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.

30. To Be So Lonely

I apologize for the length. I had too much fun writing this, which should come as a warning this is only going to hurt and y'all are going to hate me after it. Enjoy!

---

It was finals week for seniors. Most of the upperclassmen at Townsville Academy were either walking around like sleep-deprived zombies or caffeinated messes wrecked with anxiety. Just one more week, and then they'll have three weeks of easy-going work, preparing for prom and graduation, before moving on from the Academy.

It was also the marking of it being a week and a half since Buttercup and Butch imploded. Well, more so, she'd imploded.

Everything had been so perfect... until it wasn't. Buttercup had to be the maker of her own destruction, setting off little fires until what felt like happiness became engulfed by monstrous flames, burning away what could've been love.

God, heartbreak made her sound like a little melodramatic bitch. Which, honestly, Buttercup could agree she has been behaving like. Buttercup has spent too much money in the past week on pistachio ice cream and Oreos, bingeing episodes of the guilty pleasure that's Gossip Girl, finding the predictability oddly comforting. She has avoided eating lunch in the courtyard, or any places where Butch would be. She was about two steps away from watching the Avatar movie, the fucked-up and white-washed live-action version, just to feel a different pain instead of her charred heart—Also, Buttercup figured cursing out M. Night Shyamalan for not knowing how to say, literally, any of the characters' names was better than thinking about Butch.

Because fuck M. Night Shyamalan and his ineptitude to make that movie remotely good in any way.

But also fuck her own damn insecurities and proneness for self-sabotage. Fuck getting attached to a guy or wanting to date one in general, because guys suck. They really do. But also, fuck Butch for being a guy who doesn't suck and is actually pretty damn cool and sweet. Fuck his ability to be attentive and reassuring and honest. And just double fuck him for having given her the opportunity to fix things, but Buttercup couldn't even do that right.

She just had to say fine. She had to back away when all Butch wanted was for Buttercup to change her mind and realize he was telling the truth.

So here should be the part where Buttercup admits she'd overreacted, right?

She did.

It should also be the part where Buttercup was supposed to go and tell the boy what an idiot she's been.

She hasn't.

Buttercup should probably say fuck her pride too.

Even with her new mindset, vulnerability was still biting her in the ass. Buttercup couldn't let go of control. She couldn't allow someone the opportunity to hold her heart in the palms of their hands. There was no safety there, no matter how goodhearted they were like Butch.

Butch has never been a sure thing, and it was Buttercup's fault for that. She had been too afraid to push him in a set direction, including her own. Now, Buttercup didn't know where Butch was going. Away from her, towards her, to Blossom, somewhere completely new. Only one thing was certain to Buttercup. He's going.

Ms. Keane's class has undoubtedly become the bane of her existence since that Wednesday. Sitting next to the guy whose heart you lit on fire while also cindering your own, wasn't in the top ten experiences in the world.

This would be her last one, but, again, fuck Butch. Fuck him for still being annoyingly attractive to her even after everything. Maybe that was her own problem, considering attraction was based on the chemicals fuming up her brain, but there had to be some blame to put on Butch. Because come on? Who the hell still looks good after getting their heart fucked with? Buttercup has barely switched out of the oversized and ill-advised in eighty-degree weather hoodie and leggings combo she's been rocking for the last few days. She couldn't remember the last time she has brushed her hair. If it wasn't for Bubbles, she probably wouldn't have remembered to wash it.

Yet, here was Butch. Totally appropriate in a fitted pair of black joggers and a tight camo t-shirt. Clean and not even giving the slightest indication of emotional distress. Not sparing a glance in her direction since the day Buttercup had accused him.

Why didn't he appear to care? Why wasn't he a mess like her? And why the fuck was Buttercup dipping herself into these toxic thoughts?

She shouldn't want him to be hurting, but again, Buttercup could envelope herself in comfort by knowing he was. Because that meant she did have an effect on him, and that's really what you want. To have an effect on people. Because once you don't, it means you don't matter anymore.

And here's when Buttercup's stout thoughts come back to nip at her with reminders of how Blossom still had an effect on him. That she still mattered to him, and maybe Buttercup had been right to accuse Butch of not being over her.

Yeah, Buttercup was now one step away from watching the catastrophe that's The Last Airbender.

"For your senior project, I'd wanted to give you some room for creativity," Ms. Keane had started to explain in the last ten minutes of class.

Buttercup couldn't even recall what'd happened in the last thirty-five, having spent it brooding—Okay, she said it would be the last already, but this really was the last: fuck brooding. Who was she? Batman? Sure, teenage angst and self-importance were a thing, so maybe Buttercup should be allowed to brood, but god, it was awful. It was like watching The Last Airbender for the first time in theaters, holding out that it would get better somehow because you're too damn stubborn to admit you'd wasted a good twenty bucks on a ticket and large-sized popcorn for the dreadful shitshow on screen.

But it doesn't get any better. At all.

Apparently, this past week and a half has also brought up an odd childhood trauma that Buttercup didn't know she had with the film. Which yay, another thing for her to unpack on top of the other shit she has going on.

"I want you to work on a memory map." Ms. Keane paused, letting the excitement none of the students in the room felt sink in. "Think about it. Think about all of the memories you've made in the courtyard. In the auditorium. Or even in this classroom. Think about your first day here, all of the memories you've created with the people sitting next to you."

She paced across the room, obviously delighted with the final project she has created. Her students? Less than thrilled about having another class to worry about along with their more important final exams.

"You'll always have a memory of this place, and I want you to share some of those you have. It can be anything. The whole four years. A season on the baseball or soccer team. Your friendship with one of your classmates. Anything as long as it contributes to your time here. You'll need to create a visual aid." A few sighs could be heard around the room, and one whisper of "I can't with this shit" from Julie Smith in the back. "And you'll also have to write a minimum of five hundred words on the significance of your memory map. My hope at the end of this project is that we'll be able to do a gallery walk and view each other's maps. Any questions?"

Of course, there were questions and complaints about the project, but Buttercup didn't care. She kind of thought it was a super fucking interesting concept. To comb back through her memories and relive them. There were so many of them. Frozen ghosts, existing only to be thawed when someone who knows of the memory thinks about it at a particular time and place. There's an infinite amount of ghosts everywhere.

What Ms. Keane wanted was to help them collect these ghosts through psychogeography. This wasn't just a silly little project to burden them and maybe boost some people's grades. It was closure—a chance to say goodbye to Townsville Academy and the frozen ghosts lingering around campus.

And maybe it was the timing, the fact Buttercup had a lot on her mind to figure out the mess of one particular subject, but she knew what to plot her memory map with.

Buttercup was going to map out all of the places where Butch has impacted her life. Of each step Buttercup had taken to fall in love with him.

Because Buttercup still didn't know how she got here. The feelings only became known when Blossom had pointed them out for her. Buttercup couldn't pinpoint precisely when it happened or how it did. And now was the time for her.

For her to figure out if Butch had been worth falling in love with. And whether Buttercup wanted for him to know she has.

---

It was Blossom's third time going to therapy.

Dr. Evans was a tall woman, with a sandy pixie cut and tropical blue eyes. Blossom has never seen her slouch once in the two previous sessions they've had, always crossing and uncrossing her long legs. She liked to wear cool-tone blouses and khaki pants, and she preferred to scribble down her thoughts or what was said in a hardback notebook that had a Hufflepuff crest on it.

During their first session, just two days after Blossom acquired her business card, they spent most of the session getting acquainted with Blossom's reasoning for seeking her, with Blossom citing stress.

"And do you think there's any particular reason for why you might be stressed? Is there anything going on for you right now?" Blossom had paused, nodding. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Blossom didn't know whether it was fair to point the finger at one specific reason. Or if she was able to talk about it. At that moment, she still hadn't told anyone what'd happened at the clinic, of what she'd realized.

But keeping quiet was what got her there. And as Blossom had struggled to answer, Dr. Evans waited patiently for her to fill the silence. Her smile had been so kind and patient.

"It might be dumb."

"I promise there's nothing you can say that would be dumb here."

"I don't know. It feels sort of shallow and lame to say it's because of a boy."

And even though this only happened over a week ago, Blossom knew she would never forget how Dr. Evans' smile became sad for a moment. It had been a knowing smile.

"I wouldn't say it is. In actuality, you would be surprised how many people your age I see who say the same reason as you."

That was when Blossom knew she could trust Dr. Evans. That she wanted to trust her.

Her second session didn't touch on Brick much, more so on her parents and their, with a lack of better words, inconsistency and harmful parenting. Blossom had been the one to bring them up, right after Dr. Evans had asked if Blossom felt Brick loved her. She rambled, talking about how love was confusing, and magically her parents came up. Both knew she was evading the question, but obviously, Dr. Evans had a lot to help Blossom figure out when it came to her parents.

Now, having unpacked enough childhood trauma in an hour-long session from the week before, Blossom knew it was time to talk about Brick.

Blossom leaned into the soft vinyl of her seat, Dr. Evans sitting across from her. Her head tilted as she opened her notebook filled with secrets and fears revealed by her patients.

"So, your boyfriend?" Dr. Evans said, her voice so calm and gentle.

"Ex-boyfriend."

Blossom had broken up with Brick the morning after the clinic. It had been at the fountain, Bubbles and Boomer had stayed nearby for support. Brick hadn't been surprised when she did, and Blossom had a feeling he already knew there was no convincing her. Not after what'd happened the day before.

That didn't change how absolutely wrecked he'd looked when she told him it was over.

Which was an image Blossom didn't want to think about. She needed to learn how to breathe again, and by doing that, Blossom had to let go of Brick.

"You'd said you fell in love with him, correct?"

Blossom nodded, swallowing. She tugged on the silky fabric of the red bow she wore to keep her hair back into a ponytail, tightening its hold. Blossom did feel a little ridiculous wearing it outside of her cheer uniform, but all of her hair ties have either broken or vanished like good chapstick does, and Blossom had been running late to her session anyway.

"Can you tell me about what made you fall in love with him?"

"Oh, um..." Blossom creased her brows, flinching at the question.

"I'm asking this because from what you've said in our previous sessions, it sounds like many things were going on before and during your relationship with him. Even before you broke up with him, there were things you weren't happy with."

Blossom couldn't fight her on that.

"So, it would be interesting to talk about what made you fall in love with him."

She paused, waiting for Blossom to explain herself.

"Well." The knitted cardigan she'd chosen to wear was turning out to be an awful decision, inflaming the heat she radiated and scratching at her skin. "He didn't know me. There wasn't this pressure for me to live up to any expectations because he didn't have any when we'd met. That felt special."

Dr. Evans didn't narrow her eyes, but she didn't look convinced. "Right. And these expectations he didn't have for you, those were created by you?"

"Um... yeah," Blossom nodded hesitantly. "They grew from my parents, actually. But I was the one who'd cultivated and harvested them for everyone." Blossom flashed an awkward, sheepish smile. "And I'm being totally awkward now by making an agricultural comparison for my childhood trauma."

"We all have our ways of coping," Dr. Evans smiled, and Blossom could tell there was no judgment made at all. "Is there more to why you loved him?"

"He's confident and works hard. And I liked how much he wanted to win."

There was a pause.

"He wears this red hat all the time. I don't know why he does, but it grew on me." Blossom chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. "He's also good looking. And he goes after what he wants. I liked his ambition and drive. He wants a better life, you know?"

Dr. Evans nodded, remaining unconvinced. Blossom knew she wouldn't admit it, but it was easy to tell. "Thank you for telling me that." She wrote something down on her notebook, and Blossom wished she could read what it was. "Can I ask what did you love about how he treated you? When you were with him, what did he do to make you feel so in love with him?"

Blossom sank more into her chair. "In the beginning, it felt like he got me. He saw this mess in me, and didn't turn away, took me as I was and didn't care. He wanted me and knew what to say. For a long time, I felt I was living a lie, and it felt nice to have someone to be honest with." She told Dr. Evans about how she met Brick and how their relationship started. How he comforted her, the date they had on the football field when Blossom knew the exact moment she had fallen in love with him. That Blossom never had to question whether Brick wanted her because he'd continuously told her he did.

"And what about after the beginning? What did he do to make you love him?"

Blossom opened her mouth, but by then, she had gone dry with things to say.

Because what had Brick done to make her love him after their cat and mouse game had officially ended?

He'd been there for parents' weekend, but he disregarded her wishes for a civil interaction with her parents. Brick had just done what he wanted, what he saw fit for how Blossom should've handled things, forcing her to clean up the mess he'd made. Looking back on it, none of that weekend felt romantic in any sense.

Maybe it was the butterflies he'd produced. They loved the chance of getting his affection, to finally get him to open up more.

"Is this necessary to discuss?" Blossom deflected.

"We're here to discuss whatever you want and examine in your life with what you're struggling with." She leaned forward. "So, I'm going to ask, are you struggling right now?"

Blossom felt a lump in her throat, the small gasp of air to her lungs that were slowly relearning what it felt like to have fresh air. "I am."

"It's not just because of this boy, but he is a large part of it?"

Blossom nodded, pulling down the sleeves of her cardigan.

"What do you think he saw in you?"

Validation.

He saw someone who needed help, someone he couldn't have, and liked the drama. Brick always wanted to win, right? Get what he wants. Blossom was off-limits, a perk to him. Then add that Brick came into her life during a personal crossroads, Brick saw someone to make better. He saw a sad girl who had never known what she's wanted and exploited it. Because isn't that what guys like to do? They want to live out that indie film fantasy, fix the girl who would inevitably fall in love with them for just holding them while they cried one or two times, and said some cliché lines to make them feel better for a moment. But they were also the same guys who didn't want to carry these sad girls when things don't get better, when it gets hard, and the girls don't appear grateful enough to them for taking a minimum interest in the long-term of their well-being.

Brick wanted to feel better. To not feel bad about himself. He couldn't possibly be a bad person if he helped save her. Because bad people don't save others.

Blossom had been his validation. He saw a problem with her, and that keyed in his interest.

I can't carry you.

The problem with Dr. Evans' question was that Brick never saw in her. He never really did see Blossom, she was beginning to realize. He only saw the chaos going on around her when looking at her, finding it to be the perfect distraction to feed the hungry hole in him.

"Something he wanted to be better."

Dr. Evans creased her brows, her mind processing Blossom's answer before saying, "I'm going to ask again. What did this boy do to make you love him after the beginning?"

"I... I don't know." Butch's three favorite words. Blossom has found herself saying them a lot lately.

"Was he kind to you?"

In the beginning.

Blossom had opened her mouth, but those words didn't come out.

"Did you feel safe with him?"

No.

Because there was nothing ever safe about Brick. He was new, she barely knew him. She blew up her entire life in every aspect it felt because of him. Her friendships, her parents, herself, Butch. He'd excited something in her; he gave her those damn butterflies. He made Blossom crave a love that she knew would only cause hurt.

"With him, I'm not afraid of anything."

Blossom could cringe at how rose-tinted she'd sounded when trying to convince Buttercup why Brick was a worthy risk to make. She should've noticed how there was a lot to be fearful of. How she had to censor herself around him, to tiptoe around a line to not push him away or upset him. That the butterflies were only trying to eat her alive.

Being with Brick was like walking on a tightrope with no safety net underneath, only replaced by a raging fire pit below. It was never going to be safe. Even in the small delirious moments pumped up by adrenaline, it wasn't going to be.

"So, this boy wasn't kind to you?"

"He was kind to me," Blossom said quietly.

"But was it consistent? Because kindness shouldn't be a reward for good behavior. It should be a given in any relationship."

Blossom averted her gaze. "I know."

Dr. Evans stayed quiet for a moment, uncrossing her leg and then crossing it again with her other one. "You'd said you were in another relationship before this boy, yes?"

Blossom's heart skipped a beat, her throat squeezing as she nodded. "That's correct."

"And was he consistently kind to you?"

"He..." Blossom paused. She saw her and Butch at the fountain, him comforting her despite having every reason to walk away. How he'd tried staying with her on that morning before her appointment because he could just sense something was off. "He has been way too kind to me, truthfully."

Dr. Evans made this face, one that made Blossom feel so unbelievably sad. Because Dr. Evans felt sad for her, so it only doubled what Blossom felt when it came to Butch and the mourning of their relationship.

"What were you like with him?"

"Resistant." Because that's all Blossom could describe her behavior with Butch to be. There was always something she had to find. "I'd nitpicked him a lot, and I'd convinced myself of faults until the cracks were glaringly noticeable. I... I'd just assumed he wouldn't ever want me for how I am, so I didn't let him see it."

"And how did he treat you?"

"He always made sure I was having a good time. He liked making me laugh, and whenever we were in a group, he would check to make sure I was included. He made me a priority when I've never felt like one before. He... He never felt afraid to be open about his emotions or love. He just let everyone know."

"That must've been hard for you."

Blossom lifted a brow. "What do you mean?"

"His consistency. You didn't have anything to chase after. It wasn't how love usually felt for you."

She had a point. Butch's love did scare Blossom. It was nothing she'd experienced before, the steady warmth and gentleness that he'd given her.

There was no chase with Butch, he was just there. He's always been there. Just wishing and holding out that Blossom would've noticed he was, and just take his damn hand so they could be there together.

Consistency wasn't the sexiest word, and for too long Blossom felt there'd been something wrong with it, but now, Blossom understood what a value it had.

Hindsight could be a very funny thing.

"Do you think that's why you were compelled to cheat?"

