NOT MY TYPE by katocchi


2. Her hair is fucking stupid.


In Townsville, there's a saying about how August can make even the Devil sweat. Brick can confirm this as fact―he lived with Him for a while, after all. Summer meant blasting all the Jojo air conditioners, going as far as diverting energy from Mojo Jojo's laboratory to the house's additional fans when he wasn't working, and as someone who runs hotter than the average human, Brick misses Him's whiny ways.

Most people think that Brick's internal fire source, which sits low in his chest and tastes a little funny when he burps, makes him immune to heat, and technically, the information isn't wrong―just outdated. It's the opposite now: high temperatures make him snappy and lethargic, and low temperatures are but a light buzz against his skin. During the summer, he bathes in ice-cold water, teeters on the edge of public indecency with his sleeveless tanks, and empties pharmacies of all their stick-on cold compresses. And while he's ready to melt under the sun, Blossom wears skinny jeans, unbothered. As soon as snow season starts, though, she becomes a walking pile of scarves and sweaters and socks. The story of how the switch happened is for another time, but every day, he gets a little closer to trying the Professor's hypothesis on extreme weather training.

Townsville summer often drags into late September, maybe early October if Brick is unlucky enough, and on this disgustingly warm, supposed-to-be-fucking-fall morning, Brick contemplates unprovoked Ruff-on-Puff violence for the first time since freshman year.

"Pink, I swear to fucking God, I am going to take shears to your head one day."

If you hold him at gunpoint and demand to know his favorite thing about Blossom Utonium, he'd say―again, only under duress―that his favorite thing is her hair. But at the moment, with her absurdly long mane pouring over his desk like liquid fire, he wants to grab the class safety scissors. Maybe use his laser eyes, whichever gets rid of it faster. He swats it off his notebook with a scowl.

"Oh, like you're one to talk," she snaps, reaching back to redo her ponytail.

She gives his own head a pointed glare, and he raises his eyebrows; being the last person in their row, he's not inconveniencing anyone else, and it barely brushes past his shoulders anyway. She turns towards the front again. Despite her attempt at piling her hair higher, the ends still swish over his notes.

"This is ridiculous," she mutters, trying to twist it into a bun, but the curse of having thick, waist-length hair: her head teeters dangerously, and the bun falls apart in her hands.

"I agree." He twirls a strand around his pencil and tugs, earning himself a sharp Ow! and another glare. "Why don't you braid it or something? The loopy shits?"

"Bubbles usually does it, but she's on a field trip today." Blossom drops her chin into her palm with a huff. At this angle, he can't completely see her face, but it's as close as she's gotten to pouting.

"And what does that mean?"

"It means―" she blows at her bangs like it's the most obvious thing in the world and he's stupid, which they both know is untrue― "I can't put it in a braid."

"Because you don't know how to braid hair."

"Yes, that would typically impede one's ability to do so."

"Jeez, no need to get all Hermione Granger on me."

She whirls around. "I'm not―what are you talking about? And before you start, I know what the reference is."

He waves in her general direction and says in his worst British accent, "It's the swotty, know-it-all tone. The sarcasm. What're you gonna do, spell me into next week?"

"Can you stop bothering me, Brick?"

"Alright, fine, don't get your knickers in a twist, piss-pants."

She turns back to her work, and he peers over her shoulder, waiting until she's mid-sentence to interrupt. Just to be extra annoying.

"I could do it for you, y'know," he says nonchalantly and goes back to doodling the human digestive system. The small intestine is harder to draw than it looks. Scritch-scratch. Scritch-scratch.

He glances up to see Blossom throwing him a suspicious frown, which is fair. With their long hair, he and Blossom share the burden of being Bubbles's favorite practice models. Eventually, his eyes were opened; the skill was damn useful, so he practiced by himself until he could surprise the blue Utonium. Now she sends him Tiktok tutorials and hacks. Hell, she even calls them the Braidy Bunch and tries to actively recruit Boomer. Unfortunately for Boy Wonder, enthusiasm doesn't translate into talent. He makes the sloppiest French braids.

"I'm serious. Still can't do the fancy ones, but I can copy what Bubs does if you show me a picture."

Part of her ponytail is wound around his pencil again as she contemplates. She doesn't move away.

"I thought you said you were using this free period for bio homework," she finally says.

"I'll copy yours."

"No, you won't."

"Then I'll bully some kid into doing it."

"You can't do that!"

"I'm kidding, Bloss. Did you really just grab your necklace in shock?"

"Well, it's not funny. You're not funny."

"Ouch, you wound me. Thought you were supposed to be Everything Nice," he deadpans, hand over his heart. Corny as it is, the phrase is stitched onto the front of her sweater. "So you gonna take up my offer or not?"

Her eyes flit over his desk, a No undoubtedly on the tip of her tongue, but she presses her lips into a straight line and nods. He closes his books, slipping them into his backpack for later. It's something he can do while walking between classes; people tend to walk around him in the halls anyway.

She takes out her signature bow and rolls black elastics onto his wrist. Her hands are cool against his overheated skin. He can't believe she's wearing a sweater and leggings when he's one wrong move away from a dress code violation.

"Be gentle," she warns softly.

"I will, don't worry."

When's the last time she got a haircut? He runs his fingers through the strands to untangle the knots, but there are none. Stupidly, infuriatingly perfect Powerpuffs. He tries to shake off the hair clinging to his hands. Stupid fire breath, stupid sweat, stupid―

"Hey, Pink, do the...can you do the thing again?" he grumbles, catching himself before he accidentally gives her an order like she's a Jojo.

"Huh? Oh, this?"

She turns to him, takes his hands in hers, and blows on them. Tiny snowflakes flutter and disappear immediately upon contact. A few seconds more and an icy layer forms, only to melt moments later. Like always, her ice breath is enough to cool him down, and he almost wants to ask her for more. September heat does weird things to his brain.

He thanks her rigidly.

"Are you still warm?" Her brow furrows. "You're not sick again, are you?"

"No. You'd see me sneezing fire if I was. Now c'mon, let me start."

With the locks no longer sticking to his skin, he creates a part down the middle and then sections each side into thirds. She's still doing her homework as she leans back in her seat, tilting her head for easier access. Her hair length is ridiculous. How does someone live like this? And how is it still so soft, no split ends, with all the monster fights they have? He weaves the strands into place, recreating Bubbles's favorite French braids.

Her little sighs of appreciation don't go unnoticed, especially with his super hearing. Scraping his nails along her scalp more deliberately, he watches her pencil grip slacken, tighten, and slacken again as he plaits down to the end and ties it off. She tilts her head to the other side, and he makes sure to work slower, brushing along the back of her neck at every chance. There's no way she's paying attention to her notes now.

Once he ties off the second braid, he flicks her shoulder, jolting her out of her trance.

"So whatcha think?" He gives a lopsided grin, crossing his arms behind his head. "Good enough for Ms. Perfect?"

She pats them down gently, avoiding his gaze. "They're...acceptable. Satisfactory. Thanks, Brick."

Relishing in her praise, he thinks this is a one-time thing. He doesn't expect her to corner him the next week and shove two hair ties into his chest, a furious blush on her cheeks. Through her stammering, he catches something about Bubbles being on another trip and it being too warm. The flimsiest lie he's ever heard.

A smirk grows on his face. "If you wanted me to touch you again," he drawls, threading his hand through the underside of her hair and tugging so that she meets his eyes. Her little surprised gasp goes straight to his ego. "You could've just said so."


a/n.

brick teasing blossom is one of my favorite things to read. they're so silly. kith already, you idiots. and i usually headcanon that, now that they're older and not 100% immune to everything, brick is immune to heat and blossom is immune to cold because of their powers. but for the sake of yin-yang symbolism and my shipping heart, i made them ~need the other~

again, if you liked, please review! and if you're a guest (or anyone!) that wants a quick response, i'm always on tumblr. you can find me at aerysian

next chapter: she always smells like fresh fucking laundry. feb 22, 2021

katocchi