author's note: the song recommendation this time is Pain Goes Away by Refs!

Friday, Mar. 12

It was two in the morning, yet Butch wasn't even remotely tired.

Dark green eyes stayed pinned to the folded and tied up sail on one of the boats anchored not too far from where he sat. The soft lull of the ocean waves lapping at the pier, water lazily rolling against the boats, were the only music in the night.

Boomer had tried to corner Butch again two days after Bubbles had gotten her tattoo, looking agitated and angry before he ever even said a word to the green Ruff. This turned into more than just a one—sided argument, ending with Brick creating a wall of fire between them to break them apart. Butch didn't take it too personally, though. The blond was obviously upset and preoccupied with something else, needing some form of outlet. Butch had done the same to him not long before then, so it was only fair.

It'd just gotten a little out of hand this time, and Brick had had to swoop in.

After his little spat with Boomer, Butch holed himself away in the shop for the next couple of days (almost the full next week, if he were being completely honest with himself), playing selectively mute when Brick and Blossom both stopped by on Sunday. Neither appreciated it, but then again he didn't appreciate being interrogated in his own place of work. Y'know, the whole damn business that he had started. They had seemed just as short with their words and tone as he was on top of it all, so he didn't feel too bad about that, either.

Everyone seemed to be on edge, lately.

Butch sat on the edge of the docks, far from home, his feet dangling off the side and hovering just an inch above the water.

He tapped the unlock button on the side of his phone, the screen illuminating his face in a sudden shine of artificial light. The sudden change of light made him wince and squint his eyes to be able to see the slightly blurry numbers on the screen. Two thirteen in the morning, to be exact. Friday night—well, technically Saturday now. He had no new messages or notifications, and his battery was only down to a third of its capacity. It was due to rain soon. The light dimmed, eventually fading into the stationary dark screen.

His reflection stared back, hard and full of his inner hell.

You look at her like she reminds you what love means.

He really hated his brother for putting things into his head like this.

Realistically, he knew that he'd been feeling things for the blonde Puff that he probably shouldn't have been for a while now, but it was easier, more comfortable for him to blame his brother for the whole damn thing. He'd always known that she was relaxed and fairly easy going, easy to get along with, but it never really sank in just how with the flow she operated. It was a breath of fresh air, considering most of those around him really liked to be hypervigilant and overthink or overwork everything. Even Buttercup, stubborn as can be, would butt heads with fate itself on occasion. Boomer could be dangerous if pushed too far. The Reds…

With them, everything had to be meticulously planned and thought out, understood entirely before getting there.

They forced everything into almost strict constructs, just about all of them.

Bubbles, though… Bubbles didn't.

Butch lived that rough and tough guy persona every day of his life, never one to really think about the other side of anything. Bubbles, on the other hand, made him think about it.

He expected her to have some sort of hang up—but he knew, now, that there was no hang up with her. She remembered things for years if she deemed them important enough to the person in question. She went out of her way to make everyone around her smile and laugh, or just be comfortable in otherwise unfortunate or uncomfortable situations. She cared so deeply and so entirely that it scared the everloving shit out of him. She wasn't afraid to be open and honest about her feelings, about what she wanted, or with physical touch.

No hang ups.

She gave without thinking about what she wanted in return.

He saw her in the fucking bath tub and she trusted him, completely, when he said he didn't see anything.

She didn't even blink .

It was that unwavering faith in him that made his hands shake. When she didn't think twice that night and just accepted his word, it wasn't just the complete belief that she had in him. To be clear, it was her trusting him with such an important, delicate and private thing. It was her trusting his innocence when he said he was innocent—something not many did, regardless of how long or hard he'd worked to straighten his life out. It was her being patient with him, not pressing things when he didn't want to talk, not forcing things out of him…

He relished the moments they had alone. He loved using the kittens as an excuse to come and see her. The feeling of her slotted so perfectly in his arms would forever be embedded in his mind, something that he kept thinking of even days after the moments had long been over with. Her conversations with the kittens always brought smiles to his face.

She hummed songs and tunes when she mixed their cat food with their milk, when she cooked. If she got really into it, she'd sing very, very softly and her voice would never fail to leave him mesmerized. Maybe that was the rose tinted glasses talking, or maybe it was the Chemical X in her system. She was vegetarian and had an especially deep love for plain potato chips. When he made her very happy, her eyes sparkled like seafoam and glitter…

Bubbles Utonium had completely stolen his mind away from him.

He'd never craved attention until he tasted hers.