Blossom's chest and face became splotchy with redness.

"Did you really have to cheat on Butch?"

When Buttercup had asked her that question, Blossom had reasoned how she needed to see what it was like to be with someone else besides Butch because they didn't feel healthy. She didn't want to depend on someone for love.

But what if Blossom had gotten it wrong?

What if she confused consistency for being problematic? Butch didn't give her butterflies, and Blossom had once believed that was a problem. That she needed to be with someone who did because those were once-in-a-lifetime feelings, right?

She wanted a chase. Blossom was used to a chase. Butch became a problem when he didn't give her one. It made Blossom uncomfortable, keeping a steady microscope on their relationship to turn any molehills into Pompeii. Butch was right. He did try his damn hardest to understand her, and all Blossom did was get huffy and mad at him because she didn't get how easy it could be for someone to take an interest in her.

That it didn't need to be hard or to hurt for someone to find love in her.

His version of love, and the one she knew before and after him, were radical opposites.

But Blossom couldn't admit it. She couldn't admit how she wanted to reverse back time, slow down, and appreciate what could no longer be hers.

"He didn't know me."

Dr. Evans pressed her lips together. "Are you sure he didn't?"

No, she wasn't anymore. Because Blossom has only assumed. She'd thought she had all the answers when she only read the first page.

And if there was anything Blossom has come to understand when talking to Butch that morning over a week ago, he knew more about her than she'd convinced herself to see.

Blossom averted her eyes. "You're right. There wasn't a chase."

"I'm going to reroute here, and ask, with the boy you're struggling with, did you feel like you were addicted to him? Did you feel like you were chasing after something?"

Yes.

Blossom chased after wanting more from Brick. To reach the potential she saw in her head. For him to open up, to be a kinder person. To prove that he could be worth the sacrifices she'd made in her path of burning all of her bridges.

There'd been the euphoric rise of when things were good. The irresistible pull and devouring butterflies, the hot and cold moods Brick experienced.

Blossom dabbed at her eye, having not realized when she'd started crying. "It did feel like that."

"Sometimes," Dr. Evans began gently, "When someone is inconsistent with how they treat us, it can be very confusing. Our body has the capability to get addicted to being in a nervous state. The lows of waiting for things to get better are deafening, making us feel sick and terrible when it doesn't. Still, then there's the flood of happiness when we're treated nicely again. It's almost drug-like. You don't know when you'll be getting the next "hit" of kindness."

Her tone was so calm, matter-of-factly, that Blossom couldn't help but listen.

"With your parents in mind, you've grown up to only know what inconsistency feels like. Your brain may have associated this to be what love is supposed to be. It only wants to feel safe, and it rejects other versions because it doesn't feel normal to you. The inconsistency in this boy may have created another relapse for you. And when you have a constant state of emotional and anxious arousal, it can become very powerful. Your pull to this person, it feels incredibly intense. Your feelings for them feel incredibly intense. You become addicted to the chase of their love."

Dr. Evans stared right in Blossom's eyes, really looking at her, making sure her words sunk in.

"But that isn't love. Those feelings are not love."

---

"I'd finally got the chance to check out my financial aid award for SDSU, and I'm about two thousand short for each semester," Bubbles revealed, thwarted. She and Buttercup were making their way to the library, ready for last-minute studying for their trigonometry exam in the morning.

Bubbles had suggested going because she really did need to study, but also to get Buttercup out of her room.

"Have you checked out any scholarships?" Buttercup's sympathy was evident in her voice.

"I did, but most of the deadlines have passed, or I don't qualify for them."

"Bullshit. I'm sure you can still try them."

"I don't think it's a good idea to apply for a scholarship meant for bagpipe players."

Buttercup lifted a brow as they made it to the library. "You're fucking lying."

"Totally real." Bubbles pulled open one of the double doors to the building's entrance, holding it open for Buttercup to follow her in. "Look it up."

"Alright, bet." She steered them in the direction of the stairs since the computers were on the third floor. "Are you thinking about taking out any loans?"

Bubbles followed behind her, the smacking of her sandals echoing greatly in the contained walls of the stairwell. "I'm trying to be an artist."

"Right," Buttercup nodded, immediately understanding her dilemma.

"Do you think I should?"

"I would avoid the fuck out of it if I were you." They stepped onto the second-floor platform, turning to climb the remaining two sets of stairs. "Paying for college is fucking predatory, I swear. Making eighteen-year-olds sign up to a lifetime of debt."

"At least, your parents are helping you," Bubbles pointed out with no hint of envy. She was actually happy for Buttercup to be getting some help.

"Stanford isn't cheap, though. I'm still hoping I'll get that soccer scholarship I'd applied to."

"When are you supposed to hear back from them anyway?" Buttercup reached for the door to the third floor, letting Bubbles walk through first.

"Sometime this week, I think."

"You think you have a chance at it?"

"I don't know. I'd asked about it in the group chat I have with the others from that soccer camp I did in January, but most of them are rich as fuck and have trust funds."

"Must be nice," Bubbles sighed.

"I think my only competition..." Buttercup stopped abruptly, freezing in place.

Bubbles paused, glancing back at her, furrowing her brows. "Are you okay?"

"We need to leave." Buttercup grabbed her wrist, pulling Bubbles back towards the staircase.

Bubbles dug the balls of her feet into the ground. "Okay, I didn't climb three flights of stairs, just to go back down them right after."

"It's great exercise, Bubs."

"No. It's not." She withdrew her wrist from Buttercup's hold, stopping them a few feet away from the door to the stairs. Bubbles folded her arms. "What's going on?"

Buttercup narrowed her eyes, appearing as if she was about to start a fight with her in the middle of the library, which would surely get them kicked out, before letting out a sigh. Her shoulders bowing as she spoke, "Butch is here."

Bubbles glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, there was Butch, sitting alone at one of the computers. He had, what appeared to be, a thick study guide in front of him, the computer going untouched as he watched something on his phone with headphones in.

"You still haven't apologized?"

Buttercup's stare darkened, and Bubbles could feel the thunderous cloud collecting over them, ready to strike her with lightning in retaliation.

"Can we not?"

Bubbles shook her head in disappointment, heading for the staircase. She knew Buttercup would follow, and when she did, Bubbles didn't budge from the third-floor platform.

"Are you planning on avoiding him until graduation now? Are we back to this plan again?" Bubbles whispered harshly to her.

Buttercup, who had already started quick steps down the staircase, turned around, glaring at Bubbles. "Don't, Bubs. We're not having a fight."

"It doesn't have to be a fight. I just don't agree with what you're doing. It's not fair to Butch—"

Buttercup clutched onto the metal railing of the stairs with an iron grip. "Well, it's not fair to me that he's never going to be over Blossom. So we're all just fucked, aren't we?"

"Buttercup," Bubbles murmured, not sure if she could have this conversation again with her. She's tried five times already in the past week, exhausted by the impenetrable walls Buttercup encased herself in and the missiles she launched to shoot down anything Bubbles could say.

"Just let me figure this out," Buttercup said less bitingly than expected. She averted her harsh gaze, focusing on the metal steps to the staircase she stood on. "I'm trying to know if it's worth it."

"If what is?"

"Butch. Having him in my life. If I made a mistake or not." Her voice was so quiet and tired.

Bubbles moved, standing one step above Buttercup, having the advantage of height over her for once. She had no chance of hiding her frown. "You should already know if he is."

"Then why don't I?" Buttercup met her gaze, lost with a mixture of confusion. "Why can't I make up my mind about him?"

"Because you're distracted." Bubbles perched her hands on Buttercup's shoulders, light and gentle. Buttercup let her keep them there, listening attentively. "You're focusing on Blossom and him, not you and him."

"But shouldn't I?"

Buttercup was like a rose. Decorated in her bravado and boldness, using her thorns as a warning sign and shield to those who dared to pick her. Because if you got the chance to hold her, to admire the lush color, to see her corolla up close, you'll notice all of her insecurities coiled up in her delicate and fragile petals.

"I think you're relying on your thorns too much. You're trying to be too strong, too concerned about protecting yourself, that you're not growing."

Buttercup stayed quiet, and for a second, Bubbles thought she made a breakthrough with her.

"... Did Blossom ever talk to you about that morning?"

She did.

Bubbles knew about Blossom's chat with Butch, and from Boomer, Bubbles also knew that Butch had suspected what was happening without being told. He'd neglected to tell Buttercup of the pure reason why he was there for Blossom. It was for the same reason why Bubbles hasn't told Buttercup about it either. Because it wasn't their place to tell Buttercup the truth, it was Blossom's.

"Yes." Buttercup waited, expecting for Bubbles to fill in the gaps, but she didn't. "If you want the truth, talk to Blossom. I'm sure she'll tell you."

It was then when Buttercup took a step back, giving Bubbles more height over her as Bubbles' arms fell back to her sides. Buttercup's eyes flared, shaking her head. "I can't talk to her."

Bubbles scrubbed her hands along her cheeks, taking slow steps down the stairs again. "I can't keep having this conversation with you if you're not going to help yourself."

"I've never asked for you to," Buttercup sneered, rooted to the ground like the tough flower she was, staring down at Bubbles with resentment. "I've never needed you to coddle or comfort me. I can carry myself."

Bubbles tilted her head up, matching Buttercup's gaze. "And that's your mistake. You don't need anyone, but you want everyone, Buttercup. You want them so badly, you start to hate them. So, be tough. Let everyone go and never ask for help. If you want to be alone, that's the best way to get there."

She lingered for a moment, watching her words burn through Buttercup, leaving her charred by the truth of them. And then Bubbles ventured down the stairs, going to the first floor and finding an empty table to use for the next couple of hours to study.

Ten minutes later, Buttercup had silently joined her, plopping down at the chair across from her, and opening her textbook. They didn't say another word to each other for the rest of the night, but Bubbles hoped she may have struck the right cord. That maybe she made Buttercup realize she should try holding on more than always letting go.

---

It had rained on her Lyft ride back to campus, the earthy scent of the ground lingering in the air. The sidewalks were darkened, droplets of water sprinkling down from the leaves of the canvassing oak trees. Blossom didn't even notice the shallow puddle she'd stepped in, damping the suede fabric of her flats. Her mind had been on a trip around the cosmos, rocketing around, still thinking about what Dr. Evans had said.

She didn't ask for Blossom to continue avoiding Brick, or her parents either. She didn't tell Blossom what she should do next. Dr. Evans had only asked if Blossom was capable of letting go.

Let go.

Of Brick, of her parents, of her past, of her unhealthy habits.

Blossom needed to let go of those ideas, those attachments, and let them float into the harbor-gray clouds rolling over her.

She could feel her oxygen tank being refilled again, ready to be used.

And Blossom took in her first real breath since that Wednesday morning when she passed by the library, finding herself caught in a magnetic field again.

Butch had been leaving the building as she was walking by, their eyes meeting each other. Her mind having returned back to Earth from its journey. Again, Blossom didn't know who moved first, maybe it was him this time, but they were in front of each other. His face had gone soft, and Blossom never felt so guilty to feel oxygen refresh her lungs before.

"You're wearing your bow," he pointed out, his eyes lingering on the fabric.

"I didn't have any hair ties," Blossom tugged on her ribbon, tightening her ponytail of strawberry-colored hair. "I look ridiculous, I know."

"I actually always liked it when you wore your bow."

"You don't think it's childish?"

Butch shook his head, meeting her eyes again. "It compliments you." Blossom wished the sun was out because then she could blame it for the pale pink coloring her cheeks. Butch tilted his head, his hands gripping onto the straps of his backpack as if he needed something to hold onto to keep himself steady, hesitating for a second. "How have you been?"

They haven't spoken much since their chat on the bench. Blossom, obviously, had a lot to sort through since then, and their paths haven't crossed other than eating lunch with Bubbles and Boomer. Which was the right amount Blossom should get of Butch.

She was sure he knew about her and Brick's breakup. It was pretty hard for anyone at the Academy to not have heard about it. And Blossom knew to an extent Buttercup and him were... on a pause? Blossom wasn't sure what they were doing, just that things were up in the air. Bubbles had told her about it, not Buttercup.

In fact, Buttercup hasn't spoken to her in these past few days either, which Blossom now realized and had to question if it was intentional or not?

"Trying to be kinder to myself," she answered, and Blossom swore she saw him sag with relief for a moment. And because Blossom has found herself with no reason to keep anything from him anymore, because she finally felt comfortable not to, she revealed to him, "I, uh, I actually just came back from therapy."

Butch smiled down at her. "I've always been a fan of therapy."

"When it works," Blossom corrected with jest. "If memory serves me right, you'd loathed some of your experiences at it."

"Yeah, well, that was because those were group therapy sessions, and those bastards loved one-upping the other. It was like a—"

"Competition of who could be the loudest?" Blossom finished for him, lifting her brow with a light laugh escaping her lips. "Yeah, I remember you complaining about it. And then there was Lucy—"

"Oh, fucking Lucy," Butch exclaimed, flaring his eyes at the familiar name. A few classmates walking by gave him a look for the loud explicit before carrying on. "She would never shut up about her boyfriend Derek and his weird mommy issues."

"I still feel bad for him. Having his personal life exposed to strangers like that."

Butch shrugged. "He shouldn't have pissed off Lucy all the time by choosing his mom over her."

"That is true."

They stared at each other, their friendly script coming to a sudden end. Butch furrowed those dark eyebrows of his that Blossom couldn't stop herself from getting reacquainted with admiring. The loading circle of his buffering brain clear for Blossom to see.

But it didn't connect, and Blossom went on to say something instead.

"How have you been?"

Butch hesitated. "I think I'm losing my mind."

"Finals?"

"Among other things."

Buttercup.

That had to be it, Blossom determined.

A sunray cut through the dreary clouds above them. The brush of light softened the dullness around him, enriching his viridescent eyes. They shouldn't be looking in each other's eyes. The rapacity in them wanted to find, understand more of what was going on. The elephant between them too gargantuan to ignore.

But maybe Blossom wanted it, to hold the elephant's hand, and walk beside it. It would be a nice companion, a gentle giant.

She just needed Butch to grab its other hand.

"Everything will be okay," Blossom encouraged softly, genuine. "Just give it time."

She'll come around.

He took a moment to gaze down at her, appearing as if he had to complete a series of complicated math problems in one minute. Confused, out of his element, but also held onto the strange aplomb to be the one to solve it.

He wanted all the answers, while Blossom was finally fine with not knowing.

Butch's hands released their grip on the straps of his backpack, the clear sign of his guard retiring for the night. His mouth twitching upward. "Patience and I have never gotten along well."

"Always in a hurry," Blossom teased, matching his half-smile.

And for a moment, she'd forgotten everything. Her and Brick, that she and Butch had broken up, the list of doubts she'd created to resist this. She felt a new yet familiar melody Blossom wanted to dance to, soaking in the memory of them. Of what they were and what they could've been.

"Boom says I should try taking life a little slower."

"I should take that advice too." She tilted her head, studying him, finding it to be no chore. Why did she have to consider it was before now? "You can appreciate more at a slower pace."

He mused over her words, resentment flashing in his eyes before saying, "I want you to be right."

Blossom blinked at him, realizing what he meant: Buttercup. Butch wanted her to be right about Buttercup coming around. That it'll only be a matter of time and him learning how to be patient.

The dark double doors to the library swung wide open with the exiting of a group of senior girls who looked as if all the life had been drained from them, evidently spent a significant amount of time staring at computer screens from the tiny red bolts in the white of their eyes. The force of their strength sent the door back, almost hitting Butch with it.

Blossom, instinctively, grabbed his arm, pulling him closer to her and out of the way of the door. The heat of his skin blistering the pads of her fingers, the warmth of it reaching the blood blushing her cheeks. "We should probably move."

"Yeah, we should."

We.

No mutual I should go. They should be keeping a distance from each other. Blossom, for how much she has done it in the past, should resist.

But she could still feel her fingerprints lingering on his skin as they walked side by side in an aimless direction, sticking close to him, just like a friend would.

Because maybe they were becoming friends now.

"I think I'm going to fail my bio final," Butch revealed to her. "Our study guide is twelve fucking pages long, and I don't remember most of the material."

This.

This felt like friend territory—casual, comfortable conversation.

Why else would he tell her this?

"Have you started the study guide?"

Butch snorted, smiling sheepishly. "I just tried." He pointed back at the library with his thumb. "But then I'd spent three hours fucking around on my phone and watching Netflix."

"New season of Riverdale?" Blossom lifted a brow, knowing he couldn't resist the guilty pleasure they'd used to watch together.

On the other hand, she has been avoiding the idea of viewing the latest season that had been uploaded last weekend.

"I don't want to talk about it," Butch muttered.

Blossom let out a laugh. "Okay, fine."

"But I will say that Cheryl is back on her bullshit."

"That's nothing new."

"No, you don't understand. They're really trying to say that her fucking brother's body wouldn't be rotten after two years. I barely have any functioning brain cells as it is, but even I know there's no fucking logic behind that shit."

Blossom lifted a brow, grinning at him. "I thought you didn't want to talk about it?" She nudged at his arm. "And don't sell yourself short, you're pretty intelligent."

Butch met her eyes, engrossing himself in the honesty she was presenting him with. His hand rubbed at the patch of skin her elbow had touched, almost as if he was checking to make sure there wasn't a wound there.

"Let's see if you're right after I take my bio final on Thursday," he said after a beat.

