May

...bring May flowers.

Crocuses. She always picked crocuses.

In a field full of flowers, nothing else mattered to her. She always cut them with light grey scissors, always picked them in threes, always ended with twelve flowers in each bouquet, and always wrapped them around neatly with a blue ribbon. By the time she finished humming her random tune, her small, brown woven basket was halfway filled with flowers, some in bouquets, others on their own, and all beautiful.

It had taken Boomer hours of Internet searches and book glances to find out which flower she picked. It had taken him even longer wondering why she even bothered to do this as much as she did. And even now, it was taking him an eternity to figure out why he cared at all.

Boomer didn't remember the first time he started staring at Bubbles, from when he caught sight of her in the hallways at school, to those rare moments when he'd see her out in public. But as he sat on top of one of the many trees in Townsville Park, he somehow knew that this wouldn't be the last.

It was always the little things he saw when it came to Bubbles. The way she always looked up when she was thinking to herself as if her head was actually in the clouds. When she'd mutter lines from the upcoming school play under her breath in Art class. How her eyes focused on the person she was talking to, and how those two blue orbs genuinely looked like they were absorbing any and everything they saw.

(Maybe that was what his own eyes looked like when he stared at her.)

And this wouldn't be much of a problem if things weren't so different. If he didn't feel so different. Any time he was around her, he'd get this strange, warm feeling, almost as if she were hugging him, just like she did in the April rain. It felt like bugs were flying in his guts. He ate a centipede a couple of weeks back as a dare (the twenty dollars from Mitch were worth it), and he also ate a lot of bugs as a child (the screams of horror from bystanders were worth it), so he knew it couldn't be actual bugs this time. The feeling was familiar; he had experienced it a few times when it came to her.

(But not like this, not this intense and constant and overbearingly real.)

It was annoying, the way it made his stomach drop like he did a free fall off of a cliff. He wished desperately that there was some switch to turn it off, but no, he just had to suffer for something he had no clue about. Maybe if he at least had some indication on what this was, he'd feel better about it. He'd at least have an opportunity to look up his potential illnesses on WebMD.

Boomer hated being confused. He was already a bit dumb as it was; any extra confusion was just downright not fair. Sometimes, he would bang his head against something like a wall or a tree, just to see if his brain would work better. Nine times out of ten, that did nothing but dent whatever object he headbutted and give him an even bigger headache.

It was a quiet day in Townsville, a rare time that should have been enjoyed, especially after all the loud, unnecessary city attacks that had occurred. For the first time in weeks, Mojo Jojo wasn't up screaming throughout the day and night about how he would "end those cursed, repulsive, absolute birdbrained Powerpuff Girls" and "obtain a bright future for not just any sons, but his sons, the great and powerful and overly-hardheaded Rowdyruff Boys." It should have been the perfect moment for Boomer to relax, but instead, he was spending every free second he had thinking about a stupid Powerpuff Girl.

"Ugh…" With a frustrated sigh, Boomer placed his head in his hands and tried to shove, shove, shove any thought of Bubbles away. When one part of her escaped, another came. It was almost like a conveyor belt in a factory that never closed. No matter what, it would never stop moving. No matter what, she would always rotate in his head.

(Why did that excite him more than disgust him like it should have?)

"Hi, Boomer!"

Oh great, now he was even hearing her voice. It was only a matter of time before his brain fell off the deep end to places unknown. He buried his head in his hands further, hoping he could teleport somewhere. Maybe Narnia. Everything would probably be better there than right here.

"Um, Boomer? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Okay, so Narnia seemed to be too far off today. This thought was a persistent one, that was for sure. Perhaps if he hoped hard enough, HIM would come from the ground, give him a shot with a scary looking needle, and make him all better like those times before things like thoughts and feelings floated within him.

Then, all of a sudden, Boomer felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Gah! HIM?" If Boomer did not have powers, he would have fallen head-first onto the ground. Instead, he caught himself upside-down mid-air. In front of him was a flipped sight of the one he could never get rid of. Great. The one time she was physically in front of him, and he looked like a complete idiot. "Oh. Shit. Uh. H-Hi, Bubbles," he stammered, turning himself upright and scrambling back to his spot on the tree branch.

