Call of the Wolves Chapter 59: What the Wolf Will Tell, a powerpuff girls fanfic

CHAPTER 59: WHAT THE WOLF WILL TELL

ME: Heyo! I'm back again!

BLOSSOM: Hello, Kuku.

ME: Exams ended last week and I had a lucky week off. Because I don't have any big government exams like some people I knew this semester, I was basically scot-free for an entire week. I go back to school tomorrow though, but hey, at least I had time to write!

BRICK: What good news.

ME: It is good news. And I have some more good news! Guess what, everyone?

BLASTER: Ooh, what?

ME: I'm publishing part of Call of the Wolves!

EVERYONE: ...Wait, WHAT!?

ME: Okay, so I'm not really publishing it, because obviously I don't own the Powerpuff Girls—I only own my own OC's and the story yadda yadda—but I am printing a part of the story into a book for myself.

BANANA: Wait, I'm confused. What?

ME: Well, you guys remember how I did NaNoWriMo?

BUTCH: No?

BUTTERCUP: *punches him* Yes, of course we remember.

ME: Yes, well, they teamed up with a program called FastPencil that was willing to print books for free for those who completed NaNoWriMo! Okay, well, even though I did complete NaNoWriMo with 58000+ words instead of the required 50000, my story Smoke and Mirrors still wasn't done, so I decided to print part of Call of the Wolves instead. Since this story's not done either, I printed from chapter 33 to chapter 58 and called it "Volume II" since it's missing the beginning and ending of the story. This also meant that instead of being chapter 33 to chapter 58, the book calls them chapters 1 to 25 under the same names. I didn't really edit but it's only for myself anyway. And even though it was for free in terms of actual printing, shipping still cost me $30.

BANDIT: *frowns* That seems costly.

ME: Well, I know it's not really a deal deal, but at the same time it is and it was an opportunity and I really wanted a copy of my own book. It'd look pretty cool, don't you think?

BUNNY: O-Of course!

ME: A lot of you probably know I like to draw—I have my own DeviantART under the same username, after all—*nudge nudge wink wink*—so I even made a front and back cover!

The paying sequence was kinda confusing but hopefully I will get my own copy sooner or later!

BLISS: Congrats, Kuku! We should totally party.

BRAKER: *joking* Good thing it's not for real publication; don't wanna get sued by good old Cartoon Network!

ME: Haha yeah, but I did include a disclaimer in the book too. It's only one copy for myself and maybe my friends anyway, so it's not like it matters hehe. I'm so excited asjakfl. I've made some of my own mangas that look like books and I'm thinking of a comic, but this will be the first real novel I've made. Oh, I did make a legit book for my English class.

BUBBLES: *giggles* Something tells me those are stories for another day, Kuku.

ME: Oh yeah! Sorry, let's get y'all settled in with the new chapter.

BOOMER: Read on, everyone! And please leave a review~

Chapter 59: What the Wolf Will Tell

She was beautiful.

Damon felt a familiar aching longing tug at his chest as he watched her glide down the aisle with her father. Her long silky hair flowed out behind her and she looked like she was floating on air. She was smiling, which only accentuated her beauty, and her wedding dress made her look absolutely gorgeous. It wasn't a very complex dress, and that was okay because it drew attention to her face, which was really the key element here.

Damon itched to reach out and grab her and kiss her and make her his, but he knew that this wasn't his special day. It was his best friend Tyrone's wedding, and the woman walking down the aisle was to be his bride, not Damon's.

Instead of doing what he wanted, he stood perfectly still and watched, a smile planted on his face. Sure, it was kind of difficult to smile at the fact that the love of his life was marrying another man, but Damon was truly happy for them. He could get over his own jealousy. He could live the rest of his life like this, knowing that she would never be his.

He took a deep breath. It still hurt, though. It hurt a lot, and it hurt deeply. Damon knew he had to live with it, but at the same time the pain was an aching longing that he didn't know how to live with for the rest of his life. After this wedding day, everything would be changed forever. He would no longer stand a chance in winning over her heart.

Damon knew he'd be a good boyfriend, husband, and father. He just knew it. But so would Tyrone, and not only that, but Tyrone would be a good supporter too. So Damon knew he had to stand his ground and be the best man Tyrone wanted him to be.

Today, Damon wasn't the groom. He wasn't the man who would exchange wedding vows and kiss the bride and have her with him till death did them part. No, today, he was the best man, and he expected himself to play the part.

This is it. This is the day I lose her forever.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by the fact that the bride had reached the altar and the priest was now speaking. "Dearly beloved... Today we are gathered here...to wed Tyrone Cade Patterson and Sylvie Elizabeth Johnson."

Damon's attention weaved in and out of the wedding vows as he stood there, watching, with that smile plastered on his face. The aching feeling was getting stronger.

There was the standard exchange of rings and vows, as well as the "whoever disapproves of this marriage must speak now or forever hold their peace." In the seconds that followed, Damon almost did speak now. His lips kept twitching open just slightly, aching to call out, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't face the shock and hurt on his friends' faces. Damon was a supporter, not a protester. Everyone thought he was over Sylvie, when really, he wasn't sure he'd ever be over Sylvie.

Damon's mind was still spinning when the priest moved on and he deflated discreetly in defeat. Damon sighed silently. I guess I'll be forever holding my peace then.

"Tyrone, do you take Sylvie to be your lawfully wedded wife together in marriage?"

Damon closed his eyes. Here it comes.

"I do."

The priest turned to the beaming bride. "And do you, Sylvie, take Tyrone to be your lawfully wedded husband together in marriage?"

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Damon knew he was being ridiculous. The next two words that followed were expected:

"I do."

"Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

And then Sylvie and Tyrone were kissing and a roar swept through the ceremony—a happy roar; of many, many people—family and friends—standing up and clapping and cheering and crying and smiling.

Damon smiled as politely enthusiastically as he could muster, clapping along halfheartedly but with the force and appearance of someone just as excited. When he glanced at Shamus, the usually shy man who had had his own crush on Sylvie looked overjoyed. Damon wondered if he had ever truly loved Sylvie, if he was willing to give up on her so easily, before mentally slapping himself. I'm giving up on her too, he reminded himself scoldingly. And with that, he glanced at their other friend. Danes, who was usually stoic and unemotional, was smiling and clapping pretty cheerfully.

The reception that followed after that was just painful. It involved watching the bride and groom—the man and wife—cut cake and share cake and dance and laugh and be all lovey-dovey with one another.

Damon danced with many beautiful ladies that night, but none of them could compare to Sylvie—in his own eyes, of course. He couldn't help but keep one eye on the bride as he danced pretty often, and sometimes he'd even imagine the girl he was dancing with to be Sylvie before he even realized it.

Later though, he was lucky enough to actually dance with Sylvie. As she slid into his arms, he couldn't help but think this is how it should be, before they began spinning and twirling.

"This is wonderful!" Sylvie shouted over the music. "It's the best day of my life!"

Damon felt a pang of jealousy, followed by a stab of guilt inside. Outside, he smiled at her. "So I guess you're married now, huh?" he shouted back.

She giggled, and Damon couldn't help but feel that same longing tug at his heart. "I guess so!" she agreed.

He twirled her around in silence for a little bit, before abruptly blurting out, "I never did stand a chance, did I?"

Sylvie blinked, stopping her twirls. Damon nudged her along so she continued to dance without disturbing the other guests, but her eyes were troubled. "Oh, Damon..."

"Don't get me wrong," he said quickly. "I think you and Tyrone are a—wonderful match. I just...I really love—I really loved you, Sylvie." He smiled sadly.

"Oh, Damon. I-I'm sorry, but I really can't...can't make myself love you that way. I do love you, just...not in the way you wanted. I'm sorry," she said, cupping his face with her hand. Despite her heartbreaking words, the warmth of her touch made him feel better. "Oh, Damon, I feel so guilty! Please don't hate us! I can't control my feelings. I just—I fell for Tyrone, and well, he loved me back—"

Damon's sad smile grew as he brushed aside a stray strand of her hair. "I know," he whispered, "and it's okay. You two deserve each other." He hesitated, before leaning in to give her a quick peck on the cheek. "I guess I just—wish I stood more of a chance. But it's alright. I'll support you two no matter what. I'm over it now; don't worry. I could never hate you, Sylvie—I'd follow you to the ends of the earth."

She smiled back, relieved, and Damon didn't have the heart to tell her what he really thought and how he really felt. She leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek back, saying, "Thank you for understanding, Damon. You really are a best friend and best man." When she pulled back, she smiled at him, before being whirled away by some other man.

Damon watched her go with an ache in his heart. He suddenly felt very, very tired. He ignored the ladies waiting to dance with him and went over to the refreshments table, where he leaned against the wall and watched Sylvie and Tyrone. I'll return to dancing in a bit to avoid suspicion, he told himself. I just want a break first.

Part of the reason was because he felt so exhausted and overwhelmed with joy, loneliness, love, sadness, jealousy, anger, and even resentment—to Tyrone, to Sylvie, to his friends, but most of all, to himself for feeling hate for others. This led to him also feeling a strong sense of giving up. Damon sighed. He remembered his words to Sylvie and knew they were a lie. "It's okay," he'd said.

But it wasn't okay.

Because Damon had just finally lost the love of his life and he felt as though someone was slowly ripping him apart, seam by seam.

He wasn't sure if it would ever be okay.

Drumming her fingers against the coffee table, Buttercup snuck another glance at Bubbles. The blue Powerpuff Girl looked incredibly distracted, staring out the window. It was like she was becoming a literal blue Powerpuff Girl. Buttercup could just feel the sadness emanating from her sister and she couldn't help but wonder what was wrong.

It was a heavy feeling that sucked all the relaxation out of the atmosphere. It didn't help that an injured Rowdyruff Boy was staying over, either. Although...it should've been a Ruff that Bubbles would've been comfortable seeing, and while her sister had shown protectiveness and care for him, she hadn't appeared comfortable around him.