"If you want," Blossom hesitated, close to withdrawing her idea, but she then realized why he'd told her. He just didn't want to say it. "I can help you study."

They grew close to the courtyard. The center fountain burbling peacefully and alone, the white concrete of its edges too wet for anyone to sit on.

"What about your finals?" He asked carefully.

"Butch. I know you. Enough with the subtlety."

He rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's that obvious?"

"Maybe not to someone else, but again, I know you." She softened. "You could've just asked. I'm happy to do it."

"I don't want to burden you."

I can't carry you.

Funny. Blossom felt more like a burden to everyone else. The thought of someone else feeling like a burden to her didn't feel plausible at all.

"You're the furthest thing from a burden," she said. It was ironic how easy it was to be honest with him now, that there was no struggle in her mind. Blossom should've always been this way with him. "And I'm sorry for ever making you feel that you were."

Butch pressed his lips together, nodding and averting his gaze. He needed a moment to himself, so Blossom let him have it.

"Thank you," he eventually said after they'd passed by the fountain. "And it would be pretty fucking rad if you could help me."

"I'd already said I would."

Butch met her eyes again, smiling in a way Blossom hasn't personally seen from him in a long time. He was thankful to have her, and it felt nice to know Blossom could do some good for him after months of causing harm.

"Yeah, you did." He moved his head, gesturing over to the mess hall entrance that was a few feet away from them, where others were coming and going from. "I need food first."

"Obviously. You working on an empty stomach? Absolute nightmare." Blossom halted them, however, growing anxious.

"That's an over-exaggeration." Butch lifted a brow, regarding her carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Are we... I should meet up with you after dinner, right? That would be easier."

"You're not hungry?"

She was, and Butch was extending another invitation to her.

Blossom should say no again.

Yet...

"I am hungry, but, uh, the mess hall..."

Blossom let Butch fill the gap. That they couldn't be seen eating together, alone, that publicly right after her break up with Brick. And there should be some consideration taken towards Buttercup seeing them too. Blossom didn't want people to spread fictitious rumors that could possibly disrupt Buttercup's feelings towards Butch.

But also because Blossom didn't want to feel a pressure to the commonplace her and Butch were settling into with each other. Their relationship had so much outside noise, way too many expectations to it. Blossom didn't want it to influence them anymore. Her and Butch, she wanted it to be between them. Their, hopefully, budding friendship.

Butch nodded, a faint sadness rupturing him for a second, and Blossom had to wonder if it had anything to do with Buttercup. That Blossom may have figured out the exact reason for why he and Buttercup were on a pause.

Blossom tried to meet his eyes to confirm it, to get a straight answer, but he flit them away, keeping away from her and the elephant.

"There's that diner close to here."

Blossom swallowed down the leaping heart in her throat, shaking her head no but also to dismiss the web of memories associated with Brick and that diner. "Let's try something new? There's the falafel place two blocks away from here that I've always wanted to try."

Butch glanced over to the mess hall, lingering for an extended moment before gazing down at her, nodding. The corners of his mouth hitching upward. "Don't know what the fuck a falafel is, but I'm down for new shit."

"It's chickpeas," Blossom informed him as they made a u-turn towards the campus' entrance.

"The shit that's in hummus?"

"Yeah."

"So, not new?"

"Sort of. I would say it's more like a new version of the same thing." They caught each other's eyes. "Personally, I think it's the improved version."

"I guess I'll just have to be the judge of that."

---

Brick was alone again.

He's always been alone in some way, never quite finding his place. He was everyone's friend, but no one was his friend. Alone wasn't the problem.

It was loneliness.

He had no one left.

No friends. Butch, Boomer, Dexter, Bubbles. He burned through them all in a blink of an eye.

No girlfriend. Blossom... there was no stopping her from leaving anymore. Brick knew he burnt her into ash too.

No family. He still hasn't spoken to his mother, letting that dwindling flame go up into smoke.

His life felt like dry brush, so easy to become alight. It only took one spark for the wildfire to spread, destructive and unforgiving, and boy, did it.

Brick wasn't sure what was left. Everything was blackened, ruined beyond repair.

He was broken beyond repair.

Maybe that was how he ended up here. Sitting in the back row of the chestnut church pews. The sun was bursting through the stained glass windows lined above him, streaming down, right into him. A rainbow of light, hoping to lighten the black hole in him, only to be absorbed.

Light can go in, but never did it come out of him.

Brick didn't know why he found himself to wander here, or why he'd decided to stay for the Tuesday mass. There weren't many, the priest only speaking to about thirty of them. Most were congregated to the front. Brick was alone in the back, not present to the biblical lesson being told.

He didn't know. Who he was anymore, what he wanted. Brick had thought he had it all: friends, a chance at his dream to play football, Blossom.

Brick had thought he had what he needed.

But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to fix the empty hole that Brick couldn't fill.

His disguise has burst into flames too, the smoke choking him back to recognize there's not much left to do.

Brick has come to realize why he had no one. Why no one wanted him around anymore. Because Brick didn't even want to be around himself.

But he was stuck with himself. He had to make it work somehow.

Which may be why Brick felt a pull to sit here. To help figure out who he was because Brick has lost sight of who he should be. He has only seen what he didn't want to be. And in that, Brick has become swallowed by his fears.

Those in the front pews stood, reciting a prayer out loud. One of them had glanced over their shoulder, doing a double-take, caught off-guard when recognizing him. The shock was soon replaced with annoyance, or maybe outrage. And it didn't take long for Brick to have some company.

"Why are you here?" Bubbles whispered sharply, glaring at him from the end of the aisle. She was dressed in a blue shirt with horizontal yellow stripes and faded mom jeans. It had been what she wore to class earlier in the day, Brick noted.

"I don't know."

"If you're here to talk about—"

"I'm not," Brick answered hollowly. He didn't want to think about Blossom or how much he missed and resented her. He didn't want to process how much they collectively fucked up their relationship.

Bubbles processed his answer, glancing back to the front of the church, the rainbow glowing against her skin. It suited her. The light. It reflected off of her, not absorbing, unlike Brick.

She snapped back to him, moving to take a seat beside him.

"What are you—"

"Shut up."

Brick blinked at her, taken aback by her boldness, but Brick did have to admit he liked this assertive side of her.

She kept her eyes to the front, speaking in a low, harsh tone. "You have a lot of nerve being here."

"Isn't anyone allowed to join?"

"You're an atheist."

Brick nodded, reading over Bubbles' profile. "Yeah, I am."

"Then why are you wasting your time here if you don't believe?"

She was right. Brick didn't believe in her something else, he never has.

But he felt a reason to be here. Brick could feel a presence lingering in him, and that didn't feel too atheistic.

"Have you ever heard of Yuri Gagarin?"

Bubbles gave him a passive glance, confused. "I know of Yuri Katsuki and Plisetsky, that's it."

Brick's mouth twitched upward for a second, the first almost-smile he's experienced in weeks. "He was an astronaut. The first human to enter space, actually."

"Okay?"

"Well, it's been debated that he said this weird fucking thing when he came back from space."

"You do realize you're in church. You shouldn't curse."

"If I didn't already burst into flames when I'd walked in here, I'm pretty sure I'm fine saying it just once, Bubbles."

Bubbles slanted her eyes at him for a moment. "No, it's not, but continue. What did he supposedly say?"

"He said, "I looked and looked but I didn't see God." Brick leaned a little closer to Bubbles. "He was an atheist, yet he still looked. Why would he do that?"

His question led Bubbles to lighten her aversion, deep in thought.

"I don't know," she said after a minute.

"Exactly. He had proof it doesn't exist—"

"But he looked," Bubbles pointed out. "He didn't just look. He looked and looked. He wanted to find something."

Brick pressed his lips together, sinking back into the hardwood of the church pew. "That... that messes with my head a little."

"Me too," Bubbles whispered. She cocked her head to the side, her baby blue eyes tracing over him, and for the first time in a while, Brick didn't see himself as an enemy in her eyes. It felt... nice. To feel a brief connection with someone else. "But how could he not try? It's hard not to wonder and believe there might be something out there."

"Or he was just an impertinent atheist."

"I don't think so." Bubbles leaned in a little, her body twisted in Brick's direction. "I think he just made the mistake of wanting to see it, when it should be that you feel it."

That made Brick pause.

"I've never considered it that way."

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" She softened, and it was the kindest look Brick has received in a long time. Maybe in his whole life. "To try feeling something?"

Brick could hear the sound of a hammer hitting nails on their heads.

He swallowed, nodding. "I guess I am." Brick glanced up to the river of colorful light bathing the archaic space. "What does it feel like, anyway?"

"It depends on the person. For me, I feel it when I paint or when Boomer talks about a future with me. Or when my Abuela makes her arroz con gandules after Christmas Eve mass. When we were in Orlando."

"Huh."

"You've never had that feeling, have you?"

Brick shook his head, letting out a sigh. "I..."

"You what?"

"You don't care," he dismissed.

"I'm still talking to you despite all of the reasons why I shouldn't." Bubbles narrowed her eyes, her words too authoritative for such a soft voice she possessed. "Stop being such a coward, and let someone in for once in your life, Brick."

Brick blinked at her, a real smile pulling at his lips after a moment. "You got some balls, you know that?"

"You deserve it."

"I do."

"Oh, how nice. You're putting your ego aside for once." Brick had let out a laugh, and even Bubbles grinned a little. She tilted her head, reading over him. "So, are you going to tell me now or what?"

Brick hesitated, becoming physically sick at the idea. Still, he forced himself to try articulating what was going on to her.

"I think there's something wrong with me. I just..." He clutched at his chest. "I feel like I have this hole in me, and it keeps growing. Nothing... Nothing has brought a feeling to it. I thought it was fixed. I thought Blossom did, but it's still here. Taking everything and giving nothing back."

"You hold on too much."

Brick furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"`

"I just think with life, you should hold on, but you should also be able to let go. Like with my mom, I can let go of her—of the fact she's not here, of who I thought she was, of her mistakes. But I can still hold on, too. Hold on to her love, to my memories of her. Nothing is solid, and because of that, we need to accept the fluidity."

"Everything changes," Brick murmured when Bubbles' words sunk in.

"Yet everything doesn't at the same time."

Brick stared at Bubbles for a long time.

He wasn't alone. Not really.

Brick was constantly surrounded by people. Those who could care about him.

He has lost so many people, too afraid to let them have the power to leave him. Yet, Brick has become the torch-flame to his life, burning anyone who got too close.

The thing was: everyone leaves. But the connection, the emotions, the love. It doesn't. It can change, morph, but it will never be gone.

Brick didn't have to be alone. He didn't have to convince himself this was how life should be.

Because all he has done was repress and hurt because Brick wanted to cling on to control. But in his act of holding on, Brick has moved like a plane caught in a graveyard spiral, twirling around and around, until it crashed and burned into the ground.

He needed to let go: of his fears, of the resentment in him, of his father's eclipsing shadow. But he could also hold on: to those in his life, to his emotions, to love.

"You're a lot wiser than you seem," Brick smiled softly.

Bubbles' hesitatingly returned his expression. "You're just lucky I'm an empath. I was so close to telling you off earlier."

"I mean, we still have time for that if you need to."

Bubbles shook her head, letting out a small laugh. "Not my place." She poked at his knee. Her expression grew solemn. "But I will ask for you to stay away from Blossom. She needs time to clear her head, and you—"

"Will get in the way?" Brick nodded with his understanding. "I get it. I, uh," Brick rubbed at the back of his neck, "I wasn't the greatest to her, lately."

"You weren't," Bubbles murmured. She didn't look at him as a villain, and Brick felt that had to be something. That he wasn't as lost as he had believed. "I think you need time too."

"I do." Brick stood up, his hand going to the pocket of his jeans. "Thank you for this. You gave me some perspective."

Bubbles nodded once, hesitating. "We were friends too, you know?"

"I know." Brick took a step forward, before pausing and glancing back at Bubbles. He inhaled, his lungs sizzling with each word. "I'm sorry for being such a shitty friend."

Bubbles stood up in front of him, leaving barely any room as she stared up at Brick so surely. "Then prove to me that you aren't."

Apologies, Brick has come to discover, were worth shit. It was your behavior that mattered, not the words, and Brick saw the challenge Bubbles was wagering him. She could forgive him if Brick took the chance to change.

And for the first time in his life, Brick wanted to. He no longer wanted to be a black hole, unable to be filled.

He wanted to be full.

So, Brick took the first step at it when exiting the church, his phone in hand, and dialing a number he knew by heart.

It was on the fifth ring the other side had picked up, and Brick had let out a sigh of relief when it did. There may have been a little wetness in his eyes too.

"Hey, mom. I... How are you?"

---

When arriving at the group's picnic table for lunch, Butch found himself to be alone. He already knew Bubbles was at her last art club meeting of the year, and Boomer probably got caught up with finishing his American government final since Mr. Glory allowed extra time to those who needed it.

It didn't stop Butch from occupying the table, quietly eating the mozzarella sticks he was having for lunch. The rest of the courtyard was filled, not a single picnic table seen without three or four bodies: their laughter, their loud conversations mixing with the chirping of birds. But Butch didn't listen to any of it, too enamored with his own thoughts.

Today marked two weeks since he'd ended things with Buttercup before they could even start. Butch thought...

He'd expected it wouldn't have gone this long. His heart thought she would be here, with him, instead of allowing this hole to develop between them.

She'll notice it. Things will work out.

Because...

They just have to. They have to work out because Butch couldn't understand anything if they didn't.

Butch just needed a timeout from her. That's why he'd ended things. Because Butch didn't want to resent her, to build up grudges he has been letting go of.

He felt he did the right thing.

But Butch missed her. He missed the way Buttercup's nose crinkled when she laughed. He missed her spitfire attitude and sharp tongue. Butch missed the brief chance he got to hold and kiss her.

But she couldn't be missing him. She wasn't here. She hasn't tried.

Butch had tried. He waited for her to change her mind, to realize it was in her head.

But she couldn't trust him.

Why can't she trust me?

Because...

Things were weird.

Butch felt dizzy, losing his grip on reality. Things weren't feeling real anymore.

Boomer said he needed to be slow with things, but Butch was trying to move at a languid pace, and things were still blurring together. None of this should be mixing together, it should remain insoluble.

Buttercup moved too fast for him. Butch had finally slowed down, only for Buttercup to dart away from him. He could, he should go after her.

Butch just needed to catch his breath for the chase.

Butch thought he was doing it right. He thought he could settle down, but things kept moving around, and Butch had to adjust to it.

He still couldn't believe Buttercup didn't trust him.

The idea. The accusation.

Butch had wanted her. Only Buttercup. And that still wasn't enough to hold onto her. She floated out of his grasp, just like a balloon soaring into the sky.

It's been two...

He missed her. That's all.

Butch missed making Blossom laugh. He missed her smirk before saying something witty. He missed talking to her and the flush of her cheeks. Butch missed hating her.

Because things made sense then. Reality made sense then. His head didn't hurt as much, it knew what should be happening.

Butch didn't need all the answers then.

Buttercup had nothing to worry about. Butch had been honest when Boomer asked him that. He meant it when saying it's her, that he was present.

She saw something that wasn't there.

But why did Butch keep holding on?

Maybe Buttercup...

Things were weird. Forgiveness was weird.

How do you possibly forgive someone who has done the things Blossom has?

You don't.

But you can give them the chance to improve, to show change. And Butch saw it. He felt it.

Blossom was different, she held herself differently. She felt different.

A friendship could bloom between them. Butch could handle that. He has learned and grown from their situation. He knew Blossom, now better than ever.

They were becoming friends.

But at the end of the day, isn't that just forgiveness? How could he forgive her?

Because...

Why didn't anything make sense?

Why did his head feel like a soda bottle that has been shaken around too much, the cap still screwed on, the carbonated pressure all staying within? Sugary-sweet with his wishes, but full of fizzy acid towards the truth.

Butch wished he had all the answers.

He wished Buttercup would notice the hole. That she would help him fill it instead of making Butch go into it to chase after and reach her again.

He wished he'd said no.

Butch wished he could hate Blossom again.

But he didn't really want to. Because if Butch really wanted to, if Butch could hate Blossom still, he wouldn't be talking to her. He wouldn't still be trying to lend out a hand while she was down. He wouldn't have asked for her help. He wouldn't.

Things were weird. Forgiveness was weird. Time moved too fast.

Saturday...

Butch could count the minutes out loud as they go by, soft and slow, and let things happen, but it won't help. He would still be looking for the answers because things couldn't be happening this way.

Not after everything.

"Hey," Blossom smiled as she took a seat across from him. "Eating alone?"

Butch shrugged. "No one was here."

But you are.

"And the whole staring-off-into-another-galaxy look you had?"

Because his head felt like it was in another galaxy all the time lately.

"Losing my mind, remember?" He played off with an aloof grin.

Blossom picked up a piece of celery from her lunch tray, dipping it into bleu cheese dressing. "That would be the best way."

"I know."

"You should talk to her."

She doesn't trust me. She only said fine. She hasn't tried.

Butch blinked at her. He blinked at the elephant she held on to, the two of them staring at him to join along, waiting patiently for him.

He couldn't, Butch just couldn't.

"I'll wait until finals are over." He pointed a finger to his head. "Gotta keep things sharp up here, you know?"

"That does sound wise." She took a bite out of her celery, and Butch wondered if she should be eating it. He'd remembered during the health portion of gym class talking about what should be allowed and what shouldn't, and Butch was nearly sure bleu cheese was a no.

