July
Getting called out during summer school is something that should NOT be legal.
Bugs were cool.
Even when they had strange wings or a bunch of legs. Even when they made weird sounds that regular humans couldn't even begin to imitate. Even when they crawled on you, just because.
Boomer's love for bugs began the moment he came out of the prison toilet at the sight of a deformed roach near the sink. As a young child, he and his brothers would stick bugs in other kids' hair. He used to collect and raise them as long as he could in tiny jars filled with dirt, grass, and other healthy living conditions. When he got older and the soft buzzing from bees and chirps from crickets turned into words, he thought it was pretty cool to know what they were talking about. Bugs had many interesting things to say.
So yeah. Bugs were cool.
...Except for cicadas. Fuck cicadas.
Some bugs truly did not deserve rights, and cicadas were one species that didn't. At all. Whatsoever. The urge to kill them on sight never faded, even after all these years.
The sounds cicadas made were almost never-ending. They loved to sing to one another, especially during their mating season, and from what Boomer had heard throughout his life, every single song was fucking awful. The super-sensitive ears did not make them any better.
So, it was no surprise to him that he wasn't getting anything out of this summer school history lesson. It was a shame. He was actually trying to take notes and engage for once. Then again, as Brick had said to him multiple times once school let out and report cards rolled in, he wouldn't even be in this mess if he had paid attention during the original nine months of school. This was a punishment, but it was a fair punishment, nonetheless.
It wouldn't stay like this, though. Summer school was shit, sure, but it wasn't like he failed a bunch of classes like previous years. (If he had to do another mathematics class in the summer, he would blow up a building.) This was only the first day and it would only be for about a month, just two hours out of his weekdays. How bad could it possibly get?
Letting out a sigh, Boomer combed his fingers through his gel-coated hair and stared ahead at the whiteboard filled with Mr. Griffith's messy notes about some random treaty that didn't even matter anymore. His brain tried to piece together all the words, but that wasn't working thanks to the three cicadas who just had to be near the third-story window of Pokey Oaks High.
"Love is in the air!" one of the cicadas belted.
"You know what that means!" another one sang.
The third one cleared their throat (Did cicadas have even throats?) and hit a note that was not humanly possible and could only mean extra damage for Boomer's ears.
"Oh, my HIM," he couldn't help but growl out quietly. "Shut the ever-loving fuck up, you stupid bug."
Somebody else cleared their throat, but this one sounded deeper and closer than an outdoor cicada. Mr. Griffith's dark green eyes somehow darkened as he glared at Boomer in the back of the classroom. "Is there something you'd like to say to me, Mr. Jojo?" he asked, arms crossed.
If Boomer had absolutely no sense whatsoever (and there was many a day where he didn't have any sense whatsoever), he would have repeated what he said to those stupid bugs and directed it straight toward his stupid teacher. He humored the thought for a bit, and the sight of Mr. Griffith's big mustache traveling up as he scrunched his nose in disgust almost made him laugh aloud. But then he thought about how Brick or Mojo would have responded to a hypothetical phone call explaining this issue. Of course, it was anything but good.
And so, Boomer accepted defeat. "Nothing," he grumbled, leaning his head against his hand. He chose to ignore everyone's eyes on him and instead kept his piercing stare on his teacher.
Mr. Griffith let out some air from his nose, and his mustache lifted a little. Boomer wished it would just fall off. "Good." He placed the marker he was using down on his desk and began to pass out sheets of paper to every student. "Alright, class. I'm handing you your summer assignment. Yes, it is partnered. No, you cannot work with whoever you want. Partner with the person nearest to you and get to work. No slacking off, no yelling, no asking to trade partners; just be quiet, read the instructions, and work."
Busy work. Of course. Mr. Griffith was a shit teacher who didn't even teach anything; he just stole his assignments from the Internet and proceeded to tell all his classes to not plagiarize. He was a walking hypocrite and somehow, he had kept his job after all these hears.
