NOT MY TYPE by katocchi
8. She ruins every fucking experience.
Museums are dumb. Yeah, Brick said it. Sometimes the plaques are interesting to read, but he can't walk around with food, which literally fuels his concentration. Paintings are lame, sculptures are alright, artifacts don't deserve more than a passing glance―but his displeasure might have something to do with the fact that their assignment is to choose something for their art history paper, and assignments automatically make learning less fun. Now his challenge is deciding which exhibit bores him the least and start there. The art teacher, tailing him since the previous display, doesn't understand why he's scowling at every room.
"You do so well in school, Mr. Jojo," the man says, looking at the ancient vase next to Brick. A little card dates it back to ancient Greece, but Brick could pick that out from the painting patterns. "Aren't you interested in history? In stories preserved over the years?"
Brick snorts, moving onto the next display. "I do well in school to knock Blossom down a few pegs, not 'cuz I give a fuck about classes," he says with a shrug.
People forget that he used to teeter on academic expulsion and spent summers avoiding remedial work. Sure, he likes to do some reading here and there―being a know-it-all is strangely intoxicating; he understands Blossom's obsession now―but that doesn't mean that he's cultured enough to appreciate dead people things. Usually. That's more of Boomer's expertise anyway. Besides, he was made to focus on the future, to live in the present, and to beat the Powerpuff Girls. Ruminating over the past is of no use to him.
Mr. Aviles hums in disappointment, as if suddenly remembering that Brick is still a Rowdyruff despite the image clean up. "That's a shame, isn't it?" he says in that teacher voice of his. "A waste of your potential―"
Brick hates when they do that. He rubs the toe of his shoes into the ground, muttering, "I get it, I'm dumb."
"I didn't say that."
"But that's what you were thinking, wasn't it? That's what you meant. 'Of course he wouldn't appreciate the arts. He was made from a toilet, after all. He's just a Jojo. The bullshit about wasted potential is to make yourself feel better." He spins on his heel and stalks out of the exhibit, fists stuffed deep in his pockets. "It's whatever. I'm used to everyone saying that anyway."
He meanders through the medieval armor, the gown-draped mannequins, the naked gods, the sprawling landscapes. Boring, boring, boring, boring. He's rushing through the Impressionism area when a familiar red bow catches his eye. Blossom, hands clasped behind her back, tilts her head to the side as she surveys a Monet piece with water lilies that looks vaguely familiar, but flowers in a pond can't pull his attention away from her. Even though there's no reason to hide, he steps backwards and leans against the doorway, arms crossed as he counts how long it takes for her to move on.
Brick's at two minutes by the time she turns to the right by chance and meets his gaze.
She says his name with a smile―he doesn't think he'll ever get used to that, not after years of mutual scowls―and makes her way over. She gestures by his head. "Are you a fan of Renoir?"
He doesn't bother looking. "Yeah, something like that. Did you choose a painting yet, or do you normally spend five years staring at one painting?"
"I think I'll choose the Monet. It's always been one of my favorites, so I already know a lot about it."
"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you're not challenging yourself by picking an obscure one and somehow finding enough material for a peer-reviewed report."
"You know me, always full of surprises." Like the second smile she gives him now. His chest feels strangely tight. "What about you?"
"I'll probably spin a wheel and choose randomly," he grumbles. Huffing, he blows at his fringe, a rush of warm air despite him holding back his annoyance. "It doesn't matter when someone's going to be let down one way or another."
Blossom pauses at that, scanning his face like she can see something he doesn't, and he really hates how easily she can read him these days. He can put up as many walls as he wants; she'll break them all with a glance and well-selected words. He supposes that it's fair, though, since it's the same the other way around.
"I'm not sure what this is about, but please don't speak like that about yourself." She frowns, flattening her palms against his cheeks. He's seen her do this to her sisters before and always laughed at them. Being on the receiving end is as embarrassing as he expected. "You're going to knock it out of the park."
"I know you're Ms. Everything Nice, but don't lie to me."
"No, you're genetically wired to compete with me. You're my counterpart," she says. The no-nonsense leader voice that normally irritates him is like a calming balm over his nerves. Magenta eyes blink slowly, boring straight into his heart, and he's close enough to see flecks of red and hazel in her irises. "You're supposed to be my undoing, Brick."
Time freezes. Stops. Replays. Over and over, the sentence circles his mind until his brain stutters to a halt altogether. It takes some time for him to find his voice.
"Fucking Christ, Pink, you're so unfair," he finally rasps, stepping forward to drop his forehead onto her shoulder.
She squeaks in surprise, but her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her like he needs comfort. He doesn't. What he really needs is to get away before he does something he'll regret, but playing with danger, testing his limits, and giving into selfishness are Jojo traits. He lets himself be held by her, shoving his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to rest them on her waist. While they're rivals (not enemies―there's a difference), trying to be her friend is tempting fate, and fate isn't known to be kind to people like him.
He doesn't know how long they stand in front of Renoir, but by the time he lifts his head, the room is empty. Rare. She drops her arms and smiles her hero smile like the day was saved.
Of course. This was her being a Powerpuff―she's programmed to be nice, and that includes cradling someone in a minor self-esteem crisis, so he doesn't know why he let himself hope otherwise.
"I should, uh, get back to finding something for the project," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh! Since I have mine, do you want me to come with you?"
"You don't have to."
"I don't really like going to museums alone."
"I can find one of your sisters if you want company? I think I saw Bubbles in the prehistoric animals section."
"Where she's been for the last half hour. And Buttercup's sitting in the cafeteria with Butch. They chose the first exhibit, took their notes, and spent the morning racing each other in the air. They're probably going to the medieval art rooms soon to make fun of the lions."
"Uh, okay, do you want me to find one of your other friends?"
She looks annoyed now. He's not sure why.
"Or...yeah, you can come with me?" He tries to not read into her expression as he nods to the hallway. "I guess the next stop is Cubism."
"We can skip that and move to the Romanticism section," she says, breezing past the colorful room, but he catches her minute nose wrinkle. He pulls at her wrist with a shit-eating grin.
"No way. Do you not like Cubism?" He barks a laugh at how she falters. "What do you have against Picasso?"
"Plenty of things, but mostly, I just don't like the style."
He tugs her into the room with him, not thinking about how easy it would be to slip a few inches and hold her hand. "Well, too bad. I like this style. In fact, I think I might do my paper on something here, but I'm oh so indecisive. We might be here until it's time to leave."
She's visibly trying to tamper down her discomfort, and he can't stop beaming at how stubborn she's being. God. He really wanted to hate this trip, but she just had to ruin this for him, didn't she?
a/n.
i visited monet's house in giverny while i was studying in france. it was super pretty! i also visited a lot of museums since i had free entry to most places. i think i miss the museums, the food, and the public transport the most. also a fun tidbit: i wrote the "you're supposed to be my undoing, brick" line in december 2020 when i was drafting this story. it feels good to finally have it published so you can squeal over it with me.
i think my favorite part of this chapter is blossom dropping hints about spending time with brick and him being oblivious. i love the dynamic where both of them are in denial, but i also love the idea of blossom coming to terms with her feelings first and quietly pursuing him until he realizes. he's going to be hit by all of her charm. anyway, just two more chapters! i really wanted to add buttercup in this chapter, but she wouldn't fit. i promise i'll do the brick & buttercup and brick & boomer dynamics justice in the future.
next chapter: seriously. every fucking experience. some monday, 2022.
aeris (check out my carrd for other accounts!)