Boomer had said Blossom went to a doctor, and Butch could make the assumption about which one it had been, but what if she...

They had gotten sushi last night, another dinner spent off-campus when studying for his biology exam. That was a no too.

Which meant Blossom wasn't.

And that saddened the fuck out of Butch because he could guess where she'd gone and what happened. He wondered if it'd hurt her, not just her body but her heart. If she'd been comfortable. If Brick had been kind to her, but Butch already knew it had to be a no given the time between that morning to their breakup. He wondered if Blossom had needed a hand to hold.

Butch ignored the elephant, pretending it didn't exist because he couldn't.

"Hey, so about tonight—"

"Nope." Blossom pointed a stumpy baby carrot at him, shaking her head. "You're not getting out of studying. We still have to go over the possible free-response questions."

Butch opened his mouth, ready to scoff at her correct assumption, but he couldn't. Blossom knew what he was doing, she knew him.

"Maybe I need a break."

"You can get a break after your final tomorrow."

"Really cracking the whip, huh?"

Blossom flashed a grin, so commanding of his attention. "I feel very responsible now towards keeping you from failing."

"How gracious of you," Butch remarked sarcastically.

"Don't be a prick," she said with a laugh, and Butch did miss hearing it. "I just want to make sure your final transcript to Berkeley is exceptional, because you—" Blossom paused, her face inscrutable, "it should be."

Butch snorted, uncapping a bottle of water. "There might be a chance I'll be sending those transcripts nowhere."

"You didn't get your scholarship?"

"I'm still waiting to hear back."

"Then don't count it out yet. Just be patient." She gave him a knowing smile, one used for an inside joke, and Butch matched it. "It'll work out."

"And if it doesn't?"

Blossom shrugged, so casual and sure. "It'll happen."

Let things happen.

He wished Buttercup had let things happen. That she didn't think about the other possibilities than them.

He wished he didn't have resentment.

Butch wished he only had regret again.

His eyes skimmed over Blossom, taking in the byzantine blue off-the-shoulder top she had on. She still wore her bow, using it to keep half of her hair up into a bun, thick wispy bangs in her face.

Butch had remembered the first time he'd seen Blossom. Freshman year. She'd been at cheer tryouts, he'd been trying out for the football team. Out of all the girls there, Butch had noticed her first. Her, with that red bow in her hair and showing out by stunting better than any of the senior girls could imagine, and Butch knew he wanted to know her then. He just wanted.

Things had been so clear back then.

Butch rested his chin in his palm, tilting his head. "It's... it's fucking terrifying not knowing."

"It is scary." Butch wasn't sure if she understood what he meant. If she only believed he was referring to school and the future. "But I've found that fear and comfort can sometimes be the same thing."

Butch hated how Buttercup moved in a phase, an eclipse to the sun. Now the sun was peeking out again, and Butch couldn't let it touch his skin. He didn't like how it made him feel because it had the chance to burn him all over.

Things had been scorched before, blackened to a crisp. He couldn't let things become that way again, wishing Buttercup would come back and be here to block it out.

"This patience thing is kicking my ass," Butch said along with a sigh.

"Just trust what you know," Blossom assured kindly, the light of the sun catching her eyes.

I don't know...

"Lately, the only thing I know for sure is how much I need to stop watching Riverdale," he deflected, no matter how much the elephant reached for his hand. "Have you started the new season yet?"

Blossom frowned. "I haven't gotten the chance to."

"Shit is wild in the worst ways."

"I don't think I'll watch it."

Butch lifted his brow. He knew the show was shit, but Blossom liked how much of a train-wreck it was, saying it gave her brain a break.

It was for that reason why Butch had started watching it again.

"Why not?"

Blossom stayed quiet, and Butch got his answer: it was their thing.

Things were weird. Forgiveness was weird. Time moved too fast. Confusion was fucking draining.

He wanted to be Blossom's friend. It's nice to have a friend, right? If they could, despite everything that has happened, they should try to be.

"We should watch it together," he offered casually without skipping a beat.

Blossom hesitated. "You have to study."

"Not tomorrow."

"I don't know." Her mouth hitched upward briefly for a reason Butch didn't understand. She usually hated not knowing. Just as much Butch was starting to hate it. "You've already started."

"I can rough it out again."

Blossom creased her brows, resentment leaking into her gaze, and Butch had believed she would say no.

Which would be fine. They shouldn't hang out anymore after his final. Maybe they shouldn't be friends. He should chase after—

"Okay. We'll start after your final," she decided, and Butch...

He felt the sunrise, having waited for him, knowing you can't force things to stay in the dark, and god, Butch couldn't let the warmth touch him. He shouldn't.

Because...

"Sounds good," Butch replied, swallowing at his tight throat. "You'll get to see how fucking weird things are."

Blossom had let out a laugh. "It's nice to know that's one constant to count on."

---

"Is it just me, or was that suspiciously too easy?" Butch asked with a grin as he and Boomer walked out of their biology class, making their way down the hallway to their second-period classes.

Boomer flared his eyes. "Are you serious? I'd guessed on ninety percent of it, and Claire Boonchuy cried for a good five minutes when reading the long response questions," Boomer pointed out. Claire was the only one in their class with an A, so it was kind of a big deal she had gotten lost too. "What weird voodoo ritual did you do the night before to think that was anywhere near easy? And can you teach it to me?"

Butch shrugged his shoulders, blasé. "I guess I was just well-prepared for once."

"You actually studied?" Butch nodded. "And didn't pull an all-nighter?"

"Nope. I slept like a precious little baby last night."

Boomer rolled his eyes, snorting. "There's nothing precious about how you sleep."

"Okay, I snore. Get over it."

"No. It fucks with my serenity."

"And this is why we weren't roommates this year," Butch said with jest.

And for a moment, Boomer could feel it.

He could already feel himself missing Butch and getting to see him every day. Graduation was getting closer, and while they were both staying in California, Boomer already knew he was going to miss not having his best friend around and getting to bullshit with Butch just like this.

"Stop that."

Boomer lifted a brow. "Stop what?"

"I can tell you're getting all emotional and shit."

Boomer gave him a lopsided grin, throwing his arm around Butch's shoulders, ignoring the looks they were getting now. "What can I say? I'mma miss you, dude."

"Yeah," Butch sighed. "It's pretty fucking gross how much I'm gonna miss you too."

"We can still move to Mexico. Remember? Yucatan? Get jobs lobster fishing and chilling at the beach all day," Boomer mused with a dazed smile, reminiscing about the detailed plan he'd made for him and Butch back in their freshman year when neither had a purpose or direction in their lives yet.

"Boom, Yucatan ain't ever happening. Bubs would kill you, and I do want to go to Berkeley."

"I hate how you have to hurt me like that."

"Yeah, okay," Butch chuckled off, his eyes drifting to the right of them. He removed Boomer's arm from his shoulders, steering himself in the same direction of his stare.

Boomer followed Butch to find out why, and to say he was confused would be a gross understatement.

"So, I'm pretty sure I just aced my bio final," Butch said when he brought him and Boomer to a stop in front of Blossom's locker.

Blossom's eyebrows shot up, genuine excitement lightening up her face. "Are you serious?"

"It's either that or I'm the overly confident dumbass who actually got everything wrong."

"I'm sure it's the first one. You'd worked your ass off this whole week."

"I wouldn't have been able to do it if it wasn't for you."

"You were always able. You just needed the extra push."

Butch smirked. "You did get a little bossy towards the end." His eyes swept her down and up, taking in the goldenrod sweater and plaid pants she wore. Her hair was held up by a red bow, and Boomer found it odd to see her wearing it outside of her cheer uniform. "We're still on for tonight?"

"I have to mentally prepare for the cringing, but yes. Want to order Donatello's?"

"Only if you let me pay this time."

"Not a chance," Blossom grinned.

Boomer flicked his eyes between the two, noting how they didn't acknowledge him standing just a foot away, staring at them as if Boomer had finally discovered aliens do, in fact, exist.

And I'm sorry, but when the fuck did Boomer travel back to the past? Because that was the only logical reason for what the hell Boomer was witnessing right now.

Blossom must have sense Boomer's lingering stare, darting her eyes to him, her cheeks rosy. "How about you, Boom? How did your final go?"

Butch avoided Boomer's burning stare because he must've known if he met Boomer's eyes, he would have to answer Boomer's demanding question of what the flying fuck is going on?

"Claire Boonchuy cried during it," Boomer informed her, flashing a smile to ease the weird tension surrounding them. "So, imagine how I felt."

Blossom nodded. "Yeah. Not pretty."

"You got that right."

"I should get to class," Butch announced abruptly, going in the same manner.

However, for a second, he did catch Boomer's eyes, the clear don't was told to Boomer in a sharp glare.

Blossom shut her locker, smiling at Boomer as if nothing about what just happened was something that should only exist in an alternative dimension.

Was the god damn multiverse fucked up? Was that what was happening? Boomer had to know.

"We should get to class too."

"Yeah," Boomer nodded with him and Blossom heading in the same direction since their classes were in the same building. It was when the heat of the sun blazed against his head when cutting through the courtyard, did Boomer address the elephant between them. "You and Butch seem friendly," he played off with his signature aloofness.

Butch had said there was nothing to worry about when it came to Blossom, honest with his sentiment. But that had also been when Buttercup was his focal point. Now, Boomer wasn't sure if Butch would be able to give him a straight answer. Not after what he just saw, but maybe Boomer was reading too much into it.

"I think we're finally becoming actual friends," Blossom said after a beat. There was a noticeable lightness to her, such a stark difference to two weeks ago, and Boomer was happy to see it. He was relieved to hear the honesty in her voice. "It's not something I would've ever predicted a month ago, but I'm happy we're trying."

Blossom and Butch continued to be complicated to understand.

Maybe Boomer had gotten it wrong. Maybe they weren't broken beyond repair after all.

Boomer just wasn't sure of how they were rearranging their pieces back together yet.

"Can you promise me something?"

Blossom met his eyes, and Boomer could feel her bracing for the inevitable promise he was going to ask.

"Of course."

"If this is genuine, then be friends. But if you're only here for him because you need someone, please stay away. I can't see him getting fucked with again, Blossom."

Blossom didn't cower or appear hurt by Boomer. She, instead, held her chin up, her pink eyes softening with understanding and respect. "I promise."

"Thank you."

"You're a good friend, not just to Butch," Blossom nudged his arm, "but to me, too. Hold me accountable, Boom. I need that."

Boomer opened his mouth to respond, about to tell her that maybe she should just stay away from Butch permanently then. Because Boomer could only fear of Butch getting made into ashes again.

But Blossom stuck her arm out, halting Boomer in place, her eyes wide to something in the distance.

"Hey, isn't that Bubbles' dad?"

Boomer furrowed his eyebrows because that couldn't be possible.

But there he was, staring at a map to the campus near the auditorium, proving to Boomer that something was definitely fucking with the cosmic energy today.

Wallace Harper. He looked like a classic Bond villain, dressed in a dark suit and shades with slick back hair. A visitor's pass sticker stuck out terribly, placed on the left of his chest.

"He looks skinnier than his Instagram photos," Blossom commented.

"You've looked him up?"

"Yeah, Bubs told me about what happened, and I wanted to put a face to the coward."

Boomer snorted, having not taken his eyes off of the man who appeared lost. "Why is he even here?"

"Change of heart?"

"Fuck that."

"Are you okay? You're shaking."

Boomer glanced down at his clenched fists, realizing Blossom was right. He hasn't been this enraged in a long time.

Boomer liked to be like water, calm and steady. But like the ocean, it could take a single disruption, an earthquake, to make the water in him turn hostile. He could feel the tsunami of anger building up in him, drifting closer to shore, ready to wipe out Wallace Harper and his "change of heart."

Blood pulsated at his temples as Wallace grew closer to them, finding them to be his refuge to being lost.

"Excuse me, do you think you can—"

"Why are you here?"

Wallace paused, his mouth gaping with surprise by Boomer's rudeness.

"Boomer," Blossom whispered behind him, but Boomer took a step closer to Wallace, matching him in height.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're here to see your daughter, right? Your devastatingly gorgeous daughter." Boomer slanted his eyes more, wondering how nice it would be to punch this grown asswipe of a man. In the distance, the bell rang, informing Boomer and Blossom that they were late for class, but neither had moved. "Did you know that she lights up every room she walks into?"

"l—"

Boomer tilted his head to an angle. "But actually, you wouldn't know. Just like how you wouldn't know how incredibly smart she is, or how kind and unbelievably talented she is. She's going to be it in the art world. It'll take a few years, but I already know it. Because she's just someone you believe and root for."

"Young man, are you talking about Oli—"

"She's got a huge sweet tooth and tries so hard at everything she does. She's so damn wise, way beyond her years actually, but I guess that's what happens when you have to grow up alone from a young age, right?"

He stood there, stunned, reading Boomer's hostile expression through the dark lens of his Ray-Bans.

"She has the purest heart and is always there to take care of anyone who needs her because that's just the type of person she is. She only wants to see the good in people, and I don't think that'll ever change. She's everything done right in this world, and I'm lucky enough to have fallen in love with her."

His profile changed from shock to remorse, and it only pissed Boomer off even more.

"She's my favorite person to exist. I can't ever imagine not knowing her or even having the chance to know her and not taking it." Boomer shook his head. "She's going to SDSU soon, and I'm going to be right there by her side, planning a life with her because I'm going to do my damn hardest to give her a family. You've never deserved the right to know any of this, but you do deserve to regret your decision."

"So, she—"

"Doesn't need you." Boomer took a step back from him, not hiding any of the disdain on his face. "She never has, and never will. So, Wallace, do what you've already done best, and leave."

Wallace stood there, staring Boomer down, a silent stand-off before he did as Boomer advised, and left.

"Boom, that was—"

"Too much?" Boomer could feel the peak of the wave mellowing out, returning back to the ocean inside of him, letting go of the anger he had for Bubbles' sake.

"Everything it needed to be," she finished, grinning proudly. Blossom rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning into him. "He deserved it."

"You're right." Boomer matched her expression, feeling the high of his pride coursing through his veins, ultraviolet and fulfilling. "He did."

"Bubs is incredibly lucky to have you."

Boomer nodded because they were both lucky to have each other. That their souls had found each other, building and holding onto the love they share and continuing to do so.

Bubbles and him. They were family.

---

To celebrate the conclusion of finals week on this Friday night, Princess was throwing an extravagant party at her apartment. The entire senior class was invited, most already there by now.

Butch had chosen not to go, not in a party mood and needing a night alone for the first time this week. He, instead, preferred to enjoy the rare chance to have his dorm empty. For once, it was his for the night and not Brick's, who Butch assumed had decided not to be a recluse for once and attend the party.

He was comfortable in his bed, watching a stream of an MLS match when Butch got a notification to an incoming email.

Butch paused the stream, immediately checking out the contents of it.

Congratulations, Butch Santos...

He got the scholarship! He could afford Berkeley now.

He reread the email so many times that the words were becoming fuzzy, blurring together like alphabet soup.

Butch can go to Berkeley.

He's going to Berkeley because of this scholarship, and he can't tell Buttercup.

Butch was going to play soccer at his dream college. He's going to graduate and hopefully qualify for the Olympic trials, winning a gold medal for the United States—Who was he kidding? The men's team would be lucky enough to win a bronze medal, at minimum. But he would still get to be a part of it.

And he couldn't tell Buttercup.

It had been her idea to apply for the scholarship, she had pushed him to not give up. Butch should be celebrating with her, asking if she got it too.

Would she even care? Why would she?

Butch has held onto the hope, but this hole between them shouldn't have become so big. She should've noticed it by now. He'd thought it would've been patched up, but it's only grown deeper and deeper.

He could afford Berkeley, he should be celebrating it with Buttercup. Nothing should be distracting him from coming to that conclusion. Graduation was coming up, and Butch only had a limited time to stop the sinking of this hole between them.

Butch picked up his phone, staring at the screen for a long time before typing out a message.

Butch: Hey, sorry to bother you, but I need someone to talk to. Can we meet up?

He stood up from his bed, changing out of his sleeper pants and into a olive sweater with black mesh shorts. When Butch was done, he had a new message waiting for him, smiling softly at the reply.

---

Bubbles had decided in the morning that Buttercup would come to Princess' party with her and Boomer.

"You need a distraction, and Princess is throwing the party of the year. So, I'm not taking no for an answer."

Buttercup, tired of picking her battles, decided Bubbles may be right. She needed a break from her unresolved emotions and the constant thoughts of how she should be starting her memory map but then convincing herself to put it off for the next day, for a better day where she can handle the results of it. Procrastination can be so exhausting, you know?

Blossom had stayed back in their dorm, wanting to decompress after her finals and start her own memory map. At least, that was what Bubbles had told Buttercup when she'd asked in the morning if Blossom was tagging along, which Buttercup wasn't going to complain about. Tonight was about getting her mind off of Blossom and Butch and their previous relationship.

Bubbles had said Princess moved out into an apartment close to campus but calling it an apartment was a word of fiction. It was more of a penthouse.

Nothing had prepared Buttercup for the grandeur of it. The two-story entryway to the enormous living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a brick patio, all designed to the smallest detail, emphasized the taste and wealth of a Morbucks.

And crammed into this absurdly expensive apartment was over two hundred teenagers, some from other local high schools, loud and bright-eyed with booze and dancing. The bass of The Weeknd's "Heartless" ravaged and devoured the air. Buttercup felt a bit nauseous when taking the first sip of the raspberry Bacardi Boomer had handed her. Too sweet for her taste, but on the fourth try, it went down easier, almost like water.

"We're going to dance," Bubbles shouted over the music, adorable as ever in a white blouse and a pink mini skirt patterned with red flowers. Her blonde hair was twisted up into two golden topknots, rose-gold body lava shimmered off her skin. "Do you want to come with?"

Buttercup flicked her eyes between her and Boomer, who was wearing a black short-sleeved button-down with a palm and peach hibiscus pattern and black jeans. "Not trying to look like a throuple."

"But we would make such a hot one," Boomer grinned.

"I'm too sober for this shit," Buttercup mumbled, retreating away from them, guzzling down the rest of the drink in her cup before refilling it in the sleek, modern kitchen. She lifted herself up, plopping down on the granite countertop, the stone black with dusting of silver, a cold galaxy underneath her.

People were looking at her, some curious to the tense energy radiating off her, other glances were more of interest. Buttercup kept her eyes on the crushing crowd, daring for anyone to have the balls to talk to her.

Because, truthfully, Buttercup didn't want to talk to anyone. She only wanted to talk to Butch.

He's not here.

Buttercup searched around from her spot in the kitchen, but there was no sight of him. He could be out on the patio, she barely had a view of it, but Buttercup had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be here. Because parties weren't his thing anymore, and they weren't her thing either. He was the only thing that had made them enjoyable to her recently. Without him, Buttercup had such a lonely heart.

Buttercup chugged down her cup again, neglecting to refill it, opting to claim the whole bottle for herself now. No one was going to miss raspberry-flavored liquor anyway, because who the fuck likes raspberries that much?

The buzzing warmth of the sweetness was mellowing her brain, her cheeks feeling the sparks of a blaze building up. Her chest felt the most heated in two weeks, a temporary blanket thrown over her shoulders, finally grown tired of being left out in the cold. She gulped down more fire from the bottle, feeling it spread through her in a rampage.

Maybe Buttercup did like raspberries that much.

She should have apologized by now.

Butch deserved that much. He's always deserved more than what the fucked up universe kept giving him, of what Buttercup was giving him right now.

Buttercup pulled out her phone from the pocket of her black jeans, the brightness of her screen stinging her eyes. Her thumb fumbled, scrolling for Butch's contact. He used to always be at the top of her message app, her most frequent chat, but now Buttercup had to scroll, and that depressed the fuck out of her.

God, she really did fuck up a good thing, didn't she?

She finally found their past conversation, pausing, rereading the last thing Butch had sent. It was from that morning, three hours before shit had hit the fan.

Butch: I want to do right.

He wanted to do right by her, by their relationship. Even then, Butch knew. He could sense her doubts before they'd lurked closer to the murky surface. Something had tipped him off, something had spoiled a piece of the future to him, and Buttercup didn't realize it.

Or (and this was her drunk and heartbroken mind theorizing right now, so stay with her) was he talking about Blossom? That he was alluding to why he'd talked to her that morning. Butch was doing right by Blossom, but what was the right?

What the fuck happened that damn morning?

Buttercup traced her finger along the screen, typing out what she thought was the question on her mind but was actually a bunch of gibberish, deleting it immediately after squinting hard and reading the criminally incorrect grammar of it. She tried again, only to stop when getting a notification from her email, accidentally clicking on the banner of it and her phone shifting to the app by itself.

Congratulations, Buttercup Soto...

Buttercup reread the message five times, confused about what it was for before it clicked in her sluggish mind.

She got the scholarship. She could afford Stanford now.

And she didn't have Butch here to tell. To celebrate, and hug, and kiss those soft lips of his.

Buttercup had thought when she'd received this news, she would've been elated. Relieved to not have to worry about paying off student loans until she was fifty. But it only made her feel emptier.

Nothing could fill the hole she felt.

Buttercup assumed the others who applied were finding out too. Butch should know by now if he got it.

Maybe Buttercup should ask him. It would be an easy way to initiate a conversation between them before apologizing.

But Buttercup couldn't find the courage to write a new message. Her pride was sneaking back up on her, annoyed by her moment of being a weak bitch, lavished in raspberry armor that convinced her to say fuck him.

Fuck Butch for making her sad as hell at this party. Fuck him for ruining what should be a joyous moment for her. Fuck all of this.

Buttercup was tired of caring about him, of her heart hurting. She came to this party to forget about him, not to brood in a corner. So, Buttercup was going to enjoy this party because she deserved to.

The air of the living room was thick with sweat and the sharp, sweet smell of the raspberry Bacardi Buttercup had finished off before joining the crowd dancing. She found Bubbles and Boomer, who were more than delighted by her arrival. Buttercup didn't care who she'd danced with, writhing and grinding with them in decidedly unchaste ways. She felt different hands on her waist, none of whom stayed longer than two songs by her choice, moving on to someone else, to find a warmth in her that wasn't produced by the raspberry cloud fogging up her head.

But all she felt was sweat, her flushed skin and the cold, empty hole in her chest.

"Are you okay?" Bubbles had asked at some point. Buttercup couldn't remember when or maybe if it'd actually been Boomer who asked. Buttercup had nodded, not fully aware of what she agreed to, before turning her back to them, wringing herself through the crowd for someone new to dance with.

Ariana Grande's "Bad Idea" was playing, and Buttercup just wanted to dance right now. She wanted her body to take over, to stop the complicated web in her mind from growing. Buttercup just wanted to forget about how much she wanted to feel warm. That she should've taken the blanket of love Butch had desperately tried to give her that morning, the one she should be wrapped in right now.

She should have apologized by now.

Buttercup should stop thinking about him.

She really needed to stop dancing, the movement of it churning her liquid stomach. Buttercup placed a hand to her mouth, keeping back the reflex of wanting to gag. Her legs felt like jello, racing for the closest place.

The warm breeze of the early May air hit her with great force as Buttercup turned, heading for the bushes on the right corner of the patio, only to spew out acid on the poor plant.

"Are you okay?"

Buttercup grimaced at the voice. This night couldn't have gotten any worse.

She wiped at her mouth, glaring. "I'm fine, Brick."

Brick blinked at her, half surprised to see it was her and half too drunk to recognize who she was without needing a few seconds for the cognition in his brain to work. "Shit, I didn't know it was you."

Buttercup opened her mouth, about to tell him off for no particular reason because that was just the mood she was in, but she felt another rush that was not going to stay down, purging out more on the bushes.

"Fuck, so that's how it's going to be," Brick said, reaching out and holding back her hair.

Was he really fucking holding her hair right now?

Seriously, what the fuck is going on?

Buttercup jumped at his touch, but she'd relaxed when realizing she had much bigger things to worry about. The smell of sickly-sweet regurgitated fruit permeated the air as Buttercup wretched out an ungodly amount of liquid from her body.

"If this were an Olympic sport, you would take the gold," Brick told her when Buttercup started to go dry.

She wiped at her mouth again, returning to her glare from before. "Fuck off."

"That was a compliment."

"I don't need any from you."

"Fine, whatever." He let go of her hair, taking a step back, matching her expression. "You're welcome, by the way."

"You're welcome, by the way," Buttercup mocked, making her voice more nasally than normal, sounding like a playground bully. "I didn't need your help, asshole."

"Right. I should just let you get vomit in your hair. That would surely be attractive for you."

"Why do you fucking care if I'm attractive?"

Brick rolled his eyes, probably the most underdressed person here in a black hoodie and dark blue jeans, and that annoyed the fuck out of Buttercup. Girls always had to dress nice for parties, but guys can get away with being a boring sack of shit and still expect to get people's attention. It was infuriating.

"Just doing Butch a favor."

"Jokes on you," Buttercup muttered, crossing her arms and averting her gaze to one of the tall outdoor heaters near them, watching the flame flicker with the minimum of its strength. "Butch can go fuck himself."

Brick laughed at that, and Buttercup thought about how much she didn't like him laughing at something she had to say. It felt perverted to humor in general. "I can agree with that."

"Why are you still talking to me?"

"That sure went to shit fast," Brick went on, lacking typical social manners due to the liquor soaking in his brain. Or maybe he just had a death wish tonight. "You and Butch."

"Just like you and Blossom." Buttercup flashed a syrupy-sweet smile that would surely rot your teeth in seconds, meeting his eyes, finding them to be the color of black cherries when under the moonlight.

"And look at us now," he said with a sardonic grin. "Stuck in the same place, huh?"

Buttercup wanted to disagree. Her and Brick, they couldn't possibly be the same.

But maybe they were. Maybe they've always been, and that's why they clash so much. Too similar for their own good, too easy to bump heads with. And Buttercup has resented that about him. She hated how much she could see herself in him, with the same tendencies they have.

Buttercup felt her phone buzz in her pocket, her heart skipping a beat when reading who it was from, smiling at her screen.

It was from Butch.

She began typing a reply, close to sending it, her thumb hovering over the blue arrow to do it.

But then Buttercup realized her blurry vision had only read the first two letters, mistaking Bubbles for Butch.

He hadn't texted her. It was only her optimistic heart wishing he did, and a drunken mistake for believing he would.

Because why would Butch even text her? Why would he care? She'd pushed him away too far, steering him in a set direction away from her.

Just like Brick has with Blossom.

Buttercup neglected to answer Bubbles' "Are you okay?" message, glancing up to meet Brick's stare, finally accepting the truth.

"I guess we are."

---

The rooftop of the Academy's gymnasium had the best view, overlooking the top canopies of the oak trees on the edge of campus with uninterrupted visibility of the sky. The room with the ladder to the roof was easy to pick with a bobby pin, a secret Bubbles and Butch had discovered during their sophomore gym class, and was how Butch and Blossom got on the roof during their first date nearly two years ago.

Now, here Butch was again, sitting on the concrete rooftop, staring up at the diamonds in the sky glittering down at him. He didn't know much about astronomy or constellations, but Butch did know how to spot Venus, which was bright and huge tonight and see the Big Dipper tracing the sky with its ladle of stars.

He stared hard, wanting to find something. Butch did believe something else was out there, in the kingdom of the sky, and he wished it would open up for him. That some miracle would happen and give him the answers because he was starting to feel the world swirling as if he could actually feel the Earth spinning around at its true speed.

Butch closed his eyes, breathing in, counting to ten, breathing out.

He waited until the world felt dawdle again, just as it was for everyone else, to open his eyes.

The moon was impossibly gorgeous tonight, milky and luminous. He counted the visible craters, the imperfections to the dusty surface of the cosmic body. It gave character, the craters, created by the wrath of asteroids and comets. Weathered by its wounds but still undefeated, and that's what made it remarkable. To still be something worth looking at despite its damage, despite the darkness carving around its pale glow.

Butch wished he had all the answers.

Down below, he could hear laughter and shouting. His classmates going about their Friday night, heading for parties or making a trip off-campus for a spontaneous adventure.

What am I doing here?

Maybe he should've gone to Princess' party. Maybe he should've stayed in his dorm.

But Butch didn't move, staying with his arms folded over his knees, waiting until he heard the roof hatch open. It was then when a part of him moved, his heart climbing to his throat, and Butch forgot about his questioning of whether he should be here.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Blossom greeted.

She joined him, sitting to his right, stripping a backpack from her shoulders and laying it by her feet. The skin of her legs glowed alabaster under the moonlight, shown off by her black track shorts. Her pink baby tee added a splash of color to the night, as did the red bow keeping her hair up in a half-do.

She unzipped her backpack, turning to meet his stare. "I went to raid the vending machine in the teacher's lounge." In the bag, Butch could see an assortment of snacks and two throw pillows all stuffed into the tight space. Blossom handed one of the pillows to him before taking out the other for herself, placing it behind her.

"Him really needs to take away that master key from you. It gives you too much power."

"With great power, comes great responsibility," she quoted, digging around the plenty of options they had to eat. "Which is what I'd used it for since it's the only place with," Blossom paused, smiling when she found what she was looking for, giving Butch two packages of Chips Ahoy. "Your go-to comfort snack. It's only responsible of me to make sure you have it right now."

Butch traced his fingertips over the jagged edges of its plastic. Chips Ahoy shouldn't be this impactful to him. They were just dry ass chocolate chip cookies that he had a childhood attachment to. It shouldn't make his chest feel so heavy like this.

"Thanks."

Blossom selected a bag of Smart Popcorn for herself, leaning back to rest her head on the circular pillow. She glanced up, studying him for a while before saying anything.

"You weren't bothering me."

Butch lifted a brow, his head way too spaced out, desperately needing an emergency landing by now. "Huh?"

"In your text, you apologized for bothering me," Blossom told him before eating a couple pieces of cheddar-dusted popcorn. "I wanted you to know you weren't, especially when you need someone to talk to." She stared up at the sky for a minute, quiet other than the crunching of the popcorn she chewed. "But you must be at your last resort if you want to talk to me."

Butch laid down beside her, his head squishing down on the plush throw pillow. It was one of those expensive ones, stuffed with prickly feathers from some exotic bird.

He opened a package of cookies. "I always want to talk to you. Even after our breakup, I did."

"That's a fallacy." She shifted, pressing into her left hip a little to face him. "You couldn't have possibly wanted to talk to me after learning the truth."

Butch let out a light laugh, shaking his head. "Always have to be right."

"I don't want to be anymore." The moonlight made her eyes the color of gentle rose quartz, comforting and dissolving the emotional wounds Butch felt. Wounds Blossom had initially created, but she has also become this strange remedy for those that still linger. "But that's one thing I can say I know."

She's right.

Butch forced himself to eat a cookie, letting the silence between them do the talking, not poking at the elephant between them.

"I got my scholarship," Butch revealed after finishing one package of cookies, and Blossom was right, he did need them.

Blossom sat up immediately. Her face became sunshine, beating out the moonlit sky as the brightest object for Butch to admire. "Butch, this is a big deal. I'm so proud of you." The sun in her spread over Butch, and he didn't resist the light coursing through him, filling his chest with it. "I'm just bummed out that we only have Chips Ahoy and Spicy Doritos to celebrate this."

"What are you talking about?" Butch sat up too with a grin to match hers. "Those are the perfect food for celebrating."

Blossom shook her head, digging through her bag of snacks again, pulling out a package with two Snoball cakes. The pink coconut flakes matched her shirt, sprinkling down on his shorts when Blossom handed one to him. She took the other, lifting it in the air.

"To you earning your way into Berkeley, all on your own," Blossom cheered, bumping the two cakes into each other, more dyed flakes falling off of it before they both took big bites into the soft sponge of the cake.

Butch tasted the bitterness of the dark chocolate, licking at his lips to remove the excess of the sweet marshmellow cream from the center. "These are a lot better than I'd remembered."

"Usually it's the other way around." Blossom wiped her thumb at the corner of her mouth, crumbles of chocolate cake sticking to the pad of it. "Things tend to be better in memory than in reality."

"Nostalgia fucks with our minds."

"It does." Her mouth hitched downward for a moment, a cloud covering the sunlight. Butch could still feel the warmth of it, but he wanted the light too. "You should be happy." She tilted her head, seeing into him and finding the sunbeams he was hoarding in his chest. He needed them for later, for when he wasn't with her, and Blossom knew this. Butch just didn't know how she felt about it. "Why would you need to talk to someone when you should be happy?"

Butch averted his eyes, finding the stars to be spinning. Or maybe it was just his head.

"Because I don't know if I'm happy," Butch revealed quietly.

"Do we ever?"

Butch met her stare, finding everything that has been twisting and swirling in his mind, blurring what Butch had thought reality should be. "That's some emo shit, Blossom."

She smiled for a second, letting out a breath. "That's not what I meant." Blossom leaned forward, grabbing onto Butch's full attention. "Happiness isn't decided. I've made the mistake plenty of times thinking you can. That it should be chased after, easy to grasp onto. But really, it's when you settle down and let things happen, then it comes. It's random. Just like the universe is."

"You and the damn universe," Butch grinned, feeling the entire weight of it pressing into his chest because Blossom was right, and Butch wished she wasn't.

Because happiness was felt, not something you can grab and determine. And he was feeling it.

He's feeling it.

"I may be filled with existential dread lately."

"So fucking emo, I swear."

Blossom shrugged, and he could feel the sun again. He could see the evidence of it, the burning of its existence in her cheeks.

But the sun went away again, and it immediately felt so much colder than before.

"It's Buttercup," Blossom murmured. Her eyes felt colorless despite the pigment of them being so vivid and unimaginable. "You want to tell her."

Butch's throat grew thick. He nodded.

"Why aren't you with her?"

Because...

"I don't know."

And Butch saw Blossom finally point towards the elephant. The wrinkly trunk of the creature delicately wrapping around his wrist, no longer accepting his choice to ignore it. So he grabbed it too, letting the gentle animal lead them down the path he and Blossom should've navigated a long time ago.

"You love her," Blossom whispered. There was no jealousy, no bitterness. Just the stating of a fact. She could've explained how gravity worked in the same tone, and Butch wouldn't have been phased by it.

But her words cut deep into him, slicing through the sunlight Butch felt in his chest, the beams of it bursting through his wounds, golden rays of glitter for Blossom to touch and study.

"I do."

"Good." Blossom smiled at him. A happy and sad smile. One that should come with wet eyes, fit for a goodbye.

But Butch didn't want to say goodbye.

"She doesn't trust me." Butch could feel the stars dancing along in the sky, incomprehensible to how they could move around to a melody like this, but Butch also felt like that. Dancing along to a song that shouldn't make sense, his movements already planned, but his thoughts were confused as to how he could know how to dance to this. "That's why I'm not with her."

Blossom opened her mouth but closed it quickly. Because she didn't need to ask why.

She already knew why.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

But Butch knew she was apologizing for much more. She always was now, genuine and sincere with each one given to Butch. And so were her actions that followed.

They didn't talk for a while, eventually laying their heads back down on the pillows, silently making up constellations in their heads because they were easier to understand.

Blossom had glanced over at him, her eyes scorching Butch's skin before she'd cleared her throat. Butch rolled onto his right hip, having the gut feeling this was something he should pay attention to. Blossom did the same, staring into his eyes, before finding the courage to peel at the silence.

"That morning we ran into each other, I... I went to an abortion clinic afterward."

---

Bubbles was in a rare mood tonight.

It had started off pleasant. Her and Boomer had a great time on the dance floor, indulging in the sweet, heady rush of being eighteen and in love.

But then Buttercup appeared, drunk and cheeks blazing, before committing a disappearing act that sent Bubbles' mom friend instincts into overdrive. She'd texted Buttercup, no response. Searched high and low around the apartment, but had no luck. Lost Boomer while doing so, having to eventually find him too.

Maggie Rogers' "Burning" poured out from the ceiling stereos, the chorus swelling so loud Bubbles could feel it in her throat. A headache was kneading at her skull as Bubbles went to the balcony to get fresh air and because it was the only place she hadn't checked yet.

When Bubbles finds Buttercup... Well, she was going to hug her, make sure she drank a glass of water to sober up, and tell her it was a relief to find her and know she was okay. But afterward, Bubbles wasn't going to hold back from expressing her frustrations with her.

She knew Buttercup only got drunk because she wasn't processing her emotions correctly. Butch was on her mind, making a mess out of Buttercup. A mess that Bubbles was currently trying to clean up before it got worse.

The moon lightened the sky, the stars greeting Bubbles as she wormed her way through the patio. A knot of boys were chugging beer and exchanging their drunken "Now, here me out," ideas. Groups occupied the wicker couches, sinking into the burnt orange cushions of them, laughing with the relief of having no real responsibilities for the next three weeks. A couple made out in the corner, awkwardly groping and dry humping each other right by an unfortunate individual trying to pretend that wasn't happening while they ate a slice of pizza at the only available chair outside.

But no Buttercup.

Bubbles could hear a panic alarm blare in her head. She should go check the bedrooms upstairs again. Oh God, what if—

Her phone, already in hand with the hope Buttercup would finally answer, lit up. Bubbles had to block out all of the noise around her to be able to even try reading it.

Brick: Butt is drunkkkk as fuck

It felt like Bubbles had reread the message about a million times, first trying to decipher who "Butt" was before connecting it had to be Buttercup. The implications of the message still did not make sense the more she read it.

It only furthered her confusion.

Bubbles: Are you with her?!

Brick: Duh dumie

Okay, Buttercup and Brick? Together? That was definitely weird.

Bubbles: Is she okay?

Brick: She smell like razberrys lolll

Bubbles: You're drunk too, aren't you?

Brick: Blondie u dont no me

Bubbles: So, you are drunk.

Brick: We get wings Butt is ask if u want

Bubbles: Send me the address of where you are.

Bubbles watched three dots pop up, disappear, then reappear again. Her headache surged to max strength from thinking about babysitting a drunk Buttercup and Brick.

She really needed to find Boomer.

Brick: So no?

Bubbles inhaled sharply, typing out a new message for him, but she got an incoming call at the same time, her finger pressing into the big green button just as it lit up. She didn't have a chance to read the caller ID, but Bubbles expected it to be Brick asking about the wings.

"Tell me where you are, right now," Bubbles demanded firmly. "Or I'm going to scream!"

"Uh, this is Olivia, right?"

Bubbles flared her eyes, mentally groaning at her mistake of yelling at a poor stranger.

A stranger who knew her name and sounded oddly familiar.

"Yes, this is her," Bubbles answered back curiously. She could feel her stomach lurch a little, and she massaged a hand to her pulsating temple. "May I ask who's calling?"

There was a sigh on the other end. As if this person, who had a deep and gruff voice, expected for Bubbles to recognize him immediately.

"It's Wallace Harper."

Bubbles wondered how she might've looked to those around her. If they only saw a girl, frozen in place, chilled by the reappearance of a ghost she'd thought wasn't going to haunt her anymore. Or if they saw her as she saw herself, spinning off into some other galaxy.

"I'm in Townsville," he revealed, but his voice must've been static to her ear, fuzzy and distant. "I know your graduation is soon, and I—"

"Why are you calling me?" Bubbles vocalized, steadying herself despite how dizzy her head felt. "Don't you feel this is a bit inappropriate?"

"I wanted to speak to you in person. I heard you got into SDSU—"

The stars were blurring together like the view of lights from carnival swings that spin, moving faster and faster, higher and higher until Bubbles felt she could reach out and chase those dashing stars. To get a hold of one and keep it, proudly showing it off like a firefly in a mason jar caught on a summer evening.

Except, Bubbles didn't want to chase after the stars. They were meant to be seen, to be felt. Not something for her to reach out and take for her own. She didn't want to rob anyone else of the stars because they weren't hers to keep.

Just like how Wallace Harper wasn't hers. Bubbles could hold on to knowing she'll have no harsh feelings for him because he's half of the reason she was living and breathing on this Earth, but Bubbles could let go of what he could've been and the want of having it. She could let go of the hurt from knowing he didn't want to be a part of her life because it didn't mean Bubbles was missing out on having love in her life—it only meant he was missing out on having her love.

Bubbles was whole without him. Always has, and always will be.

"By who?"

"This blond boy." Bubbles felt herself drift down to the ground, gentle and easy. "He wasn't a fan of me and had some words to say. Boomer is what I think his friend called him—"

"My Boomer?"

She could feel her dad creasing his eyebrows together, and for a half-second, Bubbles had wondered if he got the same thinking crinkle she did when things upset her. "Yes, him. He didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't," Bubbles said softly, tears springing in her eyes. These were good tears, the best she could've asked for. The world wasn't spinning anymore, but she could still feel the buzzing of it in her cells.

But it was for a different reason—a better one.

"He cares a lot about you."

"I know."

"I've been thinking about calling you since—"

"What did he say to you?"

Her dad paused, and Bubbles could tell he didn't like her interruption. "Olivia, I'm trying to talk to you about—"

"I don't care about you," Bubbles said, letting go of him and watching him float up into the sky to become friends with the starlight. She wiped at the tears in her eyes, a watery smile becoming of her. "I care about him."

He sighed again, defeated. "I don't know. He said a lot of things."

"None of which were important enough for you to remember?"

"No." Wallace hesitated. Bubbles could hear the rejection in his voice. "He'd said a lot of things about you. He went on about how incredible you are and how lucky he was to be in love with you." Her dad sucked in a harsh breath. "He'd said you didn't need me."

Bubbles turned on her heel, glancing back into the party as if she could just sense it.

She could sense the exact moment Boomer had found her standing out here on the patio, navigating his way through the crowd to her.

Because that's what Boomer did best: finding his way back to her, always a constant to her world. The only safe bet she could ever wager on.

"He's right."

Bubbles hung up before her dad could say anymore, taking the quick steps to end the distance between her and Boomer. She threw her arms around him, stopping him with a salty, sweet kiss.

"Please don't ever leave me again," he said when touching the tip of his nose against hers. His hands held onto her waist, making the world feel slow and worth appreciating. "I've seen some things."

"How bad?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough." Bubbles ran her knuckle tenderly over the shell of his ear, the ends of his hair tickling her skin. This boy. This home. This feeling. The world could turn in whatever speed it wanted to, Bubbles knew she would rather go at this slow-burning pace with Boomer instead. "You're my family."

Boomer grinned at her, and Bubbles was sure she was the only person who knew he was too smart for his own good. "I know."

"I love you."

"I know that too." He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, luxuriating in it, stardust sprinkling down on them. "And I love you."

"That's the best news I've received all night." Bubbles let out a sigh, her shoulders bowing as reality set back in. "Which reminds me, we need to go to the nearest wings place to find Buttercup and Brick."

Boomer took a step back from her, a look of confusion crossing his face because Buttercup and Brick being together made no logical sense with any equations given.

"And Brick?"

"It's been a really weird night."

---

There was a long pause. Butch had sucked in a breath, his eyes dark, like Blossom had watered and cultivated a lush and dense vegetation in them.

"I... I had a feeling."

The corner of Blossom's mouth hitched up because, of course, he did. "That's why you'd stayed."

Butch nodded.

She swallowed, trying to find the right words, but they were getting stuck in her throat. "I... I wasn't pregnant. It was a false alarm, but the alarm of it was well-needed."

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asked quietly.

"Butch, you don't want—"

"I do."

Blossom blinked at him, caught up in how he was looking.

He looked in her. Not at her or around her or through her.

Blossom had thought Brick saw her, but he had only looked at her. He didn't look in her. And he didn't keep looking either.

But Butch, she could feel him finally seeing all of her. There was nothing left for her to keep from him, no disguise to entertain him with, the worse already given, and he didn't turn away.

He kept looking.

That's what got her.

"We'd fought in the waiting room. He'd never asked what I wanted, he'd only assumed. I already knew what I wanted. I couldn't. I knew that. But I wanted him to be there, you know? Emotionally there, but he wasn't. And the doctor was so kind and nonjudgmental. I... I should've been happy about not being pregnant. And the look on Brick's face when I'd told him I wasn't... I think I knew it then. That I didn't want it. The possibility of being in that position with him again."

Blossom took a breath, and Butch didn't waver. "He doesn't trust me. Told me so before I got called in by a nurse. We didn't even know I wasn't pregnant then, and what if I was and I'd changed my mind? I would've had his baby, knowing he doesn't trust me. That... That feels like the cruelest thing the universe could give you. I know that sounds incredibly privileged and dramatic of me, but that's how I felt then, listening to him say he didn't trust me because of how we'd started, knowing I could be possibly growing something of us inside of me."

"We should've had a discussion about what was happening, but instead, we'd fought. He'd said this thing to me. There was way worse he could've said—That he did say. But I can't stop thinking about it. How he'd looked at me and saw too much. He can't…" carry me. Blossom sucked in another breath. "... I couldn't breathe for a long time around him. I didn't realize it until that morning. And he'd never said everything would be okay... He was just there."

"You were alone." Butch's voice was so soft Blossom almost didn't catch how pissed he was. Anger and horror were mixed together, making a sound out of her feelings.

"That's what it felt like."

"No one should go through that."

"I needed to. Remember? The alarm of it was well-needed."

"But you shouldn't have needed an alarm," Butch whispered.

"I know."

They stared at each other, the elephant guiding them still, holding on to both of them until they'd reached the end of their journey.

"Do you love him?"

"But that isn't love. Those feelings are not love."

Dr. Evans had given Blossom the answer to that question at the beginning of the week.

I can't carry you.

"Not in the right way." Blossom studied Butch for a long time before saying, "Not in the way love should feel. I've discovered I tend to chase after a high with people, even if they hurt me because that's what love has felt for me."

"But that's not love."

Ah. To be Butch, and already have that acorn of learning without needing therapy.

Or maybe he did learn it in therapy, and that's what made his words more profound to her, a sprawling and aged tree of knowledge that was perfect to lounge and relax under, safe and sturdy and grown from the right acorn.

Blossom turned onto her back, her hands laying by her sides, glancing up at the stars, asking if they'd heard him. If the universe was done telling her this scandalous little secret she shouldn't be listening to.

She asked if Dr. Evans could hear him. How the kind boy knew what love should feel like and how Blossom had still found herself trading him out to feed some addiction she didn't know she had.

But now, Blossom was in detox, pumping out the toxins in her brain, promising to treat it kinder and better. She was over two weeks clean now, and Blossom planned on keeping it that way.

"I'm seeing that." She smiled softly at the sky, both for Butch and the universe. "I've been confused for a long time."

He had moved to lay on his back too, the moonlight draping over his skin in a luminous sheet. "I know what that's like."

"But I do know for sure what love feels like." Blossom hesitated, taking in a deep breath. "I had a good love given to me once, and I know how it should make me feel now."

She didn't need to look over at Butch to know he was smiling. "Good."

"This is definitely not in the territory of being the "best of exes" to each other."

"We've been well past that territory for days now."

"Are we friends then?"

"Somehow, in some weird and twisted way, we are." He chuckled. "We're beating the fucking odds, aren't we?"

Blossom felt blood bloom under her pale cheeks. "I would like to bet on it."

"Gambling?"

"Maybe."

"Never thought you would want to. It's not a sure enough thing for you."

"That's why it's worth it." Blossom skimmed her eyes over him, afraid to look at him in a larger capacity. Afraid for Buttercup's sake. Afraid because she wanted. "Let things happen. Just like happiness."

"And the universe." Butch tilted his head, catching her gaze and holding onto it. "We're really touching on the emo shit tonight."

"Maybe we're going through a phase."

Butch snorted, shaking his head at the absurdity and Blossom had let out a laugh before letting a comfortable silence come to them and linger for a little.

"Remember when we'd talked about Forrest Gump?"

Butch tensed, a glimpse of resentment twinkling in his eyes, and Blossom had to wonder if he was thinking about Buttercup. "Yeah. It's a love story."

"It is." Blossom wished she could've given him a better love story. "I think I'm Jenny."

Because Blossom didn't realize what she had, the consistency and love you shouldn't throw away for the chase of a thrill. Because she and Jenny, they both had issues and an addiction to work through. And it took the idea of being a mother for her to realize it.

But she doesn't have a baby like Jenny, and Butch was still here, too good for her, and Blossom knew.

She knew she hadn't been ready.

Butch gave her a small, teasing grin. "You're going to die?"

"Yes." Because everyone does. Someday. Just like Jenny did.

But right now, in spite of herself, Blossom felt alive. The most she has felt in weeks, and Blossom wasn't scared of it anymore. Of the warmth life could bring her, the messiness of it, the feeling.

"My condolences then."

"Thanks. They're greatly appreciated."

"Shit." He smiled a little. "This means I gotta write a kick-ass eulogy for you."

"What could you possibly have to say?"

"A lot of things."

Blossom turned her head to him, finding his eyes, looking in him, matching his smile that was full of light. Of life.

And that was it.

That's when something had given Butch the nerve to touch her hand, intertwining fingers with hers, their palms pressed against each other's. He squeezed her hand, just in the same rhythm of her pulse, the white-hot heat of the blazing stars above them felt all in the palm of her hand.

---

Life can be pretty fucking weird.

Like the type of weird where you're holding a girl's hair one moment, and then the next you end up sitting on a bench in some random ass park, devouring chicken wings and sharing a bottle of rum you stole from a party, finding solidarity in the last person you would've ever thought of bonding with.

Brick was currently experiencing this, and his drunk self even knew this was pretty fucking weird.

"I say fuck relationships. It's just bullshit. Like, what the fuck, you know?" Brick ranted, the pads of his fingers coated by a thick orange-reddish wing sauce, atomic-flavored and the reason for the sweat on his forehead.

Buttercup sucked on a wing, nodding. "Mmmhh."

"Bubbles says I hold on too much, and she has a point. I should let go, but fuck, it's hard. And I'm an atheist, but maybe God? Maybe he exists?"

"She," Buttercup corrected, throwing down a bone stripped of its meat back into a styrofoam container, adding to the pile she already had by her remaining wings. "That God is a woman. Anyone can fucking fight me on it," she shouted to anyone nearby, but they were alone beside the yellow lights of the gothic streetlamps around them.

"I don't care enough to."

"Smart," she slurred, her teeth ripped through another wing. Her eyes flared, a dazed smile on her lips as she chewed. "I believe in lemon pepper superiority."

Brick snorted. "Only if you want your chicken to taste like cleaning products."

Buttercup glared at him. "Don't fucking insult them like that."

Brick ignored her statement, taking a sip from the bottle of banana Malibu. It was warm and gross, but it was the only full bottle left since no one wanted to drink this shit at the party, so he and Buttercup couldn't complain too much about their selection.

"I lied," he said, placing the bottle between them again, spilling a secret because he was intoxicated and there was no point in keeping it anymore. And maybe because drunk Brick knew sober Brick needed to let go of it already. "I told Blossom I'd talked to my mom, but I just lied to her about it. And you know why? Because I wanted to hold on."

"No one can hold on to Blossom."

Brick caught Buttercup's eyes, saged by the alcohol burning a haze in her head, her eyeliner smudged into its visible soot. "I wanted to hold on to control."

Buttercup grimaced. "Control. So fucking toxic."

"I get that—"

"I want control," Buttercup said, picking off her chicken's crispy golden and peppered skin. "It's why Butch and I just," She dropped her wing, letting it fall with a muted thump while making explosion noises, "I didn't want him having power over me. So, I just let him go."

"Why is it like that?"

"Because Butch isn't—"

"No, love. Why is it so fucking commanding like that? Who gave it so much power?"

"Humans, nature, whatever God is in charge of it," Buttercup shrugged off. "The universe."

"It's cosmic bullshit."

"I agree. Love is overrated."

Brick picked up the last wing he had, pointing it at her, a droplet of his wet sauce narrowly missing the sheer mesh of her top patterned with various black stars. A tank top the same color was worn underneath, short enough to show off her flat stomach and navel.

"Then why do we want it so badly?"

Buttercup screwed up her face as he ate his wing, and Brick had believed she was going to tell him off, but he realized this was just her drunk thinking face.

"Because who the fuck wants to be unlovable?"

She made a solid point.

"I've only really had my mom. And for a while, I had none."

"That's... that's sad. I'm sorry."

And she meant it. Brick could feel the genuineness in her sentiment, even if she wasn't cognitively all there, and she might not remember this in the morning. He might not even remember it either.

But he did now, and it felt like the hole in him had diminished by a centimeter. Little progress, but it was progress.

"You, at least, have a damn reason," she said, having abandoned her wings, the pearly styrofoam box closed and placed beside her. "There's never been a time in my life when no one loved me. I've always had my family, my friends, myself. Yet, I'm still scared of the shit."

"Paradoxes happen."

"Fuck that shit." Buttercup reached for the rum, unscrewing the cap, grimacing with the swig of it. "Blech. This should be illegal for how shitty it is. Nothing tastes like bananas except for bananas."

Brick wiped his fingers on a napkin that was more orange now than white. "So, you love Butch."

She narrowed her eyes at him, jabbing his arm, her nails sharp like the point of a sword. "If you say any of this shit to anyone, I swear I'll lodge your balls permanently up your stomach."

"I doubt I'll remember any of this." Brick gave her the most honest expression he could because if he did remember any of this, he wouldn't feel amused to say anything about it.

Buttercup considered him for a long time before relaxing, choosing to trust him for the first time.

"I do."

"Then why aren't you with him?"

"He mortifies me," she revealed with a sigh, bowing her shoulders. "How much I feel for him, how easy he can go away. Because that's what happens, right? People leave. Intentional or not, they do. And I already know it's going to fucking hurt. It already did before. And it hurts right now too."

"But the worst part is that it's all in my head. Butch is fucking smart. He knows what's up, and he tries so damn hard to be here. He's so infuriatingly reassuring that it has to be made up, right?"

Brick squinted at her, seeing equations floating around her head because he couldn't understand what she was talking about.

"What is?"

"That he's not here. That he's not mine to hold onto."

Oh.

"It was just so much easier not catching feelings," Buttercup groaned with frustration. "I should know better. Boys are just placeholders, they come and they go."

Brick smirked. "Jennifer's Body."

Buttercup blinked at him. "What the fuck do you know about Jennifer's Body?"

"It's criminally underrated."

"You're goddamn right about that."

"You should fix things with Butch," Brick had said after a lull between them. Because they needed an awkward silence. It'd started to feel a little too friendly between them, and that was too fucking weird for either of them.

"I need to figure shit out first. I have this plan."

"Oh, you got a plan." Brick lifted his brows, wiggling his fingers up as if he was showing off a magic trick. Ta-da! All their problems could be magically fixed, right? "What you got?"

Buttercup glared at him for a moment, drinking more of the rum and grimacing again at the taste. "The memory map. I'm tracing back the places Butch has impacted my life. I need to figure out if it's all been in my head."

With the way Buttercup held up her chin, you can tell she was proud of her idea. Brick, however, snickered at it before bursting into loud laughter.

"That's the corniest shit I've ever heard!"

Buttercup punched his arm, hard. "Shut the fuck up."

"But it's true." Brick rubbed at his arm. He was definitely going to have a nice bruise there. "You're using busy work to solve your problem when you could just, I don't fucking know, say sorry?"

"And what about you, genius? What has saying sorry gotten you?" Buttercup challenged.

"I wasn't sorry." Suddenly, Brick had nothing to laugh about. "That's why it didn't get me anywhere."

Buttercup regarded him silently before asking, "Do you love Blossom?"

"I do."

Brick loves Blossom, more than anything he has ever known, and that terrified him. For someone to have his heart and to trust them to do whatever they wanted with it. That's why he wanted control, why he kept her away but also held on so damn tight it was starting to bruise Blossom. She was his paradox.

To want to be loved, but not be able to give any back.

Brick knew she was waiting for him to get there, but he wasn't prepared for it. So, he sucked her dry until Blossom had nothing left to give him; until Blossom could finally break out of his hold and let him go.

"Then you should have a reason to be sorry."

"It wouldn't matter. She said I'm my dad," Brick revealed hollowly, his throat tightening.

"Shit," she whispered, feeling the phantom of the flames Blossom had branded him with.

Brick drank from the rum because he needed it.

"You know, I don't look anything like my mom. We have the same nose, and maybe the same skin tone if I lost my tan. I don't... I've never seen what my dad looks like. No pictures or memories of him. But I don't," Brick sucked in a shaky breath, feeling a fire fueled by bananas burrowing in his chest, giving him the energy to continue on, "I don't need them because I already know. I know I look just like him. My mom, she sometimes looks at me, and I can see it. The fear in her eyes, the sadness in her face. Because looking at me reminds her of him. I guess it's only fitting if I look like him, that I would become him, right?"

Brick watched the weight of his truth settle on her. But instead of getting awkward, Buttercup looked at him—No, she looked in him.

Was that even possible?

"That's the most fucked thing I've ever heard," she said.

That felt like the absolute right thing for her to say to him.

Brick nodded. "Yeah."

Buttercup took a moment to herself, gathering her words carefully. "Look, I'm not your biggest fan, at all, but you're only half of the piece of shit that man was. And here's the fucking truth bomb of the century. You're able to change. He's not. So, fuck your sperm donor. You're you because of what you do. Let that be it."

Maybe…

Maybe Buttercup wasn't that bad, after all. Maybe she was another one of those people Brick had torched the chance of having a connection with in his want to hold onto control, to hold onto his fears of letting people get too close enough to see a weakness in him. Because Buttercup could see it right now, Brick's inky guts and the black hole in his chest, and she didn't get sucked in.

Instead, she stayed grounded and told him to get his shit together, and that was the most remarkable thing he's seen in a while.

"Bubbles is right," Buttercup followed with. "You do hold on too much."

"She's really fucking smart."

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "It's so annoying, right?"

"No. It's the reason why I'm talking to my mom again."

Buttercup opened her mouth, letting it hang for a moment, her voice so quiet and sad. "This is everything Blossom wanted."

She's right.

Blossom wanted him to be open, to be vulnerable with her. Tell her about the hole in his chest, the dark void he felt.

And Brick had given it away to someone else instead.

Because he trusted anyone else over Blossom.

"I don't trust her."

Buttercup reached for the rum because she was the one who needed it now.

"You know what's fucked?" The light in her eyes dimmed a little. "I haven't spoken to Blossom in over two weeks. She hasn't done anything, and I can tell she's sad about it, just hasn't said anything. And I... I can't talk to her, I can't look at her. She's my roommate and best friend, I have to see her every day, but every time I look at her, all I can think about is how Butch still loves her."

Butch still loves her.

Brick would call him a fool, but Brick has come to understand that it's hard to control love. It just happens.

It did feel gratifying to be right about everything, however. It wasn't easy being of the jealous kind, but it did lead to insightful observations, and Brick has made plenty of them.

"You don't trust him."

"I don't."

Brick snorted, flashing a sardonic grin. "Would you look at that? We are stuck in the same place."

"We are," Buttercup sighed, and Brick can tell the nice buzz she had been on was gradually slipping away. "But why won't you trust Blossom? She chose you."

Because...

"Butch is better than me." Brick leaned back into the bench. It felt nice to let go of the ego in him that created a mental cage around the truth. "Blossom knows it."

"Everyone fucking knows it."

"Then why can't you trust him?" Brick turned.

"Because..." Buttercup thought about it for a long time. Her face screwed up again, crinkled and desperate to find the answer to his question. "... I don't want to."

For the first time, Brick got a glimpse of what Buttercup was like without her armor on. That underneath it all, she was just a girl trying to be tough but really only wanted to be loved.

God, they were too similar. It fucked with Brick's already pounding and disjointed head too much.

"Control."

"Yup. What a fucking bitch that is."

Brick squinted up at the moon, the craters of it turning into pools with his inebriated vision. He imagined what it would look like if the moon was perfectly smooth like a billiard ball. If the impact of hurling asteroids and comets didn't indent its rocky surface. What would the moon look like if there was nothing external to worry about? If the moon was only defined by itself.

There was a famous but erroneous quote in relation to the moon: Houston, we have a problem.

Well, Houston, Brick knew what the problem was.

"We're the problem."

"No, they—"

"They were about us until we'd pushed them out of our orbit. If we didn't start shit, if we just trusted them, we wouldn't be here, drinking shit rum in this park that I have no idea what its name is."

Buttercup scratched at the back of her head, furthering the mess of her inky hair. "I thought you knew where we were," she whispered.

Brick flared his eyes. "I thought you did."

"Shit." She ran her palms along her face. "This night fucking sucks. And I," Buttercup slanted her eyes at him, "I hate how you're right. I hate knowing that everything has imploded because of me. And—Oh my god, why are we still having a bonding moment? How did we even get here?"

"You wanted to leave the party, I'd suggested wings. It was pretty simple," Brick recalled breezily.

"No. I mean, why the fuck are you actually tolerable to me right now? Am I just that blackout drunk?"

"I think the alcohol turns off half of the asshole part of my brain."

Buttercup blinked at him, her eyes smooth jade, and for a second, Brick found himself acknowledging the obvious fact of how beautiful she was. Brick just hadn't slowed down long enough to appreciate it before. "I don't know if I should laugh or cry right now."

"That sounds about the right response to finding out you've been your own saboteur," Brick mused.

And Buttercup...

She took in a breath, expelling it with a laugh. A loud, unsure, anxious, and emotional laugh. One that only happened because you don't know how you should be reacting, and that's the funniest thing ever because that's the only thing all humans know how to do. We react. To opinions, others, the news, love, decisions made we don't understand. Everything we do happens to be in reaction.

Buttercup couldn't figure out what her reaction should be. Neither could Brick, who found her humor to be contagious.

Maybe laughing was supposed to be their response to the way things have happened. Because, when it came down to it, Brick and Buttercup had played themselves, recklessly gambling with a poor hand, losing out on the jackpot that was Blossom and Butch. If they weren't so arrogant to just finally admit they were sorry, they wouldn't have to be so lonely.

"We're our own biggest enemies," Buttercup got out through her winded chest. "God, I hate irony."

"You know what's pretty fucking hilarious?" Brick leaned in, and Buttercup did the same as if they were still at the party, and she needed to be close to hear him over the booming bass.

If Brick wasn't drunk, if he was lucid, then he would've realized the true impact of the warhead he was dropping. It was a bomb he'd uncovered hours ago at Princess' party, right before he'd decided to be randomly nice for once and help a poor girl who was purging out a shit ton of raspberry Bacardi on some poor bushes.

"The entire senior class was at Princess' party tonight. All," the air around them started to dissolve, the pressure mounting, "minus two." Brick tilted his head, an acidic smile made in response to their exploding surroundings. "They were about us until we knocked them back into each other's orbit."

"That..." Buttercup swallowed, her voice soft and completely sober now. Brick could feel her body sinking into the ground, into the crater created from the nuclear fallout of Brick's truth bomb, into an empty hole. "That wasn't funny."

Brick furrowed his eyebrows, and god, he didn't like seeing the misery of confusion on her. Her eyes were too bright, brighter than the luminescent moon above them, wild with fears.

All Brick could think about was fixing it, he felt responsible to, he felt himself care to. But Brick couldn't find the right words. He couldn't find soft, gentle words to soothe her. To soothe himself from the bomb that had swallowed them whole.

He preferred the laughing.

"Buttercup, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"There you are!"

Brick and Buttercup both glanced back, finding Bubbles rushing over to them and Boomer jogging right behind her.

"You found us," Brick said, stating the obvious because his brain was completely fried now.

"With no help from either of you." Bubbles was already by Buttercup's side, steadying her onto her feet. Buttercup's limp arms hung around Bubbles' shoulders. "Why didn't you check your phones?"

"Oh, shit. You'd called?"

Boomer moved around them, silently cleaning up after Buttercup and Brick, discarding their food and the bottle of rum in a nearby trash can.

"Yes! So many times, Brick," Bubbles told him in a tone similar to a mom who wasn't really mad, they were just worried.

Brick pulled out his phone from the pouch of his hoodie, the screen lighting up with notifications for him to read.

Seventeen missed calls, thirty-four text messages.

Maybe it was only for Buttercup, but Brick did feel cracks of light reach into him from the idea Boomer and Bubbles had been worried about him too. That those seventeen missed calls and thirty-four text messages were done for the sake of his well-being because they cared enough to make sure nothing happened to him too.

"Come on," Boomer encouraged quietly when lending Brick a hand to stand up. Brick stared at it, meeting Boomer's eyes, and Brick could see the wave of relief crash to shore. That Boomer, indeed, had been worried about him.

It was right then when the ragged parts in his chest, all of the frayed pieces of his heart, began to stitch back together. And Brick couldn't see past the miracle of finally discovering he did, in fact, have a heart. It just had been too broken for him to see, to feel.

Brick took Boomer's hand, the hand of his first friend made at the Academy, rising to his feet, and Brick couldn't help himself, he couldn't help this feeling. His arms were thrown around Boomer, squeezing him into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry," he murmured with a watery breath. "I'm so sorry for everything."

He'd expected for Boomer to reject him, to awkwardly pat his back until Brick let go. But Boomer wasn't the most predictable person, always fluid like water. And that water in Boomer was perishing the fire alight to their friendship as he hugged Brick back.

Because Boomer, just like Bubbles, had let go of Brick, but they had also held onto him too.

"I know."

Brick wasn't alone. Not really.

He was constantly surrounded by people. Those who do care about him.

Boomer smiled when hooking Brick's arm around his shoulder, helping him walk onto his wobbly legs to the Lyft waiting for them. "Now, let's get you and Buttercup home."

---

"Do you ever feel like you're floating, but you're still on Earth?" Blossom pressed her thumb into the trimmed fingernail of his, tiny little pulses to count. Butch didn't know how long they've been up on the roof, but he knew hours have passed, and they'd heard some walks of shames from down below already.

Butch didn't want to think about the time, anyways.

"Isn't that just being grounded?"

Blossom stayed quiet for a moment, staring at him, solar flares flashing into his chest. "Maybe it is."

"Is that how you're feeling?"

She didn't answer him.

The air felt crisp with trepidation, the moonlight caressing her profile.

"Should we leave?" Butch found himself asking before the sun began to set in her.

"I don't know," she murmured. The corners of her mouth hitched up lazily. "I think those are becoming my three favorite words."

"Only took two years."

"Two years." Her eyes were hooded, drowsy. She could never stay up all the way.

Only once.

Butch turned to the perfect planetarium sky, feeling Blossom's grip on him become lighter than the moonbeams gracing them.

"What time is it?" She whispered, her eyes shut.

Butch checked his phone, finding it blank with any notifications, and for a second, it chipped at his heart.

"Almost one-thirty."

Blossom squeezed his hand once before letting go, pulling her eyes open. She brought her hands to her chest, curling them into fists, laying on her left hip. "It has been two years."

They were nearing the end of their long-winding journey with the elephant between them, only left with two more things that have reminded unsaid.

"Happy would-have-been anniversary."

Blossom matched his sad smile. "Happy would-have-been anniversary."

Here they were, physically in the same place as exactly two years ago.

Things had been so clear back then. Butch had been comfortable enough then with the unknown, of the I don't knows. All he knew was he'd found a purpose when colliding into Blossom that night. He knew he wanted to be in her orbit, then and forever.

But Blossom had needed space, moving galaxies between them. Butch had tried to get back in her gravitational pull, to get across the universe to reach her, but she was already caught up with another cosmic body.

Then Butch found himself fine without her around, while also finding someone new to circuit around, the pull feeling oh-so strong except...

Except Blossom and Butch were knocked out of orbit again, away from those other objects and in a different direction until they were close to colliding back into each other.

Now, Butch wasn't sure if they should. If he should allow himself back on this path.

He'd thought Blossom was out of view. Buttercup had been the only thing on his horizon, the only thing he wanted to see. But here Blossom was. Both were in his point of view, and Butch didn't know.

He just didn't know.

His heart. It was just so damn tired and confused and wanted.

Was this nostalgia fucking with his mind? His heart trying to mend itself after Buttercup?

Butch wished he had all the answers.

He wished things were like two years ago.

His hand traced along her arm, his fingers light and afraid to fully touch her. "Why..." he sucked in a deep breath, the elephant finally letting go of them. There was only one thing left to say, a question, the one that's been on the tip of his tongue for months. "Why did you have to ruin us?"

When she finally spoke, it was so soft, Butch almost didn't hear the words. "I was scared."

Butch shouldn't care. He shouldn't have asked.

"Why?"

There was a ghost of a smile. Her eyes, beautiful cotton-candy clouds, peered into him. "You weren't the type of love I knew. I wanted a chase, a high. You... you grounded me. You're so solid and warm, and I... I wasn't ready for it. So, I pushed. I'd self-sabotaged." She tried to smile again, to not look shattered. "I had a relapse, and I got greedy. I wish... I wish I had let go of you before I hurt you."

"I... I do too," he said softly.

He could feel the memory of the heat, the sun having blazed too hard, ravenous with charring their relationship months ago.

Blossom had burned them. He shouldn't have—they shouldn't have survived. This should be gone—this feeling.

But sometimes, fires give way to new life. The Earth becomes blackened and seared, nothing appears viable anymore. But after the burning, the soil is enriched and something new grows in place. The fire can be extinguished, the damage of it won't last forever, and all there was left is the now.

"Butch." Her eyes were on his hand curled around her arm, clinging to her. He didn't realize when he'd rested it. The warmth of her skin running through his arm.

He was familiar with this skin, having spent nearly two years admiring and wanting it. But it also felt new. The thick, gnarly scales of her previous self, too hard to find love in, having been shed. A new skin wrapped her, soft and raw, shaped by a new love. One Blossom had finally found in herself, shown in her new heart and limbs.

Butch liked this new skin, the one she molded by learning to love herself.

Butch could see it in her. She was here, letting him see her. There were no distractions, no claims of perfection for Butch to give her because he knew just how imperfect Blossom could be. It was everything Butch had once wanted. It was...

"Buttercup," Blossom whispered, a reminder of what they both had to lose. Of the one person they were both holding onto.

Buttercup had been wrong. Butch did let go of Blossom.

He didn't want to hold onto two people in this way.

But here he was now, it only took two weeks for him to be holding onto two people. One hold was loosening, the other getting stronger.

"Doesn't trust me," he murmured. He squeezed Blossom's arm, gently, just enough pressure to make sure this was real. That she was real. "And maybe she..." Butch hesitated, and Blossom shook her head.

"You love her." Her eyes were hollow. "Don't ruin it."

"Isn't it already ruined?"

"No. It's never ruined with you." She laid her hand over his, a nebula forming right there between the spaces of their fingers. "Do the cliché thing. Go chase after the girl, do the grand speech, tell her you love her."

Blossom was right. Butch could chase after Buttercup and fix the gaping hole between them.

I should.

But chasing only meant someone is running away from you, and Butch was so damn tired of chasing after people.

"That's never worked for me."

"Because it wasn't the right girl."

"Then why..." Butch swallowed, his throat too tight to breathe. "Why do I..."

Blossom lifted her hand, resting it on his cheek, making sure he listened to her. "Because you're heartbroken and confused and just trying to cope right now." She gave him another sad smile, her eyes a little filled. "You're going through a phase."

If...

Phases were phases. They were supposed to be a period in time. Nothing permanent.

"You're not a phase for me, Blossom," Butch whispered. "If you were, then I—"

"Butch, please." She shuttered a breath. Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging on it, almost to show how she could hurt him. That she has hurt him. "We can't—"

"How do you feel?" Butch asked delicately.

Blossom blinked at him, staying quiet for a long time. "That you shouldn't want any of this."

"I know."

It was why Butch had let Blossom go.

But if phases were a thing, if we're supposed to go through stages and move on, then why did he—

"It's unconditional," Blossom said, reading his mind. Her voice was quiet and tender. "What you're feeling, it's unconditional."

His head told him to listen to her, that he looks like a fool. He needed to shake this away. Butch has done it before, it shouldn't be hard to do it again.

But his heart, his exhausted and worn-out heart, had a different answer.

There were a few things Butch did know.

He had known Blossom would come back to him, in such a way you do when you're young and earnestly in love.

He knew how his love for her has morphed, fluctuating like the crest of a wave that crashed into the shore and rolled back into the ocean, only to be created back into a soaring wave again. That wave had rode the ripping undercurrent down deeper into the ocean, into the dark abyss where it should've stayed, but Butch can see it rising again. He could study its height and see the light filtering through its translucent peak, even though the water should've been settled and smooth like a stagnant lake by now.

Butch also knew what it's like to hate her, of what it's like to only breathe in the thick, black smoke she can create.

He knew of her imperfections now, of the love he had always wanted for her to find in herself. He knew she was trying to be friends, that she really means it. That it was the only thing she has purposefully been seeking from him these past couple of weeks.

Not this. Not this feeling.

But Butch knew. He could see the quiet resentment in her, the solar core she was trying to keep from burning too bright and loudly. It was the same one that snuck up on Butch. It was how he has caught himself looking at her lately—and why couldn't he look away anymore? Butch had learned to stop looking for her, looking at her. Now, he couldn't stop from looking in her and holding out that maybe things could be different.

She was different now, he was too. They felt different.

"Is that how you feel?"

"How I feel doesn't matter. I lost that right a long time ago."

"But it's your heart." Butch peeled his hand from her arm, untangling her fingers from his hair, lacing them with his. "Your heart should matter."

Blossom stayed quiet, warding off the water in her eyes. "I do love you." She looked at him with that same resentment they shared. The type that only exists when you want someone, but in any given circumstances, you shouldn't. "More than I should've before."

For what felt like hours but could only be a minute, they stared at each other, trying to figure out what this meant. Where do they go from this, if there was anywhere they could even go? So many things were webbed together, too many complications to come to a solid answer on how they should act.

Butch wanted all the answers, but someone had once said there can't always be an explanation for why. Sometimes, it's better to not know and let things happen.

That someone was him, two years ago exactly, and he may have been onto something.

It was because of that advice, his own advice, Butch kissed her for no reason other than he wanted to let it happen.

He could feel it. Them, colliding back into each other.

Blossom and his breath in her lungs, the familiar yet new taste of her and Butch had no idea if any of this was real. If she was even real.

Is this even real?

"Unless this is a sim," she murmured against his lips. Butch didn't even realize he'd asked it out loud. She took their hands, pressing her lips to his knuckle. "But it feels real."

"It does." Butch's lips brushed hers, soft and careful, kisses meant to gently spark light all throughout the darken parts of her.

"The universe isn't going to like this," she whispered when he'd pulled away, her lips a soft pink and Butch already wanted to kiss her again.

"I thought we were letting things happen now."

"I am." Blood flew under her face. "But I don't want you to get ruined again because of me—"

"Then don't." He kept his eyes on hers, looking in her. "You know why you're not a phase?"

Blossom swallowed, nodding.

"I know what you're capable of, Blossom. I know how fucked this should be, and how it's going to be when you leave, but you're here. Right here, right now. Neither of us is chasing. And... it's going to be constant. It has been through it all. It changes, but it's always been there. Even when I'd hated you, because I'd really hated you, but it can't be a phase because I'd also—because I..."

"You do." She smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

Butch rested his forehead against hers, matching her smile. "I do."

---

When Boomer woke up, it was still dark in the room. He was in his clothes from the night before, and he could confirm sleeping in jeans was never a good idea. Bubbles laid next to him, her head buried in his chest. Across the room, he could hear Buttercup mumbling in her sleep on Bubbles' spare dorm bed. On the ground, Brick was asleep too, wrapped up in a thin blanket with a pillow.

Boomer and Bubbles had thought about taking them back to their individual rooms, but they were all too tired. Bubbles' room was the closest, leading to one spontaneous sleepover where everyone passed out within five minutes of each other.

The faint trickling of the sun was pouring its way through the blinds, and Boomer was still trying to wrap his mind around last night. Too many, way too many things happened.

Buttercup was spiraling. Boomer knew that for sure. Bubbles and him—and maybe also Brick—had caught her this time, but what happens if they weren't there? Boomer didn't want to think about it.

Brick was back. That had been a positive, a gem to an otherwise strange night. Despite everything, if Butch could forgive Blossom and be her friend, then Boomer was willing to see a change in Brick, and he felt Brick was willing to try.

And Boomer could feel a shift had happened last night. Something weird was in the air, and he didn't like it at all. It was fucking with his serenity more than Butch's snoring.

At least, through all the weirdness, Boomer had Bubbles. She didn't fuck with his serenity.

Boomer wrapped his arm around her waist, lightly, pulling her closer to hold. His whole heart, all in arm's reach, and Boomer didn't ever want to let go.

Bubbles stirred, nuzzling against his chest more. "I'm so tired," she murmured.

"I think we only got five hours of sleep."

"I feel like I could sleep for a whole week." She yawned, lifting her head to show off a sleepy smile to him. "We did good, though."

"We did basically adopt Brick and Buttercup last night."

"Wasn't it this morning?"

Boomer paused. "Honestly? I don't know what time anything happened."

"That's an appropriate response." Bubbles combed a hand through his messy blond waves, moving it out of his face. "Brick hugged you. That was really weird."

"Yeah, that is a thing that happened."

"Do you think it's real?"

Boomer drifted his eyes down to Brick, a soft stream of morning light reflecting off of him. "I don't know, but I want to see if it is."

"Me too."

"Brick and Buttercup..."

"I still don't know how we found them not at each other's throats."

"They had something to bond over." Buttercup and Brick, they both had an emptiness to share, and nothing compares to that.

Bubbles frowned, her brows creasing. "Everything is a mess."

"It is." Boomer kissed the thinking crinkle between her brows that he loved so much. "And you shouldn't stress yourself out trying to clean it all up."

"But they're my friends. I want to help them—"

"I didn't say you can't help them," Boomer said gently. "But if there's anything I've learned this year is the chaos will always be there, it isn't controllable. Give them the freedom to navigate it, but you can still be there for when they need a hand."

Bubbles smiled, full of pride and affection. "Are you giving me a dharma lesson?"

"They are the best lessons to learn," he grinned, tucking a curl behind her ear and caressing her cheek, the pad of his thumb stroking along her skin. "I want you to take care of yourself too."

"I know." She rested a hand in the cove of his neck, her fingers pressing lightly into his carotid pulse. "My dad called me."

Boomer felt his heart drop to his stomach. Did he...

"Bubs, I—"

"Thank you," she whispered, and Boomer didn't need her to explain more.

He didn't need much more to explain the now and the future when Boomer had all the answers in front of him, right in his arms.

That was the only constant Boomer planned on in life. Everything else could come and go as it should. It was for him to keep, through all the impermanence of things, it'll always be.

"Someone has to take care of you while you're taking care of everyone else."

"That's why I keep you around."

"I thought it was because I'm cute?"

Bubbles kissed the tip of his nose. "That too."

Boomer ran his thumb along her eyebrow, smoothing down her fray hairs, his mouth hitching downward. "Hey, did you see if B—"

"Ah, what the fuck," Buttercup grumbled. She rubbed at her eyes, and Boomer could see the momentary confusion on her face from waking up somewhere new and full of other people. "Why am I here?"

"Shush," Brick muttered, tossing over to lay on his other side. "I'm sleeping."

Buttercup stared at him, groggy. "What is—"

Boomer watched her view a private movie of the night, a movie she didn't like the ending to. The tiniest amount of the sunrise lighting the room burned her brittle heart into more ash.

She looked up at Bubbles with bloodshot eyes, a quiet admission being told between them, and it didn't take long for Boomer to have the bed to himself.

Because Buttercup needed Bubbles.

Bubbles wrapped Buttercup in a big hug, letting Buttercup press her cheek into her chest. She didn't hug Bubbles back but taking it was a large step for her. To accept Bubbles to hold onto, was a significant leap for her.

"How did we end up here?" Buttercup asked after a lull of silence, her voice raspy and still thick with sleep. And maybe just a little too sad for a new day to begin appropriately.

"You don't remember us finding you?"

Buttercup met Boomer's eyes, speaking slowly to get all her words out without adding to the pulsating headache she surely had. "No. The last thing I remember was us not knowing where we were." Boomer creased his brows at that. "How did you find us?"

"I had Dexter track Brick's phone."

"Smart," Brick mumbled, his eyes still shut.

"I thought you were sleeping," Boomer pointed out.

He flipped onto his stomach now, auburn hair drooping down in his blanched face. It appeared like it took everything for him to keep his head up as his crimson eyes squinted to connect with Boomer's stare. His voice sounded rubbed raw. "Well, I'm awake now because none of you can shut up."

"Are you back to being an asshole already?" Buttercup caught his attention, lifting her brows. "Do we need more banana rum?"

Brick winced at the volume of her voice even though they were both speaking way too low to be considered loud in any way possible. "Fuck no. Nothing tastes like bananas except for bananas."

"Damn right about that," Buttercup smiled lightly, but it didn't meet her eyes.

Bubbles and Boomer glanced over at each other, feeling a little left out on the punchline here.

"Last night was weird," Boomer mused because it really fucking was.

"You got that right." Brick rubbed at his temples, groaning. "And I'm definitely feeling my shitty hangover now."

"I feel like shit too." Buttercup lifted her chin to Bubbles, squinting forcibly to block out the stream of light in the room as if the sun was going to burn her alive the second she fully looked at it. "I'm also fucking starving."

Brick moaned slightly with his agreement, "I would literally devour anything right now."

"We can get breakfast?" Bubbles suggested. "Yolanda's down the street has breakfast tacos and a burrito called the Hangover Cure."

Brick smirked groggily at the idea. "Sounds like my type of shit."

"I can fuck with that."

They turned to Boomer for his answer, which was obviously a yes because he was hungry too. But it didn't change how weird things felt.

It wasn't from Buttercup or Brick or them finding comfort in each other. Or the idea of hanging out with them together, getting breakfast.

It was from something else, something missing.

Someone was missing.

Two people, actually.

---

It was beautiful here. Up on the rooftop, the sky striped pink, lavender and gold. The moon was still visible, greeting the sun upon its arrival.

Blossom inhaled, her lungs expanding with the bright morning light, letting out an easy breath. She leaned her head back, feeling the warmth seep into her.

But it wasn't from the sun. It was from the arms wrapped around her, from the solid chest her head rested against, the person she was holding onto again.

Blossom had finally stayed up the whole night with Butch, talking and listening to him about everything they'd missed out on and kept from each other. She wished she'd stayed before this. That she'd been present and open with him from the beginning, middle, and end; always there for him.

But she couldn't keep holding onto the past. She only had the now, and even if it was temporary, it felt nice and warm to be here, sitting with him and enjoying the sunrise.

"Should we leave?" Blossom asked.

"I don't know." His lips moved against her hair, a hot breath running along her scalp.

"We have to leave eventually." Blossom looked up at him, the gold swirling into the green of his eyes. "Someone will notice."

"I know." Butch smiled at her, so unsure and scared. "But it's nice up here."

"It is."

But they would have to face reality soon. The trip they'd taken throughout the night had come to an end.

After so many minutes of feeling the world move unhurried, it starts to catch up to you, no matter how protracting you want it to be. The night faded into day, burning in the light, and Blossom didn't know.

She just didn't know where this daylight would take them. They'd been in the dark for so long, Blossom had almost forgotten what the light felt like.

"What are we doing?" she whispered, her voice getting stuck in her throat.

Butch, with the sunrise in his eyes, looked in her and Blossom knew what his answer was.

He didn't know.

Blossom moved her hand, caressing his cheek, feeling the sunlight prickle at her fingertips, pressing her lips to his. Quick and soft, just in case she would never get the chance again because nothing was promised between them. Because they couldn't make any promises.

And as Blossom pulled back, feeling him still in her lungs, Butch gripped her chin, pulling her back in.

He kissed her like he wanted to pull her inside of him, fusing and melting away with her, and Blossom could feel the saturated sky dripping into their veins.

It felt like a new beginning, but beginnings lead to endings, and they've already had one. Blossom had thought they came to it a long time ago, a sad and charring one. They should've ended. They should leave it be because nothing good and easy could come from undoing an end.

And Blossom knew this really wasn't a beginning, at all.

---

Author's Notes:

I know this turn isn't going to be a popular one, but please trust the process. I think it's hard to let go of someone you've loved for such a long time, to the point you're going to reopen a wound, hoping it's healed properly. Sometimes, we get over someone and then they sneak back up on you. Other times, you can come back to a person and find you're both in a better place and things can be different. Sometimes, you just need a better ending. It's confusing and complicated to decipher what point you're supposed to be at, and in Blossom and Butch's case, they've finally gotten to have real closure to their previous relationship now. So they're both just trying to figure out if they can both heal from that and still have love between them, what are they supposed to do with this love now? Where do they channel it? Doesn't mean they're doing it in the right way or their timing is great at all.

Butch's case, he's just a confused boy. When you have a lot of love to give and are dealing with fresh heartbreak multiple times now, it can happen. I tried to make his choices and actions feel real, as someone who knows they shouldn't be thinking or feeling this way, but they can't help it. He didn't plan for any of this to happen. He was over Blossom and he was set on Buttercup, but again, things shifted and that's why he's confused. He thinks with his heart, simple as that. He's going to make mistakes and fuck up, just as Buttercup has too.

For Blossom, her perception to what's going on is a lot different than Butch's and will be evident soon. Things between her and Buttercup will be addressed next chapter too.

I'll spoil this and say Boomer will have a role to play in the fallout of things as it's slowly being shown he's a lot smarter than he conveys.

I feel like I can write a whole essay on this chapter, but I'll just say I hope things make sense and you're willing to see the resolution to it all.

I want to say thank you to all of those who recently favorite/follow! And also thank you to those who reviewed: Nishin. ko (A little secret, I may have something in pre-development that will focus on Blossom/Butch and the other color-crack couples. I just need to stop procrastinating on it.); AnaHearts (Always lovely to receive a review from you and read your insightful thoughts. And you were right about the Brick/Buttercup scene! I've been waiting for this scene for a year now, and god they're dynamic was refreshing and fun.); 3mi1y02 (Your review made me smile and laugh so many times, thank you for that.); and DDisa (These last few chapters have been a lot of fun for me, so I'm glad they have been for you too.). I greatly appreciate your reviews and, again, really helped with my procrastination.

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