Bubbles Utonium was a sight to see today up close. Her hair was out of the usual pigtails, fluffing out to settle right at her mid-back. Her black and white undershirt went well with her maroon overall dress and her shiny black Mary Jane flats. Her black bangles clanged against each other gently as she tucked a piece of her poofy hair behind one of her ears. For once, she was wearing her big framed glasses that suited her chubby, round face.

Compared to the simplistic white long sleeve, blue jeans, and black combat boots combo Boomer had going on, Bubbles looked like an angel: out of this world.

"What are you doing?" Bubbles sat down on the branch next to him, crossing her delicate legs together, her head tilted—and what the fuck, she was adorable. It was almost unbearable. A part of Boomer wanted to throw a punch or two at her face to see if it would make her less appealing, but somehow, he knew that wouldn't work the way he wanted it to. She'd probably rock a bruise like it was nothing.

(Bubbles had rocked bruises and cuts and any types of damages plentiful times before. There was no stopping her good looks.)

"Oh. Just. You know, trying to look at stuff in my brain. And I am also sitting here." Boomer's hands moved on their own, wildly gesturing to the tree that Bubbles could see with her own two eyes behind her glasses.

Bubbles nodded slowly. "Mind if I sit with you for a bit? I've heard creating small bouquets is always better with some company." She slightly shook the basket in her hand. "And the shade up here is nice, too."

He could have said no. He should have said no. But she was already sitting down and he was already feeling... Well, he did not want to admit what he was feeling. "Yeah," he replied, clutching his pants in a poor attempt to calm the fuck down, "bouquet away. I'll just, uh. Continue sitting here. Looking at stuff. But, like, physically with my eyes this time."

(Why the fuck was his head spinning so much by the scent of her lavender perfume?)

Bubbles gave him a small smile and a nod before setting her basket on the branch. This whole situation was not really a new occurrence. Sometimes, though not often, the two would sit together in a somewhat comfortable silence before classes or outside at lunch. It was hard to try and avoid Bubbles (or, maybe it was hard for him to try and avoid Bubbles since he sort of kind of didn't want to do that much anymore), so he threw that action away and allowed her around him. They were small moments, but they were small moments covered in a bright, warm light that shined on Boomer whenever he thought about them.

He watched as her hands worked their magic, and it was almost like they were dancing with one another. Her left hand would twist above a curved right one, creating the most beautiful lines a simple hand could ever make. He didn't know if it was the Chemical X or her true talent at producing all things beautiful, but she moved with an intensity and speed he had never seen in any other human being before.

Boomer couldn't help but ask. "How do you do that so fast? The flowers, they just seem so… fragile. And that looks so hard to do at that speed."

"Oh, it's very hard! You just have to practice is all." Bubbles gave him a small smile, placing twelve flowers, a ribbon, and her scissors in one hand.

He looked at the flowers. Each flower had either white, purple, or yellow petals, and they all looked small and delicate. Honestly, he wouldn't have noticed them in the field if Bubbles didn't pay so much attention to them. "Why crocuses?" he found himself asking aloud.

"Hm?" she hummed as she carefully tied another ribbon on yet another bouquet.

"There are so many flowers out there and you chose those. Why just crocuses?"

Bubbles was quiet for a bit as she considered his question. Boomer took the time to look at her, really look at her. It was so strange how she always looked ready to take a picture, even when she wasn't paying any attention. The sun's light complimented her tanned skin nicely; it was almost as if she were glowing.

"I learned about them in a Greek mythology class Blossom persuaded me to take over the summer," she started, shifting a bit on the tree's branch. "Crocus is said to have been a Greek noble, and the variations of his story are all sad. But the meaning of crocus in flower language is beautiful. They say white ones mean truth and purple ones mean pride."

"And the yellow crocus?"

Somehow, Bubbles began to glow just a bit more. "My absolute favorites. They mean joy." She turned her attention back to her flowers.

Of course, they did. "They really fit you," Boomer said.

"You think?" Bubbles tilted her head, but she did not stop working. "Why?"

Because they're cute, just like you. "Because they're cu—" Boomer stopped talking before he said what he thought. He didn't expect that question nor his original answer. His mind frantically tried to come up with a smooth transition into something more fitting for the Rowdyruff Boy named Boomer Jojo, and somehow, he succeeded. "You know. Aren't you, like, joy and laughter or something? There's like a whole song about that shit. Of course, they'd fit you," he said with a roll of his eyes.

If Bubbles saw through his facade, she did not make it known. "Yeah, true," she said. "It'd be false advertisement if they didn't."

She let out a tiny laugh, and it hit Boomer why her name was Bubbles. Out of all the names in the world, there wasn't one other than 'Bubbles' that could fully capture the way her laughter sounded. It was as if it circled in his brain and floated to the deepest parts of it, popping gently to showcase a magical view.

"Do you wanna try making a little bouquet?" she asked, shaking the items slightly. "They're fun, I promise."

No. He shouldn't. Every cell in his body screamed at him to deny. But he was always made to disobey, even if it meant disobeying himself. "Sure, yeah," he said. "Can't hurt to try it, I guess. Don't judge me if it's shitty, though."

"Great!" Bubbles said, handing him three flowers, a ribbon, her pair of scissors. "Go for it; I promise I won't laugh."

His hands weren't made for this. It was so… nice to create things like this, things that didn't result in pain and suffering. He didn't know if he could do that sort of thing. She was staring at him in anticipation, though, so he had to at least make an attempt.

Boomer had seen her multiple times to at least figure out the basics. He cut a small portion of the stem of each flower, making sure to hold them gently in his quivering hands. Then, he grabbed the ribbon and tied it, making sure the middle flower stuck out a bit more to give the small bouquet a bit of flair and style. It seemed he tied the ribbon a bit too tight because one of the stems folded enough to make a flower bend.

"Like this...?" he asked, unsure. He was never good with art—that was more of Brick's thing than his, really—and he could never wrap his head around the concept of making things that others would perceive as nice. There were many times where he was wrong, and this was probably no different.

But Bubbles looked at him in a way where it did not matter if he were right or wrong. She seemed so supportive, but not supportive in the way his teachers were. While teachers had to show support, Bubbles did not, yet she still chose to, even to him.

"You did pretty great for a first try!" she said, and she sounded like she meant it. "Just gotta remember to be more gentle next time. And then, you also have to trim the stem a bit more, like this."

She reached over to help him with no ounce of hesitation and oh goodness, her hands were over his. He could only watch as she gently led his hands to the scissors, cutting the stems a little bit more. Was he shaking a lot? It felt like he was shaking. It felt like the world was shaking. Maybe Townsville was having an earthquake, or maybe some monsters escaped the island, or maybe HIM was coming out of the ground to make fun of his stupid, pathetic son who couldn't even say that he liked—

"See, like that!" Bubbles concluded, and a tiny amount of her energy streamed into his hands. It felt warm, almost like how her hug felt, and it made him immediately jump back into reality. Her thumbs grazed over the back of his hands, softer than petals. "You can always make something look nice with a little extra hard work."

Boomer stared hard, but not at the flowers. "…Nice," he said quietly. "Yeah. Looks really nice."

Bubbles caught his eye on her face. Her gaze was like a magnet, and he could not pull away from it. "Mhmm. Then you can just do this to make the aesthetic complete."

Before he knew it, she was placing a leftover yellow flower from her basket in his hair. She tucked it through rough, blonde tufts, settling the stem behind his ear. Her eyes scanned over his face, his overly heated and sweaty and red face, and she grinned.

"Cute," she said. "Crocuses fit you, too, it seems."

(That word. Cute. What was she using it for? The flower? The setting? Him? Either way, it made his heart feel like it was going to beat directly out of his chest.)

It was so much to handle. No, too much to handle. He had to get away.

"I, uh." His mouth opened, closed, opened again. "Just remembered. I've got, like, tons of history homework, and even though I hate that class, Brick will beat my ass if I don't at least attempt to do it, so..." His voice sounded like chalk scraping on a chalkboard. Typically, excuses came easy to him. But with her, he found it harder and harder to lie as time went on.

Bubbles grimaced, though she still looked like she believed him. Her obliviousness knew no bounds apparently. Or maybe she was excusing it, just this once. "Oof. Yeah, I understand," she said. "Not the kicking ass part; the homework. I can only procrastinate for so long before Bloss gets on my case." She let out a tiny laugh. "It's a fucking nightmare to deal with leaders sometimes, huh? Gotta love 'em, but gotta be annoyed by 'em sometimes, too."

(Wow. Even curse words sounded pretty out of her mouth. How did she do it so easily?)

Boomer slid off the branch and floated in the air, trying his hardest to ignore the way his legs quivered and the way his stomach twisted. "Yeah. I, uh. I get you. So, like, I'll see you later or something?" he asked, then mentally groaned at how desperate he sounded when he shouldn't have. His lip automatically turned into what probably looked like the world's scariest, most forced smile.

"Yeah. I'd love that. This... This was really nice." Bubbles gave him one last look before she turned her attention back to her flowers, her cheeks and nose slightly flushed and her smile as bright as the day itself. "Bye, Boom," she said quietly, giving him a tiny wave. The wind blew, her poofy hair followed its direction, and Boomer suddenly wanted to run his hands through it to see if it were as soft as it looked.

But he couldn't do that. That was weird. That was wrong. So, instead, he flew away with a quickness he never knew he could achieve.

He must have looked pathetic, flying as fast as he was, his lips still curled in that crude smile of his. His hands felt too much: like they were going to go up in flames before exploding, like flowers in a meadow, like a sinking ship, like a flying plane.

The flower in his hair whipped around until finally, its stem escaped from behind his ear, and the flower fell to the ground. The small bouquet of flowers wrapped in blue ribbon stayed in his hand like a blessing and a curse combined together to create the best and worst dream. Everything felt like a blur except for the thought of his counterpart. Again, he tried to bury her underneath the depths of his mind, but he couldn't. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her?

(And then he realized: Bubbles Utonium was beautiful, in every sense of the word. She was worth every thought.)

Boomer heard about feelings like this in movies and TV shows. Feelings where your stomach never stopped moving. Feelings that gave you tingles in your hands and feet. Feelings that made your face run hot, that made you shudder, that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you want to do something as silly as hold someone's hand or kiss someone's lips just because you wanted to, nothing more, nothing less.

In Captain Spaceman, volume eighteen, chapter six, there was a scene between Captain Spaceman and the Princess of the Emerald Galaxy where the two reunited after the War of Cernon. There was a lot of exclamation about cheesy things that ended up with a whole bunch of kisses and hand-holding and I-love-you's. When Boomer first read that scene about a year ago, he had rolled his eyes at the sheer ridiculousness of it, but he kept reading since the general story was good.

But now, despite himself, he imagined that he was the captain and Bubbles was the princess. He imagined their fingers entangled with one another, their eyes on one another, their lips on one another. And despite himself, he felt a warm feeling in his heart by the thought, a warm feeling that felt so wrong yet so good at the same time.

Feelings like that were wished upon by a lot of people. For Boomer, however, he could only feel dread.

He wondered how Brick and Butch would react to how their younger brother was feeling. Brick would have probably yelled at him. Butch would have probably laughed or gagged. They both would have probably not given a shit that it would hurt Boomer.

For some strange reason, just the thought of that made his heart feel like it was breaking. He knew that it shouldn't because that would be terribly sensitive of him, and a Rowdyruff Boy should never be sensitive over something as stupid as a mere feeling over a girl. They'd probably say that he shouldn't even have this feeling in the first place, and ultimately, they would be right.

(When were they not right? When was he not wrong?)

This was wrong.

She was made of sugar while he was made of snips of hair. She was made to save while he was made to destroy. They could only be one thing and one thing only: rivals.

Whatever this feeling was inside of him could not happen. This could not happen, not here, not now, not ever. The world wouldn't allow it. His brothers wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow it. He won't allow it.

Boomer clenched a fist. Held it there. Let the Chemical X infused in his blood remind him who he was, what he was, what he should and should not do. Felt the flowers and the ribbons and Bubbles' touch made of soft petals on his hand disintegrate into crumbles of dust that floated down to the ground below. Released the fist. Flew home with a blank face and a blanker mind.

(He won't allow it, he won't allow it, he won't allow it.)

A/N. Alternate Title for this Chapter: Boomer is So Fucking Dramatic Oh My Gosh.

Second Alternative Title for this Chapter: Mmmm random italicized parenthesis.

Third Alternative Title for this Chapter: She's a She's a Lady, and I am Just a Boy. (ilysm ricky montgomery)

As always, thanks so much for any interactions on this fic! Reviews, follows, and favs are always extra appreciated! You all make my day :)

Since this chapter was shorter than others, the next chapter will be longer to balance it out. (Actually, the upcoming chapter is one of my favs since it includes one of my fav unnecessary tropes lol.) See you lovely humans on or around June 5th for the next update!

Next Chapter: June

Because a beach chapter is always needed.