It was a mystery that Buttercup hadn't quite managed to solve, although it had plagued her for a few days now. Bubbles' sadness was obvious and hung in the air in suspended animation—droplets that Bubbles thought were invisible.

The ringing doorbell startled Buttercup out of her thoughts. She leaped upwards for the door and carefully looked outside the peephole. Her breath caught.

It was Butch.

She slowly unlatched the chain and unlocked the door, opening it carefully.

Butch was staring at the splintered hole in their wall. "Looks like you guys had a rather scary run-in," he finally commented.

She followed his gaze. The bullet was still lodged within the door, and it caused her to shudder involuntarily as she remembered the gleam of the sniper. "Yeah, it was quite a surprise," she agreed. She blinked at him. "I'm guessing you're here to pick up Boomer."

He nodded, finally looking away from the hole and into her eyes. His green gaze was more transfixing than she'd remembered. "Yeah, Brick's been worried sick." The green Ruff hesitated. "And I've been the same."

"Come on in," she finally said after a search through her mind for comforting words resulted in failure. She opened the door further and stepped aside. "Boomer's in the Professor's lab."

"Thanks," he replied, sounding uncharacteristically awkward as he followed her inside.

Luckily for them, though, the door to the Professor's lab swung open as soon as they entered and the aforementioned man stuck his head out. He brightened when he spotted the green Rowdyruff Boy. "Ah, Butch; you're here!" he called, stepping out into the open.

"How is he?" he asked in a rush, hurrying toward the Professor. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine," the man in the lab coat promised. "He's still sleeping, but he'll be okay. As of right now, he's stable, but probably in a little bit of shock."

Butch breathed out a loud sigh of relief that Buttercup could hear from where she was standing, near the door—even without using her super-hearing. "Thank God," he whispered. And then he was whisking past the Professor and flying down the stairs that led into the man's lab.

Buttercup glanced at her fatherly figure, who nodded once, and then she followed her counterpart downstairs. When she caught up to him, he was reaching the chair Boomer was sleeping on—the kind they had at the dentist. Buttercup slowed down and ducked behind a shelf, not sure if she should interrupt.

"You idiot..." Butch murmured, gazing at his brother. "You should've watched out better. You know how dangerous Kinley can be. Why did you underestimate him?" His voice was becoming a growl, but Buttercup knew he wasn't actually angry at Boomer. His tone was too clouded with worry and pain to be of anger.

Buttercup could feel her breath catching. This is it. This is when I can find out everything, if he says anything else. He'll never even know, and I'll finally know all their secrets. But, even as she stood there, just within earshot, she couldn't help but feel like it was wrong. She might be justified in listening in on their one-sided conversation, but she still felt like it was an invasion of privacy, considering how the words were clearly not meant for her ears.

Still, before she could do anything, Butch carried on. "Now you look like this and we're worried like all hell and the Puffs are suspicious—again—and honestly, all hell's just breaking loose right now."

What is he talking about? Buttercup wondered.

"Boomer, you big lug," Butch continued, a tinge of desperation behind the exasperation in his voice as he nudged his brother. "Wake up already and let's go home."

Boomer stirred but didn't wake up.

Butch sighed and thumped his head on the chair. "If Danes finds out what Kinley's done, he better not give that undeserving, arrogant bastard a higher position or something. We may be enemies but I really hope Danes will see how awful Kinley is and not blindly reward him for hurting one of us so bad." He paused thoughtfully. "Hmm...maybe I can talk to Ross and get him to talk to Danes. That could work.

"Speaking of Ross and Danes, I can't believe Raymond is staying with them. Why does he think that's a good idea? Brick finally managed to get ahold of him two or three days ago and said he could stay with us, but Raymond refused. He said it'd be too dangerous for us or something. HA! As if." Butch paused again, regarding Boomer once more. "Alright, fine—his claim might have some merit," he muttered. "But still."

Raymond? Buttercup's head echoed.

"He thinks Damon being at large means we're in danger, and that risking him staying with us is just asking for more danger. Still, it's not like Danes and his people are much safer, with or without Raymond around. And besides, they don't even like him. Isn't it stupid of him to stay with people who don't like him and, in fact, want to kill him?

"Honestly, he's nothing like Damon." Butch paused. "Damon... No, I mean—he is a lot like Damon—before he went crazy, I mean—in the nice department. But...he doesn't seem as strategic. As smart. At least Damon knew he had to be in hiding if he wanted to stay alive.

"...And he's still doing it. Being in hiding. And being alive, I guess. Because he's in hiding. Ah, fuck—I don't know what the fuck I'm saying anymore. Christ, listen to me. I'm rambling. I don't ramble. But I mean, I am now, and—FUCKING HELL I'M DOING IT AGAIN." He sighed. "The whole situation with Damon is confusing the hell out of me. I know you guys still want to fight for what you believe in, even if you're not fighting for Damon, but is that really the right answer? Brick said we'd create our own side. But what side is that? Are we just opposing everyone now? Honestly, things were easier when Damon was still 'dead'. But now he's back and everything we thought was true about him just seems wrong and really confusing. Hell, I don't even know if I hate Vix anymore.

"Jesus, why am I telling you all this when you're unconscious and not really smart about all this? Better yet, why am I going on about this in the Powerpuffs' house, of all places? I-I don't know... I guess I just want to talk and have someone who will definitely listen. No one listens anymore. Not even you guys. Not Buttercup—but then again, she's never really listened."

Buttercup was too startled to be angry. What does that mean? I'd listen, but you never talk.

"But maybe that's partly my fault," he whispered. She was once again taken by surprise, but had to scramble for a recovery as he went on. "And I should really just shut up because someone might hear me but I want to at least say this to someone so why not someone unconscious?" He took a deep breath. "I honestly I actually really l—"

BZZT.

Immediately Butch's hand went to the radio he wore tied to his belt loop. "Brick?"

"Butch, what the fuck are you doing? Where are you? Where's Boomer?"

"Sorry, sorry—we're still at the Powerpuff Girls' home. He's not waking up."

"Then get him awake! We have something important to get to."

"Okay, okay! Jesus—just tell me what it is and I'll drag him there. Don't wait up for us."

Brick snorted—it sounded static-y thanks to the radio. "Fine. But be there soon. Ten minutes, tops. Meet at Sampson's house. We're going to meet Cassandra."

"The Cassandra? Sampson's precious daughter Cassandra?"

"That's the one," Brick confirmed impatiently. "Remember; ten minutes. Over and out."

As the buzzing stopped, Butch glanced at Boomer again. "Hear that, Boomer? We're going to meet the legendary Cassandra."

Buttercup felt something stab at her when he said "Cassandra", and she wondered why that was or who she was.

"Wake up!" Butch shouted suddenly, pulling Boomer up. "I said I'd drag you, but I didn't mean it literally!"

Buttercup watched. The Ruff accidentally knocked a sort of device out of his pocket. It rolled around along the floor before hitting the wall and turning on. In a whoosh and a buzz, a giant, blue hologram screen appeared in the air.

The screen was lined with six profile squares—one of them was Ross.

Buttercup scanned each of them quickly.

"Ross

Side: V

Status: Alive

Backstory: Son to Tyrone and Sylvie, both of whom died. Sylvie by means of illness and Tyrone by (possible) mur... [Read More]"

"Vix

Side: W formally; V

Status: Alive

Backstory: Son to normal family before being adopted by Damon. He had lost an eye and thus Damon replaced it with... [Read More]"

"Christie

Side: V

Status: Alive

Backstory: Daughter to Maggie and Chris—goes to a private school that is kept disclosed due to fear of endangering her. Michael's sister and... [Read More]"

"Cassandra

Side: W

Status: Comatose

Backstory: Sampson's daughter—known as very kind and sweet. She saved her father from a bomb and thus is currently c... [Read More]"

"Raymond

Side: W?

Status: Alive

Backstory: Originally thought dead. Damon's twin brother. Not much is known about him."

"Damon

Side: ?

Status: Alive

Backstory: Currently unclear as to what side he is on. Clearly against Danes, however. Damon was born to Debbie and... [Read More]"

At the bottom of the screen, it read "MORE PROFILES".

"Not bad, Mojo," Butch mused, drawing Buttercup from her reading. "But a little outdated. Computer, update Cassandra's status to alive."

Buttercup's eyes flickered back to Cassandra's box just as the computer went PING! and the word changed. It now read "Status: Alive".

"Computer, open Cassandra's file."

The device obliged and Cassandra's box enlarged itself. The paragraph got longer but it still wasn't the entire profile because you had to scroll down to be able to read the rest of of it. Buttercup couldn't focus on the words though. Because the picture of the girl in her top left corner drew Buttercup's breath away. She looked a little older than the Puffs and Ruffs, but not by much. She had long, tumbling tan hair and eyes that were a bright, deep blue—like the ocean. She barely wore any make-up, besides perhaps a little lip-gloss on her lips.

She's beautiful.

Butch let out a low whistle and Buttercup felt something niggling at her. I hate her already. Then she mentally smacked herself, knowing she didn't mean it. So why'd I say it?

Before she could think anything else, however, she noticed that Boomer was stirring. Butch did too. "Finally!" he exclaimed, snapping the small, round, portable device shut and turning to his brother. "Brick said we have ten minutes. I've already wasted three. Let's go, go, GO!"

"Where to?" Boomer asked groggily. He winced as he sat up. "Everything hurts," he added in a groan.

"Yeah, well, man up. It's partly your fault." Butch grabbed him by the arm and before Boomer could protest, he lifted him from the ground. "Let's go."

Buttercup was now just noticing that the green Rowdyruff Boy was bruised and battered too. Just what have they been fighting?

"Where to?" Boomer asked again wearily.

"To Sampson's house to meet Cassandra!" Butch exclaimed and explained at the same time. "And to meet up with the others!"

"Others?" echoed Boomer.

Butch smacked him, looked like he regretted it when his brother winced, and said, "Our brothers, duh."

"Oh, right." Boomer flew into the air, as wobbly as if he'd forgotten how to fly. Then he recovered and made for the door, a blue streak behind him.

Butch was about to follow, and Buttercup prepared to dart away. But as she shifted her foot, it bumped into the shelf and a couple jars rattled. Butch froze, clearly listening, but when he heard nothing else, he followed Boomer.

Buttercup quickly released the tense breath she'd been holding, before flying up the stairs after them. She went in a different direction from them and made her way back to the living room, trying to appear casual.

"I see you're awake now, Boomer! And well, I hope," the Professor was saying when she floated in.

"I'm...fine," he replied absently, as if he wasn't all there. His ocean-blue eyes darted toward Bubbles, who was still sitting forlornly at the window, but now it was clear she was gazing out of it to avoid Boomer. He sighed and looked back to the Professor, and Buttercup felt a stab of pity for him.

Butch finally noticed his counterpart and he sauntered over to her (albeit less saunter-y than usual), and paused in front of her. "Buttercup—"

"Butch—"

They stopped and stared at one another.

Then Butch smirked.

"What? What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he replied, sounding too amused for it to be nothing.

"What?" she repeated.

"Nothing," he also repeated, rather airily. He waved his hand dismissively. "Forget about it. Just something I thought of."

"I want to know," she muttered irritably.

He grinned at her. "How cute," he responded flirtatiously as he took her hand.

Her eyes widened and she felt her cheeks flush. Why is he doing this? Omigod our hands are touching.

He smirked at her, his canines glinting in the light.

Who are you and what have you done with the real Butch?

Her breath hitched and she half-expected him to kiss her or something. But then he let go and took a step back, and Buttercup could breathe again.

"See you later," he murmured to her. Then he was gone, dragging Boomer away just as the boy reached out for Bubbles. The two of them disappeared out the door.

Stunned, Buttercup glanced at Bubbles, who finally relaxed and turned back toward the door, which she'd been facing away from the entire time. A thousand questions raced on inside Buttercup's head, but she knew there were no answers to any of them.

Except...for maybe one...

Buttercup marched over to her sister and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her upwards.

"BC! What are you doing?" Bubbles gasped in protest, struggling against her sister's grip.

BC leaned in close and said in a low voice, "Tell me the truth about what happened between you and Boomer."

The words clearly surprised Bubbles. She slumped. "Nothing happened between us," she finally mumbled.

"Oh come on." BC leaned back and frowned. "That's a load of bullshit and you know it."

Her sister's eyes flickered nervously toward the door, where the bullet hole in the floor still sat—and on the other side, the bullet hole in the door. "Can we please not talk about this? I'm not—I'm not comfortable with it."

Buttercup's eyes softened. She sat down beside Bubbles and said gently, "Look, I can't force you to tell me anything. I understand what it's like to have...secrets. But it's obvious that something's happened between you and Boomer. You can't deny that, and I think you'd prefer it if you could talk about it—don't you? I promise I'll just listen."

Bubbles turned to study her sister. "You promise?" she finally said.

Buttercup nodded. "I promise."

Then the blue Puff sighed. "Alright, well...Sidney and I broke up and I was really depressed about it"—she glanced at her sister and quickly added—"although I totally understood why! I was the one at fault. Anyway, I was devastated by it but Boomer made me feel better."

"So why are you two avoiding each other—? Right; sorry—just listening." She clamped her mouth shut.

"Well, the reason we're avoiding each other is because..."—Buttercup leaned in closer in anticipation—"...he tried to kiss me."

Buttercup nearly toppled face-first into the floor as she stopped leaning forward and her eyes widened. Her arms shot out to catch herself and she let out a "WHAT!?"

Bubbles flinched, curling in on herself. "He tried to kiss me," she repeated softly, "but I turned him away."

"So you're telling me," Buttercup began, "he actually had the guts to confess to you?"

"I-I guess so. I mean, he didn't say anything else. I-I didn't exactly give him a chance to. He just...asked if he could—k-k-kiss me."

Buttercup stared at her. "So...do you think he likes you?"

"I-I guess...? Maybe...? Oh, I don't know." Groaning, she buried her face in her hands. "It doesn't matter because he probably hates me now."

"What? Do you seriously think that?" she spluttered. "Didn't you see the way he looked at you? He clearly wanted to talk to you. If anything, Boomer's crush is stronger than ever."

"That can't seriously be true," Bubbles groaned from behind her hands. "I turned him away! I was horrible. I-I don't deserve anybody. Sidney; Boomer—it doesn't matter who because I've been awful to both of them!"

"Oh, Bubbles. Poor, sweet, innocent, naïve Bubbles." Buttercup shook her head. "Turning someone away usually only makes them want you even more. Humans want what they know they can't have, y'know."

Her sister let out a mix of a groan and a whimper. "Don't say that. He can't seriously want me that way—I'm not even worth it."

"Love isn't rational," Buttercup countered.

"Do you have experience in this sort of thing?" asked her sister.

"Well—no," Buttercup stated, blushing. "Of course not."

"So how can you say such things with such confidence?" cried Bubbles, lifting her head from her hands. When she saw Buttercup's reaction, she crumpled again. "I'm sorry. But"—here she shook her head—"that can't be true. It just can't be."

"Well, sometimes the truth is the opposite of what we want," Buttercup pointed out. "The truth hurts, Bubbles, but you have to accept it."

"How can I? They deserve so much better than me. I'm sure he was just—confused. Yeah, that's it—confused. I'm sure Boomer was just confused about his feelings. He can't possibly harbour any feelings for me."

Buttercup shook her head. "You can think whatever you'd like, Bubbles, but sooner or later you'll have to face the truth—no matter what the answer."

Bubbles didn't answer. She was too busy staring at the carpet as if its patterns were the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.

Buttercup sighed and stood back up, before flying out of the room. I said I don't have any experience in the matter. But what if I do?

"You're distracted."

Ross glanced to the side, gritting his teeth as his opponent's kick sent the sword flying from his hands.

"Why is that?"

He turned back to his opponent and got into ready stance. "You wouldn't care," he finally replied, just as they swung a roundhouse kick toward him. He managed to block it with his forearm, his teeth grinding together from the force of the kick.

For the briefest of seconds, his opponent seemed distracted and even hurt. But then their face hardened and they swung their leg back down to earth.

Ross lowered his arm, panting. He knew they were right. He was distracted. And it was really affecting his work performance. It showed in everything he did—every move, every mistake, every moment. Ross knew he wasn't fighting to his fullest potential, but he hardly even cared. He couldn't stop thinking—about her, and her face when he'd so pointedly ignored her.

"Focus," his partner hissed, throwing a punch at him so hard that he fell to the ground. They were on top of him in an instant, pinning him down by the wrists. "You're not even trying."

"I don't feel like trying." He struggled against their grip.

"Tell me what's wrong," they stated, sharp eyes piercing through his skin.

"Nothing's wrong," he repeated. "Nothing that you'd care about, anyway."

Their grip tightened. "Why do you keep saying that? You're not even giving me a chance."

Ross stared up at them, searching their face. He could see hurt gathering in their eyes, and a despicable part of him thought, Good. Let her hurt. After everything she's done to me, she deserves it. He shoved the thought away with a shake of his head."Just like you never gave me a chance?" he countered.

The hurt turned into a storm and his opponent slumped, her grip loosening. "Ross..."

He kicked her off of him, rolling away from her. He stood up and gripped his throbbing arm. "Forget it. I don't need to explain myself to you."

"I want to help you," she said, looking exasperated. "Why won't you let me?"

"You've never cared before," he retorted, not meeting her eyes.

She looked away. "I never let myself," she whispered.

He looked up in surprise. "What...?"

"I never let myself!" she repeated in a cry. "But I'm trying to now, and you won't even give me a chance. Ross, why are you doing this...?"

"Because every time I let you in, you break my heart!" he yelled back.

She stopped. "Ross..."

"I tried, Sydney, I really did. But you were always so hard to talk to. The first time I met you—and every time after that—you never cared about me the way I ended up caring about you. When I confessed to you and you turned me away—I told myself I wouldn't let myself be hurt like that again."

"Ross, I told you! I didn't—I was stupid back then. I didn't mean to hurt you the way I did," she cried.

"I'M SICK OF YOUR EXCUSES!" he snapped back, so forcibly that she froze in shock. "You told me—you said that even if I were to love you again now, you wouldn't know how to respond."

She flinched.

"Do you remember, Sydney? Every word you say, whether it was from when we were kids, when you were 'stupid'—or even recently—whether you meant to or not—every word you say is a stab, a scratch, a scar." Ross could feel the tears coming and he forced them back. "Every word you say hurts me."

"I don't—I never meant to—" She was struggling to form words now.

"Do you still love him?" Ross finally asked, his voice quiet.

She looked up, taken aback.

"Do you still love Michael?"

Sydney's shoulders fell as all the fighting spirit left her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered back. "I don't know anymore."

Ross looked away. "Every word you say," he repeated, "hurts."

Sydney collapsed on the ground, sliding to her knees, burying her hands in her hair. "I'm sorry," she finally said, "but I can't—I can't help it. I really don't know. But every word I say just comes out wrong, and well—I'm just so...confused."

Ross' tone was bitter as he replied, "More excuses."

"It's true!" she cried. "I mean it. I don't know how I feel or how to respond anymore. Every single time I try to make things right, I only make them worse." She looked up, tears streaming down her face. "How am I supposed to make it up to you, Ross? I'm trying, I really am."

His gaze softened. "Sydney..."

"I'm sorry, Ross." She wiped at her eyes, resenting herself for showing weakness. "I'm really, really sorry."

Ross moved towards her, stopping when he was right in front of her. Then he also kneeled down, meeting her gaze as he took her hands and peeled them away from her face. "Stop," he whispered. "Or else I might let you back in, only to have my heart broken again. Because I've faced reality, Sydney. I know you'll never love me, and I told myself I could handle it. But if you keep—if you keep doing this to me, then I might just break down again." The tears he'd been trying to hold back were starting to pour down his own face, coming so fast that he couldn't even speak anymore. "And I don't want to face that kind of heartbreak ever again."

She looked up, her messy tan hair gathering around her face like a curtain as strands fell from her ponytail. She stared at him in confusion. "Ross..."

You could kiss her, a part of his mind whispered. You could kiss her and resolve everything. No more fighting, no more words, no more confusion—no fuss. A kiss would solve everything easily. Ross forcibly stomped down on the idea as soon as it wiggled into his brain, knowing it was only old desire speaking out. Even if he kissed her now, he knew it would only lead to more complications in the future.

But what if it's the right thing to do? That part of his mind was fighting back now, arguing. It could fix everything. It could even protect them.

NO, Ross thought fiercely. I'm not going to use Sydney. And I'm not letting her back in. She'll never feel that way about me. If I let her in, I'll only have to face that again and be broken once more.

But what if she does feel that way about you? What if she does and you'll never know? Kiss her and you'll have your answer.

It's only going to make things worse.

But you could protect both of them if you kiss her, couldn't you? Her and that other girl...

Ross turned to meet Sydney's eyes, where confusion at his silence danced. I'll only hurt both of them if I do that. And myself.

You don't know that. Just do it. Just kiss her and see what happens. Who knows, maybe it'll lead to happiness.

But Damon—

Damon doesn't have to know.

Damon will know. And he'll hurt them.

You could just try—

NO. I'm not going to risk it. There's too much at stake—too much that could go wrong. Ross shook his head. "Forget it, Sydney. Just leave it."

The hopefulness that had glowed in her eyes now died out. She slumped under his grip. "You're never going to give me a second chance, are you?" she whispered.

He looked away. His argument with the other part of himself had only taken two seconds. But even then, he didn't want to go through it again. "I'm sorry," he murmured back. "But it's better this way." He moved to get up.

"Ross—" She reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him from moving away. "Please, wait," she begged. "If I could turn back time—if I could go back to that December night, I'd—"

"You'd what? You don't know how you'd respond. You told me yourself." He met her gaze. "Just leave it, Sydney. It's all in the past. Just let it die; it'll be better for everyone in the long run."

"But—"

"Sydney, don't." He hesitated. "You said you wanted to know how to make it up to me."

"Yes," she agreed hesitantly. "But I didn't mean—"

"Well, this is how to do it. By letting the past go. If we can forget about that fiasco, then maybe I'll be able to face you again."

Sydney stood up so that they were at eye-level again. "That won't solve anything and you know it." She took his face in her hands and forced him to look at her when he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Ross... Please. Let me in."

He searched her eyes once again, everything inside of him screaming in protest. DON'T, he inwardly yelled, his inside voice fierce. Don't do it.

She was too close to him now, and his mind was struggling. Stop. Let me go. Don't—

NO—

Sydney gasped as Ross forcibly shoved her away, just as someone appeared in the doorway.

"Ross, Sydney—I bring good new—oh my."

Sydney stumbled backwards and Ross stood there, panting. His eyes were wide.

Shamus stood in the doorway, hands clamped around a book. "Children—" he began, just as Sydney spoke.

"Ross—"

"Don't," he said fiercely, repeating the word that was swirling around in his brain. "Just...don't."

Sydney swallowed. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered. "I don't know what came over me."

Everything you say hurts me, Ross recalled himself saying. And now everything you do, too. If you had done that—when you clearly don't mean it—then it would only hurt, hurt, hurt... He turned to his uncle, trying to escape from his jumbled thoughts. "What's the good news?" he forced himself to ask.

Shamus glanced between the two of them, clearly debating whether or not he should ignore the elephant in the room or—

"Uncle," Ross said. "The good news. Please."

Shamus was silent only a second more, his gaze resting on Sydney, before saying, "Ah, right. Of course." He swivelled his gaze back to Ross. "Michael's awake."

Ross froze, taken aback by the unexpected news. His first thought was of Sydney, and his question to her of "do you still love Michael?". But then he shoved that thought away, which also managed to push most of the disbelief away until only joyous happiness remained. "Really?" he exclaimed.

Shamus nodded once and Ross knew that was all the confirmation he needed. Then he was gone, running toward his friend's room, away from the stifling training room and its gloomy, tense, choking atmosphere. And most of all, away from Sydney.

He burst through the white doors to Michael's room, leaving his unhappiness and fear and anger behind as soon as he stepped inside. "Michael?" he called excitedly, his heart pounding.

The boy sitting in bed turned his head away from the window just as sunlight streamed in and lit the entire room up in a white glow. It created a halo around the boy, who was now smiling at Ross instead of lying there like he had been for the past couple weeks in lifeless unconsciousness and now his turquoise eyes were full of life and open instead of closed and he was smiling and breathing and awake and so obviously Michael—

"Ross," the boy greeted. And that was all Ross needed.

He let out a cry of joy and relief and dove for the bed, throwing his arms around his friend. He was sobbing now, almost hysterically, and he didn't care whether or not he looked like a soldier or a man or a baby. "You're awake!" he blubbered. He squeezed Michael. "And you're okay!"

"Ow, Ross—try to remember my wounds here." Michael winced but he was still smiling, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement and a lot of happiness. "Come on, you wuss. Stop crying so much—it doesn't suit you. You're completely embarrassing yourself."

"I don't care," Ross mumbled, burying his face in his friend's shoulder. He squeezed him again before loosening his hold when Michael flinched again. "Sorry—I'm just so—so happy," he finally said. He pulled away and gazed into Michael's face, searching. It was so full of life it gave him life.

"Ross, I appreciate your joy at Michael's return, but he is my brother and I would like to talk to him."

Ross spun around, startled. He relaxed when he saw Christie, his brain registering that she wasn't a threat. "Right, I'm sorry. I'll leave you two to talk."

Michael grabbed his friend's arm before he could go. "Don't forget to speak to me later! I want to get caught up on everything."

He nodded, his mind flashing through everything that had happened thus far. Oh, Michael. You have so much to get caught up on—

"I want to know how the war's going," Michael said, his eyes glinting.

Ross' shoulders fell a little as some of his excitement died away. Oh. Right. The war. Of course that's what he wants to know about. Ignoring his disappointment, he nodded. "Of course."

He relaxed and let go of his friend's wrist. As the other boy walked away, Michael turned back to his sister...

Meanwhile, Ross stepped outside of the door and sighed. His thoughts were all jumbled and his feelings felt like mixed up shards that were stabbed into his skin. His thoughts flinched away from them every time his mind tried to make contact with those sharp, disorienting, painful feelings.

"What happened to your excitement?"

Ross looked up to see Shamus standing before him, an eyebrow raised. The boy looked down. "Nothing."

"This doesn't seem like nothing." The man sighed and knelt down, reaching out to ruffle his nephew's hair. "What happened, Ross? You seem so...upset. What happened back there with you and Sydney?"

"Nothing," he repeated, a little more forcibly than before. He struggled against more tears. All he could seem to do that day was cry. "We were just...talking about the past."

"And I'm going to assume that it wasn't a very happy memory to relive?" Shamus tested, his dark-brown eyes sympathetic.

Ross nodded unevenly. "I hated it," he whispered.

"Oh, Ross..."

"Why can't we just let the goddamn past die?" He slid down the wall and buried his head in his arms. "I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Sometimes," his uncle began gently, "we need to face the past in order to move on."

"And other times we need to just let it die." Ross wiped his eyes.

"But if we did that, then some things will never be resolved. Like this war. How could we solve anything if we didn't revisit the fact that Damon betrayed us by murdering his 'best friend'?"

Ross was quiet for a bit, suddenly remembering all the times the Ruffs had asked the same questions he was asking. "Why can't we just let the past go?" they said. "Uncle..."

"Yes...?"

"Why are we fighting this war?"

Shamus paused, clearly taken aback. "Because Damon betrayed us, of course—"

"But is that really the reason?"

He stopped. "What...?"

"Are we really fighting because of Damon's past actions, or are we now fighting because of his present actions?"

"Ross—"

"Even the Ruffs have moved on from the past, haven't they?"

"Well, they're still fighting for Damon—"

"No." Ross shook his head. "They told me they're fighting for themselves now. Even they would agree that the current Damon is awful."

"Ross, I-I don't know what to say."

"...Maybe Damon didn't kill my father," Ross finally stated.

"What are you saying?" Shamus' face was the very image of shock. "Ever since that day, when you were eight-years-old—you've always hated Damon—"

"Well, maybe I don't anymore. For his past actions, I mean. Maybe I've forgiven him for that. It's been so long, Uncle. It feels like centuries." Ross rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of the last of his drying sticky, hot tears.

"But Tyrone—he was your father—"

"He wasn't much of a father after Mother died," Ross whispered.

Shamus froze, before his shoulders fell and the argument left his eyes. "Oh, Ross..."

"Damon was more of a father than Father was. You were more of a father than Father was. Maybe I've just been really unfair to Damon this entire time."

"Don't say that. What he did was unforgivable. Your father loved you, Ross—never forget that," Shamus said fiercely. Then he sighed and sat down beside his nephew. "I'll agree that Damon was a very good caretaker and godfather to you, but I can't agree that Tyrone wasn't a father to you. I know you don't remember, but—the amount of love he showed you—"

"Love I don't remember," Ross repeated bitterly.

"—And while he lost a lot of his happiness when Sylvie died, he was still a father to you," Shamus finished, his voice weak after Ross' interruption. He sighed again. "Ross, come on. Let's be realistic here. Damon did something unforgivable. All the evidence points to him, and he won't even admit it. There's such a high chance that it was him! I don't mean to be blunt, but I'm sure you realize this—your current state of thinking is probably just be a result of your and Sydney's argument."

He was silent for a long while. Then he finally mumbled, "...Yeah... I guess you're right."

"You know I'm right." Shamus gently stroked his nephew's hair before opening his arms. "Need a hug?"

Ross dived into Shamus' arms, burying his face in his uncle's coat and letting himself cry just a little bit more. Even though he knew Shamus had a point, he had a feeling that he himself wasn't wrong either. We've all been pretty unfair to Damon. We're the ones who drove him to insanity, after all—aren't we? I can't entirely blame him, even if he is crazy and evil now. But the past... It's in the past, right? And I know Damon very likely killed Dad, but still...why do I get this feeling that that's not the full story?

Or am I really just too caught up with my jumbled emotions about Sydney to realize the truth when it's right there in front of me?

"Uncle...?"

"Yes, Ross?"

"Thank you. For everything. I needed this."

"...You're welcome. Never forget that I love you, Ross."

"I love you too, Uncle." Despite his tears, Ross managed to smile.

And so the two sat there, hugging one another silently, as sunlight continued to stream into the large mansion. Meanwhile, a few columns down, a certain girl with tan hair in a ponytail lurked, eyes filled with tears because of what she'd heard while eavesdropping.

Oh, Ross... I'm so sorry.

"Let's get you home."

Bunny hesitated. Darkai's tone was firm. It was caring and kind, but there was an ominous layer to it that suggested he didn't want her to see any more than she had. She glanced at Bandit, but he wouldn't meet her eyes. The rain beat down upon them like icicles, and Bunny wondered if it was because of them that she suddenly felt so cold.

The air was hazy and the sky was dark. Raindrops streaked the sky and made everything a little blurrier, which meant Bunny couldn't read Bandit's face. She couldn't see his eyes—they were hidden by his hair, and she could only make out the tight frown of his lips.

Then Darkai was blocking her view, gathering her in his arms, shielding her from the rain. "Come on," he murmured in an almost urgent tone. "Let's go."

Her hesitation lasted only a moment longer before she turned away from Bandit and let Darkai lead her away. The sound of rain drummed in her ears, and she felt eyes on her back as they walked away.

When they were a good distance away, Darkai finally relaxed, including his shoulders, which meant that Bunny could also finally look back.

But when she glanced back, Bandit was gone.

She turned to her boyfriend, who was keeping his nighttime-blue eyes ahead. "Darkai... What happened back there?"

She thought she sensed him tense. "Nothing," he said in his monotone voice.

Bunny deflated. I thought I'd managed to move past the boundaries that made him use that tone. Somehow, hearing it now, after so many times Darkai had been gentle and kind, it hurt.

"It doesn't concern you, my little Bunny. Don't worry about it." His gaze softened if only for a moment, before a crack of thunder split the air and they hardened again, turning away from her. He squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Darkai..." She hesitated. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to be able to just let it go and forget about it. But now that she knew how Bandit felt about her, she wasn't sure she could. She felt guilty; as if she were responsible. And even if that weren't true, she still felt awful that Darkai and Bandit had been fighting one another.

"I love you, BunBun, but please just let the matter rest. It's over now." His tone was soft and comforting, and Bunny wanted nothing more than to listen to it. She wanted to trust him. She wanted him to trust her.

But no. That's not real trust. Pretending to believe a lie isn't trust. She shook her head, clearing her mind and breaking free of his almost hypnotic comfort. "I can't," she said firmly, before her tone dwindled back to its usually softness as she lost some of her courage. "I-I mean... I can see that something was wrong, a-and...I can't just—let it go just like that..." She trailed off when he turned his dark-blue eyes on her.

In the rain, they looked so dark they appeared to be black holes, sucking her in, filled to the brim with tension. "Bunny..."

"What happened between you and Bandit?"

He looked away. "Nothing."

"Darkai... I want to trust you, but I can't if you're not going to tell me the truth."

He sighed, running a hand through his dark locks, which were slick with rain. "Can we talk about this later?" he prompted, saying it more like a statement than a question.

"Darkai—"

"Bunny, please. Sometimes you need your privacy, don't you? Just trust me. It wasn't—anything." He met her eyes. "Would I lie to you?"

I don't know. The response was automatic—as automatic as her disappointment. But she knew he had a point. He'd never really lied to her before, and he was a good person. Plus, he was also right about the fact that just because they were a couple, he wasn't obliged to share everything with her.

She swallowed. "I guess not," she finally whispered, her voice almost drowned out by the pouring rain.

But somehow, Darkai had managed to hear her. He gave her shoulder another squeeze as he leaned in for a kiss.

She didn't kiss back.

"I love you, Bunny. Never forget that, no matter what happens," he said, brushing her wet hair from her face.

She glanced away.

"Don't be mad," he whispered gently, tilting her head up with his index finger, "please."

"I'm not mad." Her words sounded off even to her. But she wasn't mad. Was she? She felt disappointed, yes, but mad? That felt like an overstatement.

He smiled almost sadly. "Sometimes, the person who loves you most knows you better than you know yourself. I'm sorry, Bunny. But I have my secrets too. I try to be as honest as I can, but even I will keep a few things hidden."

Her shoulders fell. "I know that, but... It's still so unfair," she mumbled.

"There's a lot of things in life that isn't fair," he agreed. "It's not fair what happened to my parents. It's not fair what happened to my...'family'. It's not fair what I'm putting you through. It's not fair that every time I look at you, I feel like I lose a piece of the walls I've worked so hard to build." He met her surprised eyes. "No matter what happens," he stated, repeating himself from earlier, "remember that I will always care about you." His eyes were no longer black holes. They were now the dark-blue and purple night sky, full of stars and hope and wishes—

"Darkai—" she breathed.

He pulled away. "We're here," he said.

She looked up, surprised to see the square house with its round windows. She'd almost forgotten what they were doing.

"I have to go," he said flatly, his eyes back to their usual look, which was like the black sky on a starless night. It was as if he'd put on a mask, one he'd taken off for only a brief second before reattaching it to his face. "Goodbye, Bunny."

As he moved away, she managed to say "goodbye", before walking to the door of her house, dazed. Her heart was pounding. What had he meant? Why did he let his guard down like that? Why did it make me feel so happy, and lonely at the same time...?

Somehow, now that she knew she'd caught an even further glimpse of his interior—perhaps the furthest she'd ever gone—she felt a little lonelier when with Darkai's exterior.

An image of Bandit flashed within her mind's eye—he was younger, twelve maybe, and he was smiling at her with a caring twinkle in his eyes that had once made her heart beat faster.

Or did it still do that? Bunny could feel her heartbeat speeding up. Or was that because of Darkai? She could feel her cheeks heating up.

What is wrong with me? She slapped her hands onto her cheeks. I'm over Bandit. And I like Darkai. All versions of him—interior or exterior. He's sweet, kind, loving, caring, protective, amazing and—and—

—And a liar. Bunny slumped as the keys clicked and she opened the door to her home. Stop it, you, she scolded herself. Stop being so harsh and unfair. He's not a liar. He just has a few secrets, but then again, don't we all?

But why would he have any secrets from me? He can tell me everything. Doesn't he know that?

It's his life and his secrets. It doesn't concern me.

A different side of her brain spoke then, quiet but potent in its point. That's not what you'd say to Bandit.

Bunny froze at the thought, feeling as if she'd just hit herself, before collapsing in a chair and burying her head in her arms.

"You're not still mad at me, are you?" Brick's voice on the phone was one of disbelief, exasperation, and lots of frustration.

"I'm not angry," Blossom responded, more defensively than she would've liked.

"You sure sound angry."

"Yes, well it was very rude of you the way you treated Vincent."

"I'm sorry, okay? How many times do I have to say it?"

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

A sigh. "Look, I thought he was someone else, okay? Someone dangerous. I was concerned for your safety."

She scoffed. "Haha very funny, Brick."

"I'm serious."

She paused. He definitely sounded serious.

"But he wasn't. I made a mistake. So can you stop being so angry about it?"

Blossom blinked, snapping back to reality. The sour feeling that had briefly gone because of his words now returned, hitting her like a sledgehammer. "Sure, fine, whatever." She said the words briskly.

"Blossom, you're still mad at me, aren't—?"

"Brick, Father's preparing some tea and was wondering if you'd like any? You are our guest, after all."

Blossom narrowed her eyes. It was a girl's voice. On the other end. With Brick. Offering him tea. And he was at her house, apparently. "Who's that?"

"Oh boy." Brick's exasperation increased tenfold. Blossom had tried to sound nonchalant, but she had a feeling she'd come off too strong. "That's Cassandra. The daughter of a friend of Mojo's."

She snorted. "Sure."

"Blossom—"

"Whatever, Brick. You hang out with the 'daughter of a friend of Mojo's' all you want. I have other stuff to do. Unlike some people, I remember when we have homework due the next day."

"Are you accusing me of not doing my homework!?"

"I'm not accusing you of anything."

"It sounds like you're accusing me of a lot of things."

"Am not."

"Are too! Who's the jealous one now, Bloss?"

"It's Blossom, Mr. A+ Boyfriend."

"Listen—Cassandra's just a newfound friend, alright? All of my brothers are here. It's not like I'm at her house with her all alone—"

"I don't care, okay! I'm not jealous. Go drink your tea, Brick," she shouted into the phone, but with her inside voice.

"Blossom—!"

She hung up. Sighing, she threw her phone onto her bed and flopped onto the pink blankets. Why did I do that? Why did I act so petty? She frowned at herself, disappointed at her emotions and how out of control they got.

Sighing, she shoved the incident to the back of her mind and dived for her laptop. Turning it on, she opened up Facebook.

She had two new friend requests. One of them was from—

—Vincent?

Blossom held her breath as she clicked "confirm". All of a sudden, Vincent was added to her friends list and she stared as he magically appeared in her chat choices.

She clicked on his name, and it whisked her away to his profile. He had 478 friends and his profile picture was a very charming one of him with his hair tied back in small, low ponytail. He was wearing a blue, striped sweater and his green eyes were sharp and intelligent behind rectangular glasses.

His page was rather bare, with the occasional status update or picture post or cover picture and/or profile picture change. Most of the stuff on his profile was him being tagged in things by other people.

Blossom stopped on a post of pictures with him holding the violin. He looked so grand and elegant, dressed in a fine suit with the instrument resting on his shoulder as he brandished the bow. He was standing on a golden stage and by the shot of it, there were quite a lot of people watching. From the lighting, it looked like his right emerald-green eyes was glowing white.

It read "played at Townsville's Grand Musical Theatre tonight!" The post was flooded with likes and comments bearing compliments. Vincent was a popular guy, it seemed.

PING.

"'You there?'"

Blossom glanced down at her bottom right of the screen. The message was from Vincent. The little round icon beside his name blipped green to signify that he was online. She hadn't even noticed. Could he sense her snooping?

She hastily typed back: "'Yes'." She paused awkwardly and added, "'I didn't know you played violin.'"

"'Oh yeah. Father makes me practice. He likes listening to the music I produce.'"

Blossom blinked. She barely knew anything about Vincent's private life. "'Oh, you have a father?'" Then she realized how stupid that sounded and added: "'I mean, of course you do—everyone does, but what I meant was that you are living with your father?'"

"'Haha yes. :)'" He included a smiley face icon, and she could just imagine him smiling at the silly girl on the other side of the screen.

"'What's he like?'"

"'Loving but kinda strict, I guess. He's nice.'"

"'He sounds like a great guy.'"

"'Oh, he is. He takes care of me and raises me, after all.'"

"'I guess he has to be to raise such a great guy like yourself.'"

A pause. Then: "'Thank you, Blossom. Was that a flirty compliment I read? ;)'"

Her eyes widened and she quickly typed back. "'Just me complimenting you!'" "'Normally!'" she added.

"'Aww. Well, thanks again, anyway.'"

She blushed. "'Umm...do you write your own songs?'"

"'Sometimes. Other times I like to do covers.'" A beat. '"Maybe sometime I could give you a private performance. ;)'"

Blossom blinked. It wouldn't be wrong to say "yes", would it? She typed back, "'Sure, I'd love that.'"

"'It's a date then.'"

She stared at the screen, feeling her cheeks warm. Why did she feel this way when she'd already chosen Brick? Perhaps it's a little dangerous for me to be talking to him so much like this,she thought, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"'Tomorrow then. After school. Is that alright with you?'"

She hesitated only briefly before deciding it would be okay. Just this once, she told herself, as friends. She typed back, "'That's fine with me!'"

"'Great! See you then. :)'" A pause. "'Ah, gotta go. Father's calling me for dinner. Goodnight, my Sweet Cherry Blossom.'"

Just this once, she reminded herself, trying not to let her feelings get carried away.

His icon faded to gray as he logged off. She lingered on his page for a little whole longer, studying it for awhile. But then she backed off, feeling as if she were intruding, despite the fact his page really didn't reveal a lot about him. He'd apparently only been on Facebook for little more than a year and he seemed to be rather secretive about his private life, so there wasn't too much to get through.

His current cover photo was rather interesting: the background was made up of a pattern that resembled the double helix of a DNA strand, and there were silhouettes of wolves gathered on her right side (so actually the left) of the image. They were howling at a moon, and their silhouettes were a deep red. The DNA strands were rainbow, and the background itself was black and purple and blue and dotted with stars. Blossom wondered what the cover photo meant before she returned to the safety of the Facebook webpage, where she was left to wonder freely without feeling guilty about snooping.

Blossom glanced at her friends list. She'd recently added a lot of new people. They were Vincent and his friends, all of whom she'd recently added.

She could see Ross, whose profile picture had recently been changed to a green-skinned character with diamond-shaped yellow hair from that current new show about a boy with the universe in his name or something or the other... The character wore boxer briefs with alien heads decorated on it and wore a catlike expression. She had a triangular jewel on her forehead.*

Michael's was of Batman. Darkai's was a bat. DJ's profile picture had an anime character with black hair, golden eyes, and a three white bars in his hair.** Sidney's contained a teddy bear, while his sister Sydney's profile picture was of an actual bear...

Just then, Brick's status suddenly turned into "online" and he messaged her: "'Hey, you there?'"

She stared at the screen. Just thirteen minutes ago, Vincent had typed those exact same words. She still felt elated and embarrassed at the same time from their conversation, and she knew she needed to work things out with Brick, but she just didn't feel like it.

Acting rashly, she typed "'No.'" She briefly saw the words "Brick is typing..." before she closed the window and turned off her laptop, retreating to the safety of being offline.

Blossom curled up on her bed, hugging her large pink, heart-shaped pillow and wondering why she'd done that.

"Bliss, I'm sorry, okay? But you've gotta understand, I—"

"You know what? I don't care. I don't fucking care anymore, okay? So stop talking." She stopped walking so that she could turn around and face DJ, her lips twisted into a frown.

After Braker had left, DJ's father had ushered them back inside. The rest of dinner went in horrible, heavy silence. And when Bliss finished eating, she remembered clearing the dishes and feeling awful when she saw Braker's unfinished food. What should've been a day of all three of them becoming closer had become a day where all three of them splintered only further apart. She couldn't help but feel as if it were her fault, and it didn't help that a feeling of betrayal clawed at her stomach because of DJ's decisions to keep secrets from her.

Perhaps she shouldn't have been so upset, but it somehow didn't feel right. Everything felt wrong. Even if it is a—

"It's a family thing, okay? You gotta understand," he begged, interrupting her thoughts. When she glanced at him, he looked exasperated, eyes pleading. "I would never withhold information from you on purpose—"

"Nope. Just stop talking." Bliss turned away, closing her eyes as she lifted her hand.

"I don't want you to be mad at me," Deth Jackson Jr responded, looking like he regretted everything. "I need you to hear me out and understand my point—"

"I can't believe you, DJ!" she interrupted loudly.

He stopped, clearly taken aback. He blinked at her, sky-blue eyes wide. "What...?"

"I've had enough! I thought you weren't like the Ruffs, but you're just as bad as them." Bliss hugged herself and glanced away. "Braker was right. You can be untrustworthy."

At the mention of the orange Rowdyruff Boy, DJ's eyes narrowed. "How could you say that? I am nothing like the Rowdyruffs!"

She stomped her foot. "You are a lot like them! And that's not such a bad thing, y'know! Why do you hate them so much!? Sure it's bad you guys are so secretive, but it's not like you care about that! Why is everything else about being similar to them so bad?"

"Because they—" He stopped, struggling to find words. "Because they and their kind can be horrible people!"

"'Their kind'?" she repeated in disbelief. "What, you mean people like me? Someone abnormal? Someone with superpowers? Do you mean that?" She raised her voice. "Is that what you mean by 'their kind'!?"

"No! It's not like that!" he exclaimed, clearly regretting his word choice.

"So what is it like, DJ? What the hell did you mean by that?" she demanded, glowering at him.

"I meant—ughhhh, I can't specify, but I didn't mean people with superpowers!" he explained without really explaining.

Hurt danced in Bliss' eyes as she felt exactly that. "I can't believe you," she whispered. "I can't believe me! I can't believe I was ever so blind to just how much you hid from me. You really are just as bad as the Ruffs when it comes to your secrets!"

"What?" DJ's eyes widened. "Bliss, wait!" He tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away.

"No, you wait!" she cried. "I need to be alone. I need to think." Taking a deep breath, she pushed her brown hair out of her eyes. "I'm going home."

"Wait, no! Don't do this to me!" DJ yelled, chasing after her as she flew toward the open door. "Bliss, we can talk this out!"

"Leave me alone!" she yelled back, throwing open the grand doors. She was blasted in the face with icy wind and rain, but she didn't care. All she could think about were all of Braker's warnings and DJ's face when he refused to tell her the truth earlier that night.

"Dammit, don't be like this! Let's be rational," he pleaded. "We can sort this out—"

"You're not going to tell me, so there's no point," she retorted, stepping further out into the open rain. She glanced back. "I'm going home."

"BLISS!" he yelled after her.

But she was already gone; into the air, into the wind, into the rain. Don't come after me, she thought, feeling tears sting at her eyes. Maybe she shouldn't have been so upset or so harsh on him, but somehow it felt like more of a betrayal than it maybe should have because she had trusted him so much despite Braker's warnings. Braker. He was right all along, she thought. And somehow, that thought made everything only hurt more.

She was glad it was raining. That way, no one could see her cry.

Meanwhile, DJ was staring out into the open sky, with his eyes wide in disbelief. What just happened!? His mind couldn't seem to form a single thought; millions of thoughts crowded his brain as they all scrambled to escape.

Escape. Something told him he should be going after her. Go. Go on. Go after her.

And yet, at the same time, something else was holding him back. Something rational. Something that told him she'd want to be alone, and that going after her would only make things worse.

He only hoped that was true.

Sighing, DJ shut the doors and trudged dejectedly back inside, still trying to ignore the swirling pain growing inside of him.

When he got to the kitchen, his father was there. He stopped washing the dishes and turned to stare at his son, frowning. "Where'd your little female friend go, il figlio?"

"She's gone," he managed to mutter back, still feeling dazed.

"Oh, well... I hope she had a good time. Too bad I never got to say goodbye."

"She's gone and she's angry at me, il padre!" DJ responded, his voice rising into a yell. "All because I can't tell her anything about this bullshit war!"

Deth Jackson Sr's face hardened. "I'm sorry to hear that, il figlio, but it's true you can't say anything. It's not 'bullshit'. We're fighting for justice."

"I don't care anymore. This stupid fucking BULLSHIT war might've just cost me my girlfriend." DJ glared at nothing in particular, adding in a mutter, "I bet Braker's going to be so smug about this. If he even dares steal my Bliss from me, I swear I'll—"

"DJ, please." Deth Sr set down the faded pink towel he'd been using to scrub plates. "You are a Jackson. You will not succumb to petty jealousy. I am sure Bliss and you will work things out, but if not, there are always plenty of other girls out there. Beautiful ones, too. And they'll be more than willing to—"

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING, IL PADRE!" Deth Jackson Jr shouted. "I don't care about all those other girls! I like Bliss because she's not like those bimbos! But that also means she has spirit, and now all our fucking secrets have caused her spirit to fight back. Those other girls wouldn't give a shit. They just want me; my body, my money. But Bliss is different. Bliss fights back." His voice was beginning to fall as he slowly collapsed against the wall. "Fuck. I'm fucking screwed."

"Deth—"

"Leave me alone, il padre!" he snapped. "You wouldn't understand."

Deth Sr's gaze softened as he seemed to recall something from a long, long time ago. "Of course I understand, la mia piccolo morte. I was in love once too, you know. With your mother. She had spirit too." He sighed, shaking his head. "But that was a long time ago. And things are different now. I'm sorry about what's happened, il figlio, but I'm sorry to say that if Bliss keeps 'fighting back', then you might need to break ties with her before it's too late."

DJ didn't respond, still sitting there against the wall with a hand pushed up his long black hair, his blue eyes turned away as he gritted his teeth.

"But I hope you won't have too. I hope you two work things out and get back together." His father fell silent briefly, before he added, "All I want is for you to be happy, la mia piccolo morte."

Then he left, sad and silent, and DJ continued to sit there in his own sad state.

Another new Facebook message. Ross stared at the phone screen, trying to decide if he should risk reading it. Reading it meant wanting to reply. Reading it meant feeling guilty. Reading it meant the message "seen by Ross" scrawled beneath her message.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he tapped an app open, as if that could prevent the little "seen by Ross" memo from appearing. Instead of opening Facebook Messenger though, he opened the emails app instead. It read: New messages from Buttercup.

He opened the email and scanned it, almost immediately feeling guilty after he'd finished.

It read: "'What's the matter with you, Ross? Why are you ignoring me?'"

The guilt inside of him was almost impossible to ignore. He desperately wanted to reply; to type back an apology. He wanted everything to go back to normal so that he could keep talking to her as if nothing was wrong.

As if she weren't in danger.

Ross couldn't hold back his despair. Tears threatened to claim his body and he wasn't sure if he could fight it anymore.

Another message gone unnoticed by the great and wonderful Ross. What a pathetic human being you are, Ross, he said to himself. His mind flashed back to earlier that day, but it did nothing to make him feel better.

Training with Sydney had only opened old wounds, both literally and figuratively. Seeing Michael again had been great, but it hadn't lasted long. Talking to Shamus had only confirmed old feelings but had done nothing for his resolve, which seemed to grow weaker with each passing day. I hate Damon, he reminded himself, as if it would help. Somehow, the message didn't feel quite right anymore, even though he knew it was still true.

Ross wiped his eyes, feeling embarrassed by the hot, wet mess gathering in his eyes despite the fact no one was there to see him breaking down. He felt as if all his walls were cracking, just because of one girl.

Buttercup...

Or two girls. Sydney sure as heck wasn't helping things. And one man. Damon. He was such a dangerous, deranged, fucked-up man, it was hard to believe that he'd ever been one of Ross' favourite guardians. It was hard to believe he'd ever been good.

His grip tightened on his phone. Despite that, it's also still hard to believe that he's threatening me. He swallowed. Everyone I care about is in danger.

Ross sighed and stood up. His tears were making it hard to see, but he just wanted to go. He wasn't sure where, but he knew he wanted to be somewhere far away.

He walked out of his room and looked around quickly, wiping his eyes before setting foot into the hallway. He didn't want to be seen. Shamus thought he was in his room doing homework. His friends thought the exact same thing.

As Ross began walking, he decided it wouldn't be a good idea to wander too far or to go outside, no matter how hard he wanted to. He felt like it would be a better idea to just stay inside Michael's mansion. To explore.

It was a large house and he was sure there were things in it that he'd never seen before. He hoped it would take his mind off of Damon, Sydney, and Buttercup. All three of them were like thorns stabbed into his heart, causing it to bleed. He wanted to just forget the pain for awhile.

Ross wiped his eyes again. "I'm okay," he told himself in a whisper. Then he repeated it more fiercely: "I'm okay!"

I hope he's okay, a girl thought from afar, hidden behind a column. She peeked out, her long tan hair falling into her eyes as her ponytail whipped past her face. She searched the hallways, spotting his disappearing form as it got farther and farther away from her.

She hadn't meant to snoop, but she'd been standing outside his room for probably five minutes just deciding whether or not she should knock. Then she'd heard the sniffling, and when she peeked inside, her eyes had widened to see Ross crying. She hadn't dared knock after that, so she'd darted behind a column. And once he'd chosen to step outside, she'd stayed where she was, hidden and silent.

Now he was leaving and she breathed out a sigh of relief. She wondered if she should follow him. If she got caught, then Ross would be very unhappy.

But if I were to just keep an eye on him...

With that thought, she chose to follow.

Meanwhile, Ross was still wandering around the grand house. He passed by training rooms and libraries, drawing rooms and ballrooms. He even passed by Michael's room. He paused, leaning against the white doors to listen in on what was going on inside.

"What's happened since I was gone?" Michael was asking, his voice sounding frustrated but light.

"A lot," sighed Christie. "But we can talk about all of that later. First, are you okay?"

"I already told you, I'm fine." Despite his annoyed tone, Ross thought he could just hear Michael smiling. "Thank you though." He laughed. "Now will you stop asking me every two seconds?"

"Okay." Christie sounded like she was smiling too. "But I just want to be sure, y'know? I gotta make sure you're comfortable. Are your pillows fluffed enough? I—"

"Christie, enough! It's okay." He paused. "Although...I do want to get out of bed."

"Absolutely not! You need to rest."

"Oh, come on! I've already been 'resting' for the past few weeks! I think that's enough, don't you?"

"You were unconscious, Michael. Raymond says you need time to heal up your legs."

Michael pouted. "I don't see why you're listening to him so much."

She laughed. "He may be Damon's brother, but he's a good, trustworthy man." She seemed to smile again. "Besides, I trust his opinion a little more than I trust yours when it comes to letting you go out. We trusted him with Mom and Dad, and look how they turned out!"

"I just wanna take a walk," he begged. "I'll stay inside, I promise."

"No can do," she responded. "Doctor's orders."

"But Christieeeeee," he whined.

"Listen to your big sister," she replied in a scolding tone, probably wagging her finger at him. "I'll be hosting a party for you tonight, so you can wander around all you want then—as long as you stay within sight of the party guests, of course."

Ross peeked in, seeing Michael roll his eyes. "Alright, alright, fine."

Christie, meanwhile, looked around and Ross immediately ducked back outside. "Now, where the heck did he go?"

Ross could feel his heart hammering as panic rushed through his veins. Michael asked, "Who?"

"Vix, of course. Did you not see the way he was lingering behind me earlier?" She frowned, while on the other side of the wall, Ross relaxed with a silent sigh of relief.

She didn't see me, he thought, relaxing.

Michael sounded surprised as he said, "You two must've gotten pretty close."

"What? No!" she responded quickly. "I just—Uncle Danes assigned him as my bodyguard after you were—!" She stopped herself. "After you were—well...y'know."

Michael looked away.

"But!" his sister added quickly, "We don't need to think about that right now. I was just wondering because—because Vix has been sticking to me like glue, recently, that's all." She blushed.

Michael smiled slightly. "Somehow Vix and you together doesn't sound like such a bad idea to me."

"Oh my God no!" Christie cried back, sounding mortified. "I-I like someone—" When Michael turned to stare at her, she blushed and shook her head. "Later," she promised.

He sighed and leaned back against his large, fluffy pillows. "How's the war going?" he asked quietly.

Christie's lightheartedness seemed to vanish out the window, as did Ross'. He crept away from the door. The war is the last thing I want to hear about right now, he thought.

As he moved past the grand staircase, he heard the doors burst open and Maggie's voice filled the room. "Begin preparations immediately!" she commanded. "The party celebrating my son's return will be tonight."

"B-But Madame, surely tonight is t-too soon," a poor maid squeaked. "W-We need more time—"

"Get it ready by tonight or else it'll be your blood we'll be drinking instead of wine and fruit punch," Maggie snapped back.

"You heard my wife. The party is set for tonight," Chris' stone-cold voice sounded.

"Y-Yessir!" the maid squeaked, quickly darting away.

Ross felt sorry for the maid. He'd been taught his entire life to treat the servants with respect and dignity, but he knew how troublesome Maggie could be. She wasn't a terrible woman, but her temper meant horrible things if a servant failed a task—especially one that was important to the flame-haired woman.

Ross quickly hid behind a column and peeked out to see Maggie and Chris practically fly up the steps, as quick as bats.

"I need to check on him at once," the woman was saying, landing on the second floor with her frizzy orange hair billowing out behind her.

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go," her husband replied, ice-blue eyes twinkling. This time, Chris' gaze wasn't one of steel. This time, it was one of love and happiness.

Ross wished he could share in their joy. He watched them walk in the opposite direction of where he was hiding to their son's room, and then he was off again. He still didn't know where he was going, but he hoped he'd find it soon.

He wandered around for another ten minutes, exploring places he'd never been to before. Once he almost got caught by Shamus but he managed to hide just in time. His uncle had been studying some plants when Ross had accidentally bumped into a vase. He managed to steady it and just as his uncle looked up, he had also managed to duck out of view.

He thought he also saw a flash of tan hair once or twice, but he was pretty sure it was just his imagination playing tricks on him, trying to pull him back to thoughts about Sydney. He managed to keep such thoughts at bay though, and soon he found himself in front of a door that he knew as the "infirmary".

Raymond would be inside.

Ross hesitated, wondering if he wanted to open the door at all. He wasn't sure if Damon's twin would even be inside, after all. Still, Ross felt the urge to check inside. So he took a deep breath and knocked.

Almost immediately the door opened. The man who looked exactly like Damon stood before him, and Ross briefly wondered if this was such a good idea. Considering the fact he looked just like Damon (minus a couple burn scars), he felt as though Raymond would only spark unwanted thoughts and memories.

But then Raymond smiled at him, and it was so warm and kind and so obvious that he was trying to hide his sharp canines that Ross couldn't help but smile back. "Come on inside," he offered, stepping aside.

Ross took the man up on his offer and walked inside. The room was a lot more pristine than he remembered it to be. Raymond had cleaned the entire space, washing and replacing and categorizing every instrument, every tool, every object. It gleamed the white and silver sheen of a doctor's office, but had a welcoming feel to it that made Ross want to relax.

"I really like what you've done with the place," he half-joked, smiling as he sat down.

Raymond chuckled. It was a warm chuckle, like melted chocolate. It sounded just like Damon's laugh—the one he laughed before Tyrone's murder. "Yes, well, this room was in need of a sprucing up," he agreed.

"Raymond," Ross tested, leaning back in his seat so that he could place his arms behind his head, "have you ever been in love?"

The man paused, clearly taken aback. "I-In love?" he stammered. "Whatever for?"

"I don't know," he answered, "I guess I'm just curious." He looked away with half-lidded eyes. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, no, wait. I-I have been in love, once. Only once." Raymond sat down in a chair near Ross, but he leaned forward instead of back, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Really?" Now it was Ross' turn to be surprised. He hadn't expected Raymond to tell him anything. "What happened?"

"Well, I guess you could say I didn't get the girl." He smiled almost sadly. "But that's okay!" he added quickly, brightening. But it seemed off, as if it were an artificial brightening—like he was brightening as a lightbulb, instead of as the sun. "I'm happy the way I am," he continued reassuringly. "I was in a good place."

"At least you didn't murder the one who did get your love," Ross muttered in an almost bitter manner.

Raymond slumped. "Yes, I guess so," he agreed, although there was little enthusiasm in his voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," the teenager said quickly, clapping a hand over his mouth. "That was insensitive of me. I shouldn't bring such stuff about Damon—"

"No, it's okay." Raymond smiled weakly, but it seemed forced. "Damon's guilty until proven innocent, right? A lot of evidence points to him."

"...Right." Ross leaned back again, now feeling uncomfortable and guilty. He hadn't meant to say such horrible things to Raymond. "A-Anyway, what would you do if someone you really cared about was in danger?"

Now Raymond looked alert. "Who? Shamus? Michael? Or maybe—"

"No, no, just...someone...female," Ross stated awkwardly.

The man paused, before a knowing smile spread across his face. "Oh, I see. Who's the lucky lady?"

Ross looked away.

Raymond laughed. "I think I can guess." Then he became serious again. "But in danger? By whom?"

"Damon," Ross confessed. "He phoned me one day and threatened me." For a little while Raymond was completely silent. Ross looked up, feeling concerned. "Raymond...?" he asked.

"I-I can't believe him," Damon's twin finally said. "Threatening teenage boys and girls? He's such a...a coward!" He turned pleading eyes on Ross. "I apologize for my brother's behaviour. I-I would never—I mean, I can't believe—Damon could do such a thing—"

"Raymond, it's okay." Ross smiled at him. "It's not like you had anything to do with it."

The man stared at him for awhile, before looking away. "Ross, I-I have something I need to tell you." He spun back toward the boy. "I—"

"Raymond? Raymond, are you there?" a voice called.

Ross' eyes widened. "Uncle Shamus!" he gasped. "If he sees me—"

"...Go."

"Huh?" He turned wide eyes on the older man.

"Go," Raymond repeated, stronger this time. "I'll cover for you."

"Th-Thank you," Ross stammered. He made his way to the other door on the other side of the infirmary. "Raymond, I really appreciate it. Whatever you wanted to tell me earlier, I'll listen to it later... You're nothing like your brother; you're a much better person than he ever was—"

The man smiled at him in an almost sad manner. "I hope you still think that of me after I tell you everything," he said.

Ross almost stumbled in confusion. "What?" he called, but the door shut behind him and he had seen the other door on the other side of the room open, so he knew he couldn't enter again. He stood there, staring at the door. What had Raymond wanted to tell me? Ross wondered.

But he knew he couldn't go back. Ross backed away from the door. He trusted Raymond, and he would continue to trust the man. He would never be as bad as Damon. And yet, it somehow still made him queasy to think of the man's words just before Ross had gone out of the room.

He's a good man, Ross reminded himself. And he mostly believed it. Mostly.

He walked around for another five minutes before he began slowing down. He was getting close to his father's room, which was definitely not on his list of "things to check out in Michael's house". The memory of blood and his father's body was still too fresh in his mind, leaving a blazing scar. He still remembered Damon's face when he'd seen Shamus and Ross, and he definitely remembered the pain and tears. He even recalled his father's cold body in his arms—a body that would never be warm again.

Ross shook the image from his head. I'll explore somewhere else, he told himself. This house is huge. There's still plenty to look at. He turned around, ready to walk off—only to come face-to-face with Sydney.

She had a hand out, a finger poised, ready to tap him on the shoulder. For awhile they just stared at one another in complete and utter shock.

Then Ross managed to splutter, "Sydney!?" and the Earth seemed to move again as both teens unfroze. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I-I was just walking around," she stammered back, "when I s-saw you. I-I wasn't sure you should be here, considering—well, considering this hallway's b-backstory, so I was going to ask you if you were okay, but then you turned around and well, you know the rest." She was rambling, her words strung together into one long sentence.

He narrowed his eyes. "You better not have been following me."

She blushed. "I wasn't!"

"Hm. I don't know if I believe you." He turned away from her pointedly. "I don't want to talk to you right now, please."

"Ross, don't do this to me," she began, but he interrupted fiercely.

"Don't do what? What you've done to me?" he demanded. "Turned me away? Shut me out? Broken my heart?"

"Ross, I—"

"No, I can't do those things to you because it's not like you care about me in that way anyway." Ross took a step back. "You're the one who shoved me away, Sydney. I'm just staying away now. Isn't this what you wanted?"

"I told you, I—" She looked exasperated now.

"That's right, you told me what you wanted. You said you didn't know." Ross took another step back, steadying himself on the wall with his hand so that he didn't stumble. He felt like the world was beginning to spin around him, slipping out from beneath his feet. "I refuse to have my heart broken again. If you don't know how to answer my feelings, it'll only ever end in the same way. So this time, now that you've shut me out, I'm staying out."

Sydney looked like she regretted everything, not that he cared (or wanted to care—somehow a small part of him still hurt seeing her hurt).

"Goodbye, Sydney." Ross took another step back, his hand moving along the wall with his feet to keep himself steady. But then the world really did seem to sweep away from him as he hit something and the wall seemed to give way, causing him to fall.

"ROSS!" cried Sydney.

He fell further and further into darkness as the wall swung back into place, closing him within whatever he was falling into. Even then, he silently asked her not to go after him. That was the last thought he had as he painfully fell down what seemed to be stairs, before he hit something.

It felt like a wall. He turned on his phone and flashed it around. There wasn't much to see in this private room. There was a TV and three shelves with two couches. The room was dark and dingy. But then Ross spotted a little thing embedded in the wall. It looked like another part of the wall, but it was really a metallic scanning device with a screen. He cautiously put his hand on the device as it began scanning his hand.

"Permission to enter accepted. DNA scan verified and access granted. Welcome back, Tyrone," a robotic female's voice said, barely above a whisper.

This wall swung open too and Ross cried out as he fell forward, before he hit solid ground. Almost immediately, a cloud of dust went up around him and Ross coughed. He fumbled around for a light, feeling instead what must've been shelves lined with books. He stood up and reached around some more, before his hand finally settled on what seemed to be a switch. A quick flick of the wrist later, the entire room was suddenly illuminated by a large, crystalline chandelier.

Ross' eyes widened in complete and utter shock.

The room was massive. It was golden and warm, albeit dusty and clearly abandoned. Still, it was in good condition—much better condition than the state of dilapidation Damon's cabin was in. It was lined with shelves, all of which surrounded a large table. The room was covered in books and papers and maps and other items.

Ross took a step forward, sending some more dust into the air.

He was mesmerized. His eyes couldn't stop taking it all in. All of this—all of these golden books and maps and papers—were his father's. The computer waiting to greet him had confirmed it.

This was his father's very own private library, and Ross was already in love with it.

He could only imagine the answers it might hold.

*(A/N: Reference to Steven Universe!)

**(A/N: Reference to Death the Kid from the anime Soul Eater!)

ME: Aww man, looks like more shit's hit the fan!

BRICK: *wrinkles nose* Thank you for that visual. *sarcastically*

ME: You're welcome! Well, now everything's going pretty crazy! We saw how Damon felt while Sylvie was getting married to Tyrone, more Butchercup—where Butch might've said a bit too much, more of Ross and Sydney and now Michael's also officially back, Bunny is doubting Darkai a little, Blossom and Brick fought a bit but Vincent seems to have Blossom's back, and Bliss and DJ are in a real pickle! And last but not least, Ross found his father's secret library! What does this mean!?

BRICK: Stop yelling; you're giving me a headache.

ME: *pouts* I'm not yelling.

BRICK: Yes, yes you are.

ME: You're just mad 'cause I made you and Blossom argue in this story and Vincent's squeezing back into the love triangle.

BRICK: What!? No, I'm not!

ME: Who's yelling now, hmm?

BRICK: *growls* Why you little—!

ME: Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!

BLISS: Yeah, now let's PART-AY!

BRAKER: Leave a review, guys! Peace!