears anymore, feeling them rush down her cheeks and sticking to her neck.

Did she even deserve to cry? She'd asked for this, she was the one who had picked the fight. She was the one who chose to crash back down to reality.

She was the one who couldn't trust him.

---

Blossom held her breath. There was an image running through her, one of her head underwater. Everything was blue, light filtering through in glittering rays, almost like tiny diamonds sparkling back at her. She didn't question how or why she ended up in the water, but it didn't matter. The quietness felt welcoming, the bubbles escaping from her mouth beautiful to trail. Serene, even.

Until it wasn't.

The anticipation, the gasping of air, it would come, festering in her lungs. She could try to bring her head up, try to breathe, her chest pounding for relief, but nothing would happen as long as her head stayed submerged.

She had thought it would come now. Her lips would be warmed with color, no longer blue. The desperate breath she clung for should've happened by now. It should've calmed her heart.

"The results came back negative," Dr. Williams informed her. She was a petite blonde with chubby cheeks, and had a smile that made you trust her instantly.

She didn't let go of her breath. Instead, Blossom felt more suffocated.

"How," Blossom swallowed at her dry throat, "How is that possible?"

Dr. Williams creased her pale brows together, glancing up from her clipboard. "What do you mean, sweetie?"

Blossom shook her head, her eyes going to the hands in her lap. "I thought... I had the symptoms. Why was I so sick if I wasn't..."

"May I ask if you've been dealing with a lot of stress lately?"

Between her parents, Robin's blackmail, getting into Julliard, graduating, cheating on Butch, keeping the secret, falling out with Buttercup, living up to everyone's perfect image of her and the decaying of such an idea, her life sprawling more with each week, and Brick; to say Blossom was stressed would be an understatement. It festered, nipping at her silently until she was left to be a carcass of herself.

"I have." Blossom studied Dr. Williams carefully. "You think this is all because of stress?"

"It can be a mixture of it and timing. Our bodies tend to react negatively when we're under a lot of stress, and it can have the ability to stunt our immune system. Your cold, for instance, may have been a result of your weakened immune system. It explains why you missed your period as well," Dr. Williams informed, her voice so gentle and caring. "And you may have experienced a spell of acute nausea as a result of it too."

Blossom still didn't let go of her breath.

Shouldn't she have, by now? She wasn't pregnant. She should be happy.

Shouldn't this be the universe's message to her? A false alarm to wake her up, to be more careful? That had to be it, right?

"If you want, I can recommend a friend of mine. We'd graduated from USC together, and she primarily works with individuals your age."

Therapy.

She was suggesting therapy.

Blossom's stomach curled at the thought. The idea of it was perverted in her mind, looked down upon, thanks to her traditional and emotionally-stunted parents. If she could get past it, make it on her own, then why get help?

It felt like admitting defeat. That she needed someone else to fix it. To fix her.

And it was only stress. Blossom should be able to handle it by now.

"No, thank you," she smiled politely.

Fifteen minutes later, and Blossom was back in the lobby, checking herself out. It was when she finished paying, did she see a blue business card on the counter. There was a yellow tree sketched onto it, the stock of it printed with Jane M. Evans, LPC.

She stared at it for a couple of seconds until she heard Butch's voice.

"Try to be kind to yourself."

Ignoring the problem, pretending everything was okay, wasn't being kind to herself. Her body has been trying to get a grip on her for weeks, and Blossom hasn't listened. Her gut has grown louder, begging for her to wake up.

And her eyes were wide open now, ready to admit she did need help. That Blossom couldn't do it on her own or in the way she has been trying to better herself.

She finally found the strength to take one of the cards, slipping it into her wallet.

Brick was quick to his feet when seeing her, throwing down the year-old Architecture Digest he had been reading. She shook her head and watched as the epitome of relief washed over him.

He hugged her, seemingly having a selective memory to what had occurred an hour ago between them.

Blossom didn't. She felt stiff in his arms, a glacier to his touch, unable to let go of her breath around him either.

And that's when Blossom finally got the message.

She saw it again. Her head underwater.

She knew how she got there now. It was her own doing. She was the one who stood by the edge, jumping right in, letting the water rush to her brain. She went as deep as she could go, sinking further until she needed to pump air back into her lungs.

But it wasn't your lungs that really need the air. It's your heart. That's what they don't tell you about drowning. It feels like the water fills your lungs, weighing you down, but its the beating muscle of your heart thrumming into overtime until it gives out. Until it gives up.

Blossom was drowning, wishing to drain the water rushing to her head, the butterflies in her stomach coming to their watery graves as she begged to take in a new breath. To save her heart.

But she couldn't.

Brick was too busy holding her head underwater.

---

Author's Notes:

So, uh... yeah, Blossom isn't pregnant.

I know there's a lot I could explore with that plot, but that's not the story I want to tell. It's never been my intention to go in that direction because I don't feel like it would do any justice to the characters. It would've only hindered them in my eyes. I chose a different narrative that I think should be told instead because it's just as important and real. I do apologize for misleading a lot of you, but you know, plot reasons forced me to. I hope you understand why and can see where I'm coming from with the choices made in this chapter.

In regards to the Greens, please don't hate me. Like Brick, Buttercup is the prime example of self-sabotage and overthinking, and she needs to work through her insecurities. But also Butch has his own things to work through too.

I feel the need to apologize for Brick and just the toxicity he embodies. When will he ever get better? Will he ever get better? Who knows? Hopefully, he finally got a wake-up call in this chapter, because yikes.

If the chapter title didn't give it away, I took inspiration from Hayley William's solo album for this chapter. If you're bored during quarantine or need new music, I can't recommend it enough. She is such an underrated vocalist/lyricist, and I'm a total slut for the production on the whole album (Also, Paramore is that bitch, been that bitch, and will forever be that bitch).

Lastly, thank you to AnaHearts, 3mi1y02, marskeeee, and teardrop765 for your amazing and sweet reviews. They're honestly the best motivator for me to get shit done because I probably would've procrastinated on this for months if it wasn't for them.

Until next time, stay safe and thank you for reading!