HIM, this school is so stupid.
When Mr. Griffith got to Boomer's desk, he slammed the paper with a bit more force. Even though Boomer could literally throw this man across continents in the blink of an eye, he still jumped in surprise.
"And make sure to actually do the work to your best capabilities instead of, say, reading a comic in my class. Understood?" Mr. Griffith asked, looking straight at Boomer.
There was a chorus of students, answers like "yes" and "okay" and "sure," but Boomer was sure that he was the only one in the class to answer with narrowed eyes and a scowl.
Mr. Griffith waited for a beat longer than needed as if Boomer's vocal response was so important to him. Then, he turned on his heel to travel to his desk again. "Good," he huffed. "Then get to work."
Boomer decided that even though he really wanted to, it was a bad idea to shoot a laser beam at the back of Mr. Griffith's head.
Since he had the window seat, there was only one person he could choose to work with. It was an unfair setup, but he'd adapt. He looked to his right, and immediately, his blood ran cold.
So much for adapting.
He heard there were billions of people on Earth. And somehow, out of every single person out there, he just had to be seated next to Buttercup fucking Utonium. He hadn't seen her walk in the room, hadn't even heard a peep from her, but now that he could see her, it was almost as if everybody else in the class had disappeared.
She caught his eye and visibly growled. Like, legit growled, teeth and all. Teeth never looked so sharp.
He gulped. This was going to be a long six weeks.
Buttercup got up before he could move an inch and dragged her desk next to his, scraping the floor with a sense of anger that could only be compared to Brick's when he was proven wrong. With a huff, she slammed her bag on top of her desk. Hard. A few students visibly jumped, and even Boomer let out a jolt of energy that scorched the floor, but Buttercup didn't pay any mind to that.
Boomer was not afraid of anything. You could argue that he was afraid of his hair looking bad, or he was afraid that Captain Spaceman would suddenly stop updating and be lost in the void, but those things were small(ish). They wouldn't hurt him. (Physically, at least. Emotionally? Absolutely.)
But Buttercup Utonium could hurt him. She could hurt him in more ways than one. She did hurt him. It wasn't like how Brick and Butch inflicted pain, in those temporary ways that would only sting for, at most, a few hours. Buttercup's name alone made burning goosebumps spread on his arms and legs.
Boomer was not afraid of anything... but he could not deny that Buttercup was, in many ways, fucking terrifying.
"Hi," he said to her, carefully and quietly. Maybe she'd be less scary if she got a little hello. She was a Powerpuff Girl after all. Bubbles and Blossom were her sisters. She couldn't be that bad.
Buttercup didn't even bother to offer him a greeting back. "We aren't leaving these spots here, not until we're done with brainstorming at least." She gave him a hard stare. "Got it?"
Not until we're done. Bubbles had said that to him last month, ready to build the best damn sandcastle that ever stood in the city of Townsville. Bubbles had stared at him directly in his eyes, looking bold and beautiful all at once. Bubbles had placed her hand on top of his, and together, they had made their mark on their creation. Bubbles had smiled, and Boomer had smiled back.
They had done all of that, but it still felt more like a dream than a concrete memory.
Boomer took in a sharp inhale. "Yup. Got it, Buttercup," he croaked as his eyes shifted to the assignment on his desk, praying that his heated cheeks would cool down soon.
The project was simple enough. They had to pick any history topic that was discussed over the original school year and write a collaborative paper on it, at least four pages with two sources. They had the whole summer to spread the workload out, research, and write the paper. Though Mr. Griffith had a stupid "Only Three Questions for the Teacher" rule placed, Boomer assumed they would be able to handle it.
Suddenly, something landed on his desk: a cup with designs on it. He looked up and saw Buttercup frowning. "Not from me. From Bubbles," she said. "She knew you'd be here with me. I'm only giving it 'cause she paid me to do it. She said you could keep the cup and… And she hopes you like the coffee."
Buttercup didn't have to say any of that. Boomer could tell it was from his counterpart from the look of the cup alone: a cheap acrylic tumbler with hand-drawn pictures of Captain Spaceman, thunderbolts, and… Temple of Aquatis, lopsided yet stronger than any sandcastle out there.
How had Bubbles looked when she made this cup of iced coffee? Knowing her, she had probably asked Blossom for help, hoping that her eldest sister would be able to get the measurements down to the perfect decimal point. Perhaps she froze the ice cubes two nights before instead of a day before, just to make sure they would truly be frozen in time. There was a high chance she drew the pictures on the tumbler in her room, surrounded by art supplies. Maybe she even drew the doodles and poured the coffee in the cup while thinking of him, smiling to herself.
Boomer felt his heart begin to soar. With all his might, he swallowed it and buried it six feet under within his body, trapping it with a lock and key, just in case.
Nope. Not today. He would not think like this today. It was one thing to think about her in her presence. It was another to think about her, even in the moments when she wasn't there. That meant something. He didn't want it to mean what an outsider would think it would mean.
He shouldn't be getting this happy over a fucking cup filled with iced coffee of all things. It was just a cup of coffee. It was just a basic drink. It was just a cup of coffee, a basic drink, given to him of all people by Bubbles Utonium, a girl whose smile seemed to beat the brightness of the sun.
Yeah. Just a cup of coffee.
"Oh," Boomer managed to say, grabbing the cup of coffee with his wobbly hands. (It's just a cup of coffee, but it felt like holding the sun itself: a gift too big for him.) The ice shook and swirled inside the cup. "Um. Thanks."
Buttercup blew some air from her nose. He guessed that was as much of a "you're welcome" as he was going to get from her.
He took a small sip from the yellow bendy straw. The coffee was sweet, but not sweet in the sense where it was unbearable. No, it was the perfect amount. He went in for another sip, then another, and another. The more he drank, the more he realized that it was truly the best drink he had ever had.
(Or maybe he was biased because he could not stop thinking about Bubbles and the way she thought carefully about everyone. She really made him a drink without being prompted to do so. Who does that? She really was the embodiment of sugar, wasn't she?)
"Let me know when you're done drinking my sister's coffee so we can start this shit and get it over with," Buttercup not-so-subtly muttered under her breath.
Right. The assignment. That was what was most important, not some coffee made by some girl.
Even if that girl was Bubbles.
(Especially if that girl was Bubbles.)
Boomer set the half-empty cup on his desk, then dug through his backpack and pulled out a couple of pencils and highlighters. Brick always told him that the best way to understand an assignment in its entirety was to make sure to mark all the important stuff and summarize. It's a bit hard for Boomer, especially in classes like this, but he still tried anyway. It never hurt to try. His eyes skimmed over the assignment sheet again so he could choose parts that needed highlighting.
"The bracelet," Buttercup suddenly said.
Boomer blinked, and instantly, his right hand clapped over his left wrist. The bracelet Bubbles gave him back in February was still in good shape and he always tried to keep it hidden beneath his light long-sleeved shirts whenever he decided to slip it on, which was most days. There were a couple of moments where he'd leave it tucked in the corner of his drawer back at home, but his skin would always notice the emptiness, almost as if the bracelet were a part of his skin itself. He tried to keep it on him to avoid that feeling. He didn't think anybody would notice a stupid bracelet.
"Huh?" he asked, hoping he heard her wrong.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. "You always wear it to school. That bracelet. I can hear the beads sometimes." Buttercup's eyes narrowed on him, like a predator looking at their prey. "I know it's from Bubbles. And don't say she didn't make it. I know she did. She ties weird, but it always works."
Boomer looked down to confirm, and it was true. The tie shouldn't have worked, but somehow, it did, even after all these months. "Yeah. What about it?" he asked, raising his guard.
Buttercup leaned toward him a bit. "Why wear it?"
Boomer leaned back a bit. "It was a gift," he said simply because that's exactly what it was: a gift. Nothing more, and nothing less. "I don't deny gifts."
Buttercup still stared at him. Being under her gaze felt as uncomfortable as a mouse in front of a cat. She could strike at any moment, and he knew that she was fully aware of the fact. But she didn't, at least not at that moment. She just stared, and stared, and stared.
Then, she said something terrifying: "Shit. You like her."
Nobody told Boomer that the world could feel like it was stopping with one single word. Nobody told him that there was something about that word that could make him feel like he was flying and falling all at once in the blink of an eye.
He took in a long inhale then let it all go in a quick yet quiet motion. He pushed away his thoughts, pushed away that word like because that was what he had to do. "I tolerate her," he said. "It's hard not to. Bubbles is okay. And that's it. Just okay."
But Buttercup Utonium wasn't hearing it. She was similar to Butch in that sense. There was no way she was going to back down, not from a fight, not from a competition, and definitely not from a tiny argument with a stupid Rowdyruff. "No. You like her," she pressed, and he could hear her pencil snap in her hands. "You actually like-like her, don't you, you little shit?"
Somehow, the word stated twice hit twice as hard. Like-like was something said in those romance novels Brick secretly read before bed. Like-like was something he heard Butch say to that one Believe kid, who always looked over at Robin with red cheeks and quivering shoulders. Like-like was something for other people. But not for him. Never for him.
At least, that's what his thoughts screamed at him. Because what else was the Rowdyruff Boy named Boomer Jojo supposed to think when it came to like-liking the number one person he should be hate-hating?
"That's not true." He didn't know if he was still talking to Buttercup or arguing against himself, but either way, he felt the need to get his point across… Whatever his point was, anyway.
Buttercup let out a bitter laugh. "That's not true," she mocked, her voice venomous. She glanced at him, then out the window. "Man, you are not the best liar out there, are you?"
Boomer didn't like lying about his feelings because that was stupid. Who needed to hide something as simple as a feeling? However, for some strange reason, all he could do was lie about his thoughts when it came to Bubbles. In a way, the things that circled his mind filled him with an unknown feeling that was like being in the front seat of a rollercoaster while blindfolded.
But his lies in his head were something for another day. He would not let Buttercup Utonium of all people see that side of him.
He glanced at the front of the class. Mr. Griffith was fast asleep at his desk, snoring as loud as the cicadas singing outside. Of course. You can never depend on a fucking history teacher for help at this school.
"I'm not lying. And even if I was—which I'm not—it doesn't matter," Boomer said. He pointed at his worksheet. "Can we just do our assignment so we can get this over with and never speak to each other again? That matters. Not this."
All of the Utonium sisters must have been born with the most unbearable trait on the planet: stubbornness. "She spent hours on it, making that tiny ass bracelet. She just… stressed about it for a good portion of the afternoon. You know, sometimes, she does this thing where she flies when she's overthinking. Never left the air when she worked on it." A tiny, fond smile found its way on her lips. "She's so fucking weird sometimes…" she said, sounding breathless and, somehow, pretty.
He almost rolled his eyes out of their sockets. "So what? She probably did that for everyone. That's just what Bubbles does."
"Nope. It was only for you. She finished everyone else's Valentine's Day gifts so fast, but for you, she just…" She combed her fingers through her jet-black hair and let out a singular laugh. "Three whole hours spent! Hours! On that! She even canceled on mowing our street's lawn until the next morning. She's never done that before, ever; she's all about her schedule. And she did all of that just so she could find time and work hard on one teeny gift," she said, jabbing a harsh finger on his chest, "for you."
Boomer almost dropped his pencil. Three hours on a bracelet? That was so absurd, yet such a Bubbles-like thing to do. Her attention to detail plus her care for others followed her wherever she went. But why for him? Why the special treatment? There were so many other people at school who deserved the world, so many other people in the world who deserved more than the world, while Boomer deserved everything less than that.
"I don't get it. Why she tries so hard for me all the fucking time." Boomer didn't realize he spoke until the words escape him. "It just. I feel like she does that all of the time now. It doesn't make any sense."
Buttercup snorted. "I don't get it, either. I mean, look at you. You're just some Rowdyruff."
You're just some Rowdyruff. Boomer scowled. It wasn't the first time he heard something like that (it was Mr. Griffith's favorite line to mutter anytime Boomer spoke up in class), and he knew it would not be the last, either. He held his position as a Rowdyruff Boy with pride, but the world around him gave him shit for it, even when he wasn't destroying anything.
When he failed a test, he was just some Rowdyruff. When he accidentally bumped into someone in the hallway, he was just some Rowdyruff. Hell, he could be standing there staring off into space thinking about anything and he'd still only be just some Rowdyruff. There was nothing more to him. He was a simple, open book, something that any random person on the street could read and analyze and comment on.
To everyone else inside this classroom, he was probably no different from the history assignment they just received. Annoying. Unimportant. Forgettable.
"Yeah," Boomer said through gritted teeth. "Just some Rowdyruff. Right."
What was he even doing here anyway? He didn't give a shit about this school, not one bit, and he couldn't say that he cared for anybody here either. Why was he subjecting himself to disrespect? In the past, he would have fought. That's what he wanted to do now. He could. He could make this entire building crumble to the ground in a matter of seconds. All he had to do was get up and let go of all this energy that buzzed inside him.
He felt a quick, painful zap on his chest, some power that wasn't from him, and he jumped a little. The electric green still seemed to circle his body. "Chill, dumbass," he heard Buttercup say. "I'm not done talking yet."
"I am chill," Boomer responded in a chill enough voice. "Super fucking chill."
"Boomer."
Boomer wasn't shocked that her voice was uncharacteristically soft. He wasn't shocked that she wore a more patient look on her face. He was shocked that she said his name. Buttercup Utonium said his name. He didn't think she ever said it before.
"Uh. Yeah?" he asked cautiously, unsure what he should expect.
"You know what?" It must have been a rhetorical question because Buttercup continued to speak without a pause. "I trust her. Bubbles, she's… She's more mature than a lot of people give her credit for."
Boomer scoffed. "She still laughs at Butch's 'deez nuts' jokes."
"Okay, I hate Butch the most out of anybody on this planet, but I have to admit that those are kind of funny."
"No, I think your sense of humor struggles a lot."
"And I think you struggle around deez nuts."
"See? Terrible. Please do us all a favor and gain some new joke material."
"Anyway." Buttercup looked hilariously offended for having bad taste, but she didn't mention it. "Whether you get it or not—whether I or anybody else gets it or not—my sister's giving her all for you and then some. I'll be damned if you don't at least do that back for her. And I'll be damned if I don't respect her for that."
Boomer pinched himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Surprisingly, he wasn't dreaming. Buttercup was actually... speaking to him? And she wasn't angry? If anything, she was trying to be understanding.
It felt good to be understood.
Buttercup kept speaking. "So yeah, you might be some Rowdyruff, and I might have some resentment because of that. But you. You're..." Her eyebrows pressed together as she stared ahead at the whiteboard. "You've grown a lot, I think. Like, you're not the same Rowdyruff that you used to be. And that's cool. I fucking admire that."
Buttercup let out a big exhale, looking more relaxed. How long had she held that in? Years, it seemed, but Boomer was merely on the outside trying his hardest to peer in.
"What I'm trying to say is that I don't care how you feel about her. Just don't deliberately do anything that'll hurt her." She leaned toward him again, and this time, he didn't back away. "You got that Boomer?"
He looked at the cup again, then at his bracelet. He could see the hours of work put into them. And even though there were still some thoughts telling him not to, he couldn't help but feel twice as appreciative.
For the first time, when he thought of Bubbles in front of someone else, he thought of her with full positivity and let himself show that he was. Buttercup didn't seem to mind. In fact, within her piercing stare, he could see something along the lines of care.
"Yeah," he finally said. "I give you my word, Buttercup. You said it best. I'll give her my all." And he meant it this time. He would, even in the face of others, even if it was hard. It would take time, but he was capable of learning.
Buttercup leaned on the legs of her chair, her eyes brightening from the classroom lights. "Huh. Maybe Bloss was right; you are better than your other two shithead brothers."
"Oh, I definitely am." He almost grinned at Buttercup's loud laugh. "Butch is far gone—the definition of far gone honestly."
"You're telling me. I shared most of my classes with that asshole this year."
Boomer raised an eyebrow."How'd that go?"
"Better than last year," Buttercup said, sounding hilariously proud. "We only destroyed school property thirty-two times."
For those two, that was something to be proud of. He'd let her have that one without some comeback or tease.
"And Brick? He's only good for leading, maybe for his cooking skills, but not much for anything else." Boomer had to hold back a sigh. "Do you see how much damage that arsonist does in a singular day?"
"I thought Butch and I were bad," Buttercup huffed. "I've experienced all that fire firsthand. Multiple times."
"And I'm unfortunately stuck with it. It hits twice as hard in the summer. He's explosive this time of year."
Buttercup clicked her tongue. "You poor, poor soul."
You know, it felt pretty good to tease his brothers with someone else. Maybe that was why Brick and Butch tag-teamed against him all the time. He'd have to bring Buttercup to a match. They'd probably win; Buttercup had one hell of a spark.
"My brothers can be completely bottom of the barrel," Boomer said with a shake of his head. "I dunno how I'm related to those chumps."
Buttercup laughed, genuinely laughed, and gave him a small smirk. "Knew I liked you more than those losers for a reason."
"Good instinct." Boomer's eyes shifted back to their assignment sheet. "We should get back to this, huh? Not until we're done, right?" he asked, holding up an extra pencil for her.
Buttercup grinned, and Boomer could see how she and Bubbles looked alike in that sense. They both had pretty smiles that were almost unbearable but worth seeing up close because sometimes, a small sacrifice was also a huge gift.
"Hell yeah," Buttercup said, grabbing the pencil from him. For the first time in his life, her electric green energy zapped his fingertips in a way that didn't hurt him. If anything, it tickled, just a tiny bit. "Not until we're done."
The brainstorming didn't take as long as Boomer expected. Class ended at noon for them, and they only had to stay a few minutes after it was properly dismissed to go over the details. It would be a rough couple of weeks, but they should be able to make up a decent paper, all things considered.
When Boomer stepped outside, the weather was at an all-time high, and he could already feel his hair begin to frizz up. He fiddled with his long-sleeved shirt and momentarily regretted that he always bought them. He really needed to just give up the damn long-sleeved phase and settle for a couple of T-shirts like everybody else.
Buttercup let out a big huff of air and tied her flannel tighter around her waist. "Still hot as HIM's balls out here," she said.
Boomer groaned. "Okay, I've heard that two too many times."
Slowly, Buttercup grew a cheeky grin. "What, are you imagining HIM's ba—"
"Nope! Nuh-uh. Don't finish that sentence. I've lived this life before and I don't want to live it again."
Her eyes squinted, but she didn't press on. "Well, guess I'll see you tomorrow?"
Boomer nodded. "Unfortunately, bright and early."
Instead of immediately flying away like he thought she would, Buttercup stayed put. "Ya know… Bubbles makes that coffee every day. I don't drink it much, but it is super good when you need a pick-me-up." She stuffed her hands inside the pockets of her jean shorts. "I could, I don't know. Get you some more, if you want. She'd do it if I told her you asked."
Something in his head told him that Buttercup didn't do this often. For someone like him, she probably didn't do it at all. Under her hard exterior appeared to be a secretive yet caring softie. He would have never guessed that.
"I'd like that. Thank you," Boomer said with a smile.
Buttercup shrugged. "Don't thank me. Thank Bubbles."
"I'm thanking the both of you."
Buttercup's lips stayed in a firm line, yet the faint blush on her cheeks was appreciation enough. The Buttercup Utonium, blushing? This was like being able to persuade Butch to shut up for an hour: impossible.
He could tease her about it. He decided against it. Unlike Butch, he did not have a constant near-death wish.
"Here," Boomer said, holding out the—his—tumbler.
Buttercup's head cocked to the side. "Why?"
"You know. So Bubbles can make it in this cup. I, uh, really like it."
"You really like it, huh?" She grew a smile on her face that looked familiar. It was the one she wore when only she knew something, like when she had won something that couldn't be seen by anybody but her. "Really?"
"Yes...?" "Boomer replied, unsure.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, I really like it."
"Like what?"
"The... the cup."
"The cup," she repeated, holding in a laugh. "The cup is what you really like. The, uh. The cup."
Boomer rolled his eyes and felt a blush creep across his cheeks. There was absolutely no way he was going to let a Powerpuff embarrass him like this. Maybe he should've teased her earlier when he had the chance. "I'm going to start calling you 'Cup now," he countered, hoping it would change the subject.
Luckily, it worked. "Alright, deal." She grabbed the tumbler and stuffed it in her pockets. "Next time, you're asking her yourself. I'm not your deliverywoman."
"Damn. I was hoping to milk this out of you as much as possible."
"You really are evil."
"As all toilet born dipshits are."
Buttercup paused, looked at him. Then, she gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "You know what? You're alright, Boomer. Maybe more than alright. And… sorry if I offended you earlier. I just wanted to make sure you weren't doing anything to hurt my sister."
"'S okay. You're just blunt." Boomer shrugged. Truthfully, it stung a little at that moment, but people say shit like that all the time and he could tell that Buttercup regretted her words. He'd done worse to her in the past. So, they could call it even. "Brick's mouth is, like, ten times worse on most days anyway."
Buttercup let out a low whistle. "Yeesh, I bet. Does he ever pull the stick out of his ass?"
"Only when Blossom's around."
"Ugh, he's so fucking obvious," she said as she shook her head. She hopped up and began to float away. "Anyway. Peace out, little dude.
Boomer pouted. "I'm not that little."
Buttercup looked down at him with a huge smile on her face. Fair. She did have half a foot over him in the height department. "Sick joke. Work on your delivery through. It's a bit, uh. Short."
"Thanks for the advi—hey!" Boomer almost face-palmed for almost missing that. "I am not that short!"
"Stop lying to yourself!" Before he could argue some more, Buttercup sped away, her lime green streak following closely behind her.
From a nearby tree, two cicadas could be heard beatboxing. It was some parts offbeat and all parts obnoxiously loud. And yet for once, Boomer didn't blast it to bits. He let them beatbox on.
... And then he blasted them.
(They didn't die. Something told him that Bubbles would appreciate that, even through the scolding. He couldn't help but let out some steam, though. Some bad habits die harder than others.)
A/N Was the main purpose of this chapter to show that Boomer and Buttercup could be and should be besties? I mean... Maybe. (That being said, these two are so rare and I think it's illegal. The potential they have together? Immaculate. If Bubbles and Butch can be besties, then so can these two damn it.
Thank you to all who have read and left kind words for me. Your support means everything and more! -insert appreciative and platonic smooches here-
Expect the next update on or around August 7th. Keep note that I'm in the long, long process of moving houses so that date is subject to change depending on circumstances. Until next time!
Next Chapter: August
Sitting in a Ferris wheel really puts things into perspective.