Butch groaned and reached up, tugging on the strings of his hoodie and pulling the hood into a tighter, smaller hole. The hole shrank further, leaving only his face out with no sign of the black curls he'd been too stubborn to properly style.

There was no way she'd ever want him like that, regardless of how he felt towards her. Of that, he was almost too damn certain. As easy as she was to be around, as much as she cared, she deserved someone who could give her that true fairy tale ending. She might be open to the idea of a date or two, but the mere thought of Bubbles looking him in the eyes, her smile soft and sad and full of gentle concern, telling him that she loved him but not like that, never like that… It was more than enough to make him want to crawl into a hole, or fly away to five planets over. Which was odd, considering he had no issues with confidence.

It was worth it to sacrifice his own comfort for her, but was it worth it when it came to their friendship? Would it be worth destroying what they'd finally managed to build between them for the hope of something more? Something deeper? He knew that if he did get a chance that he'd do everything within his power to give her that perfect fairy tale ending, but he also knew at the end of the day that no matter how hard he tried to play the part, he would never be that knight in glorious white armor. He was the ogre of the story, never the prince.

A deep groan left him.

Fuck Boomer for making him actually think about shit.

All he'd really figured out was what he already knew: Bubbles took up a good sixty percent of his thoughts nowadays, had carved out with those slender fingers of hers a special place in his heart he knew nobody else would ever be able to fill, and he had no idea what the fuck to do about it.

He'd played that bad guy, that rough and tough character that fathers warned their daughters about for so long that he almost feared trying to date someone with such a warm heart and free spirit… But the picture she'd sent him of her ink came to mind. Teasing, tempting, yet doing nothing more than looking over her shoulder into the mirror at the camera. She wasn't pure, she was sugar —sickeningly sweet and sometimes sour, the very thing that he was slowly becoming ever more addicted to. She was her own special brand of poison, and he'd willingly drink it all.

He groaned in exasperation.

Could he think of her and not be cheesy about it?

That did bring up another problem; he hadn't talked to her or heard from her in a week. It wasn't necessarily that long of a time, and he knew she was alive and doing well through his siblings trying to get him to actually talk about anything. Well, that and her last text—a video of Coffee spazzing out over a new toy she'd bought him—that was sent last Saturday. Stubbornly, though, he kept his mouth shut, outwardly ignored his brothers and hid his spare key in a new hiding spot.

He didn't reply to Bubbles.

If Brick or Boomer genuinely needed inside for one reason or another, their x-ray vision would have told them exactly where the new hiding spot was. It was an unspoken rule, though, that they'd only actually force their way in if it was absolutely necessary. A level of respect for one another that was the baseline, in a way. Respecting each other's privacy just enough to not be a dick about it, but not enough to leave them alone entirely.

Now, though…

Two—almost three—in the morning seemed like the most opportune time to realize just how much he missed the bubbly little blonde that carefully wove his days out of the same sunshine he was all too sure she was a gift from. He missed her. It was his own damn fault, of course. It had been his choice to lock himself away. He knew without the shadow of a doubt that she'd be there and willing to talk for as long as he needed, but it was still enough to make him realize just how much of a place she'd carved out in such a relatively short amount of time.

He lifted his left leg, his foot sitting on the dock instead of dangling off of it now, and rested his elbow on his knee.

Full lips almost always pulled into a smile, eyes that could swallow universes, beautiful and warm and well cared for skin… She was a blonde bombshell in his eyes, with curves that drew his attention to the way her hips swayed when she walked and thick thighs that tempted him to see if she'd let him hold onto if he held her up against a wall. She was softer than her sisters and it always— always —made him pay attention to her on a physical level at the very least.

Yes, even when they were younger.

He could clearly remember wondering how such a powerful woman— a woman who could kick his ass —could hide such intensely powerful steel and diamond hard resilience under such soft skin. Such soft curves. Middle school and high school were both filled with him stealing glances at the blonde who never seemed to understand that she commanded his attention anytime she walked into the room. But he'd been a fool, blinded by his own idea of what power looked like, and had all but dismissed her mentally.

Physical attraction to the thickest Puff aside, he didn't start legitimately thinking any romantic (or really dirty) thoughts about her until that fateful February night when she'd broken her leg. After an… interesting wet dream that had caught him so off guard that he'd woken up confused and on the verge of panicking, the dirty thoughts never seemed to stop for what felt like that whole damn week. Every damn night that week, he'd had dirty dreams about her and it had driven him insane.

Then they went from raunchy to romantic like a flip of a switch after she'd trusted him so wholly that night in the bathroom. He almost hated how easily she made him care so damn deeply for her in just over a fucking month. He'd cared about her before, yeah, but nowhere near this much. Nothing like this. He despised the idea of going back to the way they'd been before—where he was blind and fucking stupid , never knowing how brilliant her smiles and aquamarine eyes were.

