NOT MY TYPE by katocchi
10. She's too―
"Butch, Boomer, I said the door!"
The sound effects of Super Smash Bros in the living room don't stop, Kirby's cries continuing to drown out the weakening buzz of their dying doorbell. With a sigh and a mental note to change the batteries soon, Brick pushes away from the table. Can't get his brothers to do anything in this house.
He yanks open the door with a gruff Hello? that gets caught in his throat. Even with her back to him, the waterfall of copper hair is easily recognizable.
"Blossom?" He leans against the door frame with a furrowed brow. "What're you doing here?"
"I'm here to talk to Butch," she says, turning around with a smile. "Can I come in?"
He shrugs and moves aside for her to enter. "If you want his attention, it's probably better to wait until they finish their tournament. He can't hear anything when he's focused for once. You want anything to drink?"
"Anything you have is fine."
He leads her to the kitchen, waving to an empty seat as he opens the fridge. Some milk that's about to expire, orange juice that he saw Butch drink from directly one morning, apple juice that he saw Boomer drink from directly that same morning, tiny water bottles. Moving the milk carton reveals a bag of peas that cover a cheesecake he's been hiding since Wednesday. (If his brothers used their critical thinking skills, they'd realize that the bag is supposed to be in the freezer, but the image of peas alone is enough to turn them off.) He was going to eat it later, but Blossom likes this bakery, too, so he puts two forks on the plate and pours them the rest of the milk.
"Is this much alright with you?" He holds up her cup. "...Bloss?"
He glances over his shoulder, and it's a good thing he put the milk down because he absolutely would have dropped it. Head tilted, she reads through the short list he forgot to put away. Two quick strides, that's all it takes for him to reach her and snatch the paper out of her hands. It's shoved into a drawer with miscellaneous knick-knacks, and he stands in front of it like a guard. There's only nine things on it, so why isn't she saying anything?
"That―" he clears his throat "―is not what it looks like."
"What is it supposed to look like then?" She still hasn't met his eyes, and he can't tell anything from her voice. God, if he can just see her face, he'll know what she's thinking. He's not used to her being this unreadable. At least, not to him.
He's never wanted to murder his brothers more.
"We got into an argument coming back from your place, and they said some stupid shit. It's not a big deal, really."
"What did they say?"
"Nothing worth repeating."
"If I was mentioned, I think I deserve to know, don't I?"
"Just drop it. I have cake and milk."
He puts them in front of her, forks clattering louder than he means to.
"...Reasons why Blossom Utonium is not my type."
And of course she's memorized it already.
"One, her name is fucking Blossom," she recites, finger tracing circles into his tabletop. Right where the paper was, as if she was drawing the words from the fake wood. She doesn't falter at the swear word, and that alone sends a chill down his spine. "Two, her hair is fucking stupid. Three, she always smells like fresh fucking laundry?"
"Bloss, listen―"
"Four, she's so fucking bossy. Five, she has a fucking fan club. Six, she's always fucking early. Seven, she works so fucking hard."
"Blossom."
She holds up a hand. "Eight, she ruins every fucking experience. Nine, seriously. Every fucking experience."
That makes nine f-bombs in a row. Bubbles would be having a field day with this situation, but at the receiving end of Blossom's scathing glare, Brick doesn't have the heart to tease his counterpart about it because, said aloud like that, there's no way to make his words not insulting.
He raises his own hands in an attempt to placate her. "I know it sounds bad, but Butch and Boomer, they were teasing me about you. I had to stop them."
"And that was the best defense you could think of? Insulting me? Besides, you're a Jojo; can't you take more than a few immature remarks? God knows I had my hands full with the three of you when we were younger. Heck, I can even take their behavior at tonight's dinner without it getting personal!" Her arms cross over her chest. "Our siblings have been teasing us for so long. What makes today so different, Brick?"
Oh, so she knew. Brick opens and closes his mouth. God, when did he get so weak to her anger? The room's temperature has easily dropped a few degrees, though he's not sure if that's her ice breath or the sinking feeling in his stomach. Her shoulders slump when she uncrosses her arms, but the fire in her eyes don't fade.
"I thought we were friends," she says quietly. "If not friends, then at least...I don't know. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, thinking that you genuinely enjoyed my company. I didn't think that you'd dislike almost everything about me. Really? My habits? My smell? My name?"
He steps forward. She steps back. "I can explain. It's not―I swear that's not what I meant by it."
She shakes her head. "Given how out of character this seems, I do want to give you a chance to talk this out, but honestly, I don't think I can hear your excuses with a level head right now. I'm just going to go for today. I'll tell you when I'm ready."
He trails after her as she leaves through the front door, and when she kicks off into the sky, her signature pink streak lights up the clouds. The fighting sound effects in the living room have stopped, the game now looping the same character selection background music, and Brick doesn't have to turn around to know that his brothers are sticking their heads around the corner with curious gazes.
"Big Bro..." Boomer murmurs, but Brick gives a half shrug.
"I know I'm the one who actually wrote the list, but I hope you're both happy with how that turned out," he says.
There's the low hum of Butch's shield, ready to block anything, and he supposes that his brothers are right to be cautious: under normal circumstances, anger would translate to a good ol' Rowdyruff tussle in an abandoned lot before they move on and stop talking about whatever the argument was about, but something about this drains the fight from his veins, even if he wants to rip things apart with his fingers and run his fists through walls.
"I'm going to keep studying." He spins on his heels, knocking their shoulders hard when he goes towards the stairs. "Don't bother me if you want to keep your heads."
The cheesecake and milk sit unattended in the kitchen.
.
.
Someone in front of him whistles lowly. "Damn, you look like shit," the newcomer says, knocking the toes of his shoes with theirs.
That voice haunts him in his sleep. He raises his head and squints into the sun, barely making out Buttercup's grimace as she catches sight of his expression. "Yeah?" he manages to croak. She slides her shades onto her hair. "Thanks, I tried my best to look like you."
"Seems like you still got some bite, at least." She leans down for a closer look, taking the chewed lollipop stick out of her mouth and pointing it towards his nose. "So who peed on your pancakes this morning?"
"Christ, you're where Boomer got that from?"
"Excuse me, Fire Lord, but that level of comedic idiocy is your brother's brand, not mine. I got it from him," she says and drops her gym bag by his side. "Get up and stretch, dude; I'm not letting you start a run without warm ups."
Rolling his eyes, Brick lets her pull him to his feet and lead him through her usual stretches. He doesn't work out with her often, but when he does, he always leaves with mental clarity and self-satisfaction. It's as close as he'll get to therapy. When she invited him for a morning run soon after Blossom left his house, he had a feeling that she had ulterior motives―something along the lines of getting him to talk about his feelings. Now he just has to wait for her to make the first move.
"Touch your toes until I say stop." A pause, and then, "So what's going on between you and my sister?"
There it is.
"Nothing, really. I had a bet with Bubbles and lost, and she's not letting me forget it. Been a bit of an asshole, honestly. She and Butch are some of the most stubborn, infuriating brats I know; I can't believe that they're best friends."
Even from her position, Buttercup manages to kick her leg out sideways and hit his backside with a solid thawk! that makes him catch himself on his palms.
"Not that sister, dumbass. The one you keep calling your soulmate."
"Counterpart," he corrects automatically. An overdone jab.
"Same difference. Quad stretch. Seriously," she groans, "it's weird to see both of you sulking over this, so it must've been pretty bad."
"I thought the others would've told you by now."
"Oh, they did, but I wanted to hear it from you, too. There's no point if I don't get it straight from the source, right?"
She stretches her arms over her head and doesn't say anything else as they finish up. Contrary to popular belief, Buttercup has patience in spades when it comes to things like this, and she stays quiet until―ten minutes into their run―Brick is finally unnerved enough to open his mouth.
"So I wrote a list. About her."
"Yeah? That's it?"
He hesitates. "No, well, it was a list of why she wasn't my type. After dinner the other night, I was yelling at Butch, and one thing led to another. Somehow it turned into a thing about me and Blossom." He risks a glance, but Buttercup's face is blank.
"What'd the list say? Must've been pretty mean if you wrote it while mad. Was one of the things 'she's too ugly' or something?"
"No! I mean, it started with...her name being Blossom."
Buttercup's easy stride slows to a stop. "She's not your type because...her name is Blossom?" She snorts, even with his flustered Shut up! He feels like a fucking schoolgirl. "Butch said the list was stupid, but I didn't realize it was this dumb. What was the rest?"
"The second thing was about her hair."
"What about her hair?"
"I don't know. I just think her hair is ridiculously long. And she never has a bad hair day, it's weird." He starts running again without her, settling into a brutally fast pace that only a fellow super like her could match. The few early joggers jump out of their way. "The third was about how she smells."
"Finally, one that would piss her off. You really think she stinks?"
"I didn't say she stinks. She just―she smells like fresh laundry, and it's annoying."
His eyebrow twitches as Buttercup barks out a laugh. He knows it all sounds absurd; he's run it over and over in his mind, and it never gets better. But no matter how ridiculous it seems to him, the fact of the matter is that Blossom isn't responding to any of his calls or texts, and he hasn't been able to meet up with her to apologize yet. He even staked out in front of the library for all of yesterday, and she never showed up. He didn't go home until long past closing.
"So you like her," Buttercup manages to wheeze.
"Well, I don't hate her. We're friends."
"No, dude, like." She grins. "You like Blossom. A lot. You think her hair's perfect? That she smells good? What's next, you're mad that she worms her way into your head even when she's not around? You're down bad, my guy. Down astronomical."
Not this again. He doesn't know how many more times he needs to say it. They act like he doesn't have eyes. For the record, he sees Blossom. He just doesn't want her. She's not his type. Like, sure, she's pretty and all―he's not a fool―but they never got along until recently. That was the whole point of the fucking list.
"I have a proposition."
"Let's hear it then."
"I'll find a way to get Blossom to talk to you. Don't worry about the details; I'll make sure you'll be able to explain yourself to her."
"She said she'll let me know when she's ready, though."
"And you're planning on waiting?" Buttercup shoots him a look. "You know how she is when she overthinks. If you keep going at her pace, you won't get to talk to her for the next year."
"Okay, fine." He rolls his eyes. "What's the condition? You never work for free."
"I'll do this for you, but you gotta humor me for a bit."
He doesn't like the sound of it already.
"At some point, before or during or after you apologize to her, I want you to imagine her as your girlfriend."
He chokes, strides faltering. "You're fucking with me―"
"I'm so serious, Brick. You don't even need to tell her. Just...think of going out with her. Stuff like, I don't know, giving her flowers or taking her to dinner or sending her good morning texts. Gross things you see the Blues doing for each other. And then, if you still feel like you're just friends after all that, we'll drop the shenanigans." She flips around to face him, maintaining her steady speed, and offers a hand. "All four of us. I'll help you fix your friendship and set her up with some other guy or something."
"...alright, fine."
The offer should be exactly what he wanted, but when he shakes her hand, he can't help noticing the little tug in his chest.
.
.
Maybe that tug in his chest was a sign, like the sinking feeling he gets when he eats something past its expiry date. Or when he turns in a test he thought he studied for, only to get slammed by the first question. A premonition that something bad would happen because Buttercup's plan―if you can even call it that―is absolute garbage.
Blossom sits across from him in the Super-proofed storage room, rolling the doorknob between her fingers. It broke clean off when she yanked earlier, and judging at how her eyes narrowed as she examined it, he knew that she knew that they'd been set up. She hasn't talked to him since that moment, other than a gruff Did you know this was going to happen? without meeting his gaze. He said no, and that was the truth: technically, all Buttercup told him was that she had an idea, and like a damn fool, he believed her.
"...Pink."
Brick's voice is hesitant. Quiet, even to his own ears. He wants to blink on his night vision, but something about the still atmosphere and being unable to see her expression makes him braver. She doesn't respond. She stops fidgeting, though.
Now that he has her attention, what the hell does he say? How the hell does he fix this? Not to be a sap, but god, he missed her. As an acquaintance, if not a close friend, because they're...what are they?
The back of his head thumps against the wall. He wants to say they're friends, but something about the word feels foul to spit out. Maybe it was the haunting look in her eyes as she stood in his kitchen a few days ago. Maybe it's the years of fighting and tormenting each other, though Boomer and Bubbles have no problem getting over it. He's not sure whether he wants to be like them anyway, all sweet and adoring, but he doesn't want to be like Butch and Buttercup either, stages of friendship counted through punches thrown and dinosaur-printed band-aids bought. Being with Blossom is―hard. As a mortal enemy, as a rival, as a classmate, as a counterpart, as a friend.
As a girlfriend? He swallows. Would anything change?
BC, you witch, I'll do it for you, he mentally grumbles. Honestly, the jump from where they are now to...that isn't far; he supposes that it's easy to view their hang outs and study sessions as dates. And he supposes that taking her to the movies and waking up early to grab her hot chocolate in the morning could be seen as boyfriend-y. The only new thing he foresees happening is tugging her towards that third floor closet she mentioned one time. He's had her hair in his hands before, but he's always wondered what her hair felt like when he―
He squeezes his eyes shut. If they do define their relationship and keep it strictly platonic, he'd have to see her less often. Buttercup knows her sister's preferences; she'll introduce Blossom to a nice guy. A guy that's nicer than a Rowdyruff, that's for sure. Someone without the emotional baggage that comes with having a chimp for a father and a prison toilet for a delivery room and Butch as a brother.
His throat clenches.
"Pink, do you think I would've had a chance if things were different?"
"A chance with what?"
"...a chance with you."
A pause, and then something that sounds vaguely like her crushing the doorknob. "What are you talking about?" she asks, voice tense.
"I think I like you." His chuckle fills the air between them. "And I've been an absolute idiot. Hear me out, okay? That list, they were compliments. The things I wrote, I mean; they were supposed to be compliments."
She makes a strangled noise. "You called me a bossy know-it-all, Brick. How is that a compliment?"
"Okay, first of all, you're embellishing because I called you bossy, not a bossy know-it-all. And second―" He huffs. As much as he loathes to admit it, Buttercup was right. "I acted like a preschooler, alright? I meant what I wrote but not in the way you thought."
"The fact that my name is Blossom?" Her tone is sharp now. She's probably squinting at his expression, trying to catch his bluff.
"It's pretty." He clears his throat. "Suits you."
"And the fact that my hair is stupid?"
"Yeah, stupidly perfect," he says. No wonder Buttercup laughed at him. "It's ridiculous how smooth it is."
"You think I smell boring."
"Like fresh laundry, Bloss, not boring. Fresh laundry's one of the most comforting smells."
"This doesn't make any sense. You spent all this time insisting that we'll never be more than―" she waves a hand "―whatever we are, and just when I've finally started to get over you, you decide to spring this on me? How am I supposed to believe you?"
Leave it to Blossom Utonium to get angry at a confession, but she's right. Damn, maybe he'll always be wrong in front of the Powerpuff Girