a/n: happy weekend! here's a branch vent! thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites!
flowersforfanfics: AATHANK YOU SO MUCH AWW! that means the world to me, it really does. I LOVE YOU
iii. it's already there
"Happiness isn't something you put inside, it's already there! Sometimes, you just need someone to help you find it."
Branch won't write about her anymore.
He won't write about the way prismatic flowers bloom in his heart when she walks by. He won't write about her eyes, captivating and warm and beautiful. Branch won't describe the light in her smile, in her laugh, in her voice. Because if he does, that fire in him won't die.
The fire isn't big, like the hazardous bonfires some members of the Snack Pack put together every year to burn school textbooks or final papers. It's modest and small, resting in the back of his chest, steadily growing every time Poppy says his name.
He wants to fucking stomp it into the ground.
God, does he try. He'll crush it right under his foot with every glare sent her way, with every deprecating remark, and every damn leave-me-alone-I-genuinely-dislike-you vibe. Branch swears it's gone after merciless destruction, but Poppy greets him the very next day, vibrant in her breathtaking smile. Traitorous goosebumps will creep up his arms. And the flame burns the bottom of his hypothetical foot attempting to distinguish it.
Because Branch doesn't want to glare at her, or discourage her, and his genuine feelings for her are far from antagonism. Far, far from it. He knows he won't write about her anymore, but he will write about her anyways.
Before he can stop it, his pencil etches Poppy Springs into a decrepit, weary notebook. And Branch is hunched over his desk, solely illuminated by a lamp, for hours in the dark, mumbling things to himself that he'll never tell her.
The fire he keeps hidden away, however, is much bigger than Branch likes to believe.
Poppy's expression will crumple under another crushed invitation.
Branch will keep every detail of her offering in his memory so he can tape up the ruin he caused when he's alone.
He'll make sure she's going home safe from an ill-advised party after one drunk phone call.
Branch will see that she's doing alright on her rainy days, and he'll keep an eye on her shady, slithering boyfriend if it kills him.
And once he's alone, he won't write about her.
But he does.