His phone lit up then, nearly blinding him with the sudden change of brightness. It vibrated long enough for him to realize it was a call, and his heart thundered to life at the (albeit blurry) sight of her nickname on his screen.

Sweetcheeks.

It was getting closer to three in the morning.

Why the fuck was she even up?

He swiped the little button, answered, and put the phone to his ear. "Is everything okay?"

She was quiet for a moment on the other end, but eventually answered, her voice strangely wobbly. " Yeah, it's okay enough… Sorry, did I wake you? "

"Nah, I couldn't sleep," he answered honestly. "'Okay enough', though? What's going on?"

"Did I upset you ?"

He was more than a little confused by the random, but direct, question. "What? No? Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, I just… We haven't talked since last Wednesday and I know that's not a long time or whatever, I just… I don't want you upset with me, too, I guess…" Her voice was so meek, and he didn't have to be there to see the worried pinch in her brows.

He sighed. It wasn't his intention to completely ignore her or block her out, obviously, but with Boomer's words on repeat in his mind, he didn't know if he could handle being around her until then. Not that he was willing to say that. Her voice was so small though, and he felt like shit for worrying her or making her feel like it was her fault in any way. He'd swallow his pride for her—for this, at least. "Sweetcheeks I promise ya, I'm not mad at you and I'm not upset with you. Boom and I got into it and I shut everyone out. I haven't really talked to anyone other than clients in the last week."

He heard her sigh and let out a tiny, watery laugh. "Okay, thank goodness. I was worried I said or did something that upset you." Her tone was real and genuine, though still quiet.

As if she could ever.

"No, I'm just an asshole who shuts people out when I don't know what to do," he nonchalantly offered.

"You're not an asshole," she admonished. He felt one side of his mouth climb higher than the other. "You can be one sometimes, but you're not just an asshole by default."

"I dunno. Snails are pretty dickish…"

He heard her snort. "Not all snails are rude. Besides, being slimy doesn't mean being an asshole."

"But it does mean being slimy."

"I'd call you slick, not slimy," she teased.

His heart sped up a little and he felt warmth in his cheeks. She never hesitated to gas him up with compliments and he wanted, oh so badly, to believe that she was genuine with every single one she laid on him. It was hard to trust that, even on his best days, but he let himself pretend. For now. "Careful. I might start thinkin' you're buttering me up."

Her laughter made him feel like he could breathe again and, unfortunately, it also made him feel just how heavy the bags under his eyes were. "Thanks for the warning. If your ego grows anymore, we might have to grease up your head to get you through doorways."

He laughed lightly. The first time he'd laughed in a little over a week. That wasn't lost on him. "Oh you love it, don't lie."

"It's debatable." Her tone was so light and playful that he couldn't take the words seriously. He laughed again, already feeling so much lighter and secure than he'd felt not even five minutes ago. She hummed softly, just enough to let him know she was going to shift the topic. It was one of those little tells he'd picked up on over the past month or so. "Everything is okay on your end, though… right? You and Boomer didn't hash it out too bad? "

"I think I just pissed him off more than anything," he admitted through gritted teeth. Butch took a deep breath through his nose before continuing. His brow twitched at her words though—something sounded off, but he was unable to place exactly what that was. "He called me out on my bullshit and I dug my heels in. I just… needed time to think, I guess. Everything's fine. Promise."

"Sounds like the average bull," she teased lightly.

He was thankful she didn't ask about what happened any further.

"He called you 'obtuse' and said you were 'licking your wounds', so I was just trying to give you some space. It… it's just been a while now, and I wanted to remind you that I'm… I'm here, if you need."

Butch stood up from his spot, casting his gaze up to the night sky. The overcast was getting heavier. It was finally too warm to snow, but it still wouldn't be a warm rain if the clouds decided to drop on him. "...thanks, Sweetcheeks."

"You… you can call me Sugar, you know. You didn't have to stop just— "

"It was making you uncomfortable," he cut off. He shoved his free hand into his pocket and started his walk home. "It ain't worth it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't," she whispered.

He smirked. "…d'ya want me to call ya Sugar?"

She giggled, but he could hear her nerves in it. "I just want you to call me whatever you want to… I just want you to call me."

His face warmed further. He had no fucking clue how she managed to be so, so confident in her feelings. Enough to just openly talk about how she felt at any given time. "I'll call you before I start ignoring the world next time," he offered.

She hummed. "That would be appreciated." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Why are you up so late, anyway?"

There was some shuffling on her end and he heard the telltale squeak of her bedroom doors, the ones that lead out to her little balcony. "I couldn't sleep," she answered simply.

He didn't quite believe that was all there was to it, but he'd let it go for now. She'd talk when she was ready to. "Everything going just fine with the gang? Like I said, I haven't really talked to anyone."

She sighed. "Kind of, yeah? "

He didn't even think when he leapt off the ground, a trail of green behind him as he took to the skies with a small boost of speed. "Doesn't sound like everything's alright."

"I mean… there's no big big issues, nobody's fighting or anything. Brick thinks he might've found a lead on those abominations, so there's that. Blossom hasn't talked to me in a while, and she told Dad about the tattoo before I did so he's upset with me. Buttercup's more aggressive than usual, I guess. Boomer's… Boomer. What are you doing, anyway? I can hear the wind."

"Coming to meet you," he answered simply. He finally placed what it was that sounded so wrong. She rarely—if ever— called her counterpart by anything but a nickname. Nothing about her response sounded like the group he'd grown up with, though. It was enough to sew the seeds of worry.

"Butch! You don't —"

"Already doing it, Sugar."

The hitch in her breath when he said that nickname completely enraptured him. What it meant he had no fucking clue, but he for damn sure wanted to find out. Good or bad, he felt the need to know. He stayed relatively low, flying just barely above most buildings on his way to hers. "You're just going to be disappointed when you get here."

His brows furrowed. "I doubt it. I'm not—"

"Butch, please don't… I really don't want you upset with me too."

"Bubbles, what's going on?" Considering that she was less than two minutes away now—that he could see her building just a ways away—he needed to know how serious it was. Did she genuinely not want him around?

"I'm stoned out of my mind," she offered with a wry, sardonic laugh. "I'm out here with a joint I'm about to light and I don't feel like hearing about it. There. You know my dirty little secret."

Butch felt a strange wave of shock in his chest, but it didn't stop him from lazily lifting back to the skies to float near her balcony. Out of earshot, but just within her eyesight—just as she was within his.

"Butch…"

"I'm only gonna be disappointed if you don't share," he whispered, observing the lazy way she was slumped against the shut door that led back into her room. Her blonde hair was down for once, falling in an absolute mess of pale gold silk behind her, clinging to and clutching to the door she'd likely slid down. In a pale blue tank top far too thin for this early spring weather and blue pajama pants with white polka dots, she still looked every bit like an angel in his eyes. "If you'd be okay with that."

She stood up slowly and came to the edge, leaning against the iron railing with her phone pressed further against—or into—her cheek. One hand stayed balled into a fist, both of her elbows bearing the brunt of her weight as she leaned, and he felt his breath catch in his throat when the moon broke through the overcast just enough to highlight her, a star that willingly left the heavens for the earth. "No lecture? No yelling? "

"Never." He chuckled, drawing nearer to her balcony. "I told you once, Sugar . You're not innocence personified. You're a grown woman, and you can make your own decisions."

"Even if they're bad decisions?"

He came closer, just enough to be able to make out her face from a good distance.

When he caught that lost look in her sky eyes, he almost felt like he was looking in a mirror. He'd seen that worry in his own eyes far too many times over the years. None of his previous worries or thoughts even mattered when he saw such a look on her features. She didn't deserve to feel that way. "…I know we're not completely human , but I like to think that our bad decisions are just our human sides coming out," he answered softly. "Sometimes you gotta make some mistakes and poor decisions to grow some character."

She held his gaze as they both went silent.

Her fist uncurled and she held one end of the rolled—still unlit—joint between her index finger and thumb, using it to wave at him. It had been kept clutched in her hand until then, he realized. "…wanna come be human tonight with me, then?"

She'd understood that his words came from a place of familiarity.

As per usual, she didn't question him further.

His heart felt so warm and tight and full… and yet so damn free all at the same time. They didn't have to say everything. He didn't have to find words that he could never figure out how to find. It was, perhaps, the biggest allure to her. She just understood him. She could read people the way Blossom could read a crime scene, but she didn't have to read him. She just understood him, and perhaps that was another factor in his growing infatuation with her.

Butch dropped his phone from his ear and pulled his hood down finally. She looked at her phone just long enough to end their call and he finally floated the rest of the way over, his feet landing firmly on her familiar balcony. "All you ever have to do is say the word," he offered with a smirk. "I'll be here any night you're feeling pretty human."

Her cheeks were a pretty pink hue and her eyes were already a little glassy and pinkened, but he didn't mind. She still looked every bit like the angel he felt that she was. "Sounds dirty when you put it that way." She laughed as she sat her phone down on the ledge and fingered the lighter behind it.

He just raised a brow while she lit the aforementioned joint.

There was something so intoxicating about being around her while she placed a joint between her full lips and brought a lighter to it. The flame of the lighter flickered and cast a beautiful glow to her features; all the same, the depression lingering behind her eyes seemed all the more prominent when lit by a lighter's flame. Soft and sad, the gold hues of the flickering light made her seem so heavenly, yet haunted in a hellish way. It was more than enough to sober his smile a bit.

"Wanna talk about why you're worried you'd disappoint me of all people?" he asked after she took her hit and offered it up. He took it carefully from her fingers.

"Wanna talk about what you and Boomer fought about?" she snapped, releasing the smoke from her lungs just after speaking. That little tidbit interested him—this wasn't anywhere near her first time smoking if she could so easily do that without coughing up a lung afterwards.

But he got the point.

"Fair enough. Just wanted to offer." Butch took a long, slow drag and held it before handing it back off to the blonde. That topic was off limits, so he quickly found the next one. "When did you start smoking?"

"When I dated Mitch back during junior year," she answered honestly. "Everyone said he was a bad influence."

The Ruff leaned against the ledge next to her, their elbows touching. She didn't move or say anything, so he didn't scoot away. He watched, a bit transfixed, when she took her next hit. "I mean he got you started smoking weed, so they weren't exactly wrong…"

There was a strange look in her eyes that he didn't think he'd seen there before. "He was the only one who believed in me when I said I wanted to be an artist."

"Mitch was the only one who said it out loud to you," he corrected. "Buttercup and I made plans to take you on a coast-to-coast roadtrip to get you as much muse as you'd need when you were talking about it."

Her blue eyes widened when she looked over at him. "...what?"

"I think I still have that notebook we wrote everything down in, too," he offered with a lopsided smile.

He liked those twin roses on her cheeks.

"I hate disappointing people," she whispered when she looked away. Her eyes went to the moon. "I… I feel like the more I try to be… me , and not just a super, the more I disappoint people. I feel like if I did become an artist, I would have disappointed everyone." She paused to take another drag, taking a good few moments to gather her words. He could see the gears turning and gave her the time she needed. "I get why most heroes have masks now, I guess."

"I still think Bubbles Utonium, the human woman, is damn near impossible to be truly disappointed in," he said as he took the joint back from her hands. "You've got so many little layers and secrets I keep finding that keeps me on my toes, and I've yet to be disappointed."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, but it didn't change the blush lingering on her cheeks. "Tell that to Blossom."

"I will," he answered firmly before taking his drag.

She elbowed him. "I wasn't being serious."

"I was."

"Don't, Butch," she whispered. "I really don't want to deal with another fight."

His forest eyes watched her carefully. "What's on your mind?"

"I might have messed up and spent way too much on a gift that might already be ruined. And I'm thinking about not becoming a vet," she answered bluntly.

He leaned against the rail even further, trying to get a better look at her eyes. "How's the gift already ruined?"

"Everyone's upset with me." She sighed and waved a hand.

He hummed, his brows furrowed in thought, and he nudged her lightly. "Second part. Are you thinking of dropping out?"

She shook her head. "No, just… not doing that out of college."

"What are you thinking, then?"

"I don't know. Maybe… maybe being a freelance artist or something? Everyone's already upset so why not? But, honestly, I haven't thought that far ahead yet. I just can't move past that surgery, so I haven't thought too hard on what other thing I might do."

He hummed, taking a second hit before passing it back to her. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him, though the action was lackluster due to her distracted mind. "...try thinking about becoming a groomer?" he offered.

She let the thought sit and simmer in her mind, tossing it over for a moment. Then, the blonde turned to him with a new light in her eyes. "…Butch, you have the best mind." Her voice was soft, filled with wonder, and a small laugh left her. "A mind of gold."

He felt his cheeks burn at the recalled compliment. "I just think it'd be right up your alley. You could do the art on the side, just so you could have a more stable income that way."

She leaned against him, her bare shoulder against his cool leather jacket bringing gooseflesh to her skin. It didn't dull or sully her smile, though. "You're the best."

"I know." She shoved him playfully and he laughed along with her. He then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, seeing the small shiver she gave.

"You gonna crash out here tonight or are you gonna fly home?" she asked.

"I think I'll crash out here… if you've got a movie for me."

She smiled and the warm, caring look in those pretty blue skies made his heart burn. "I think we can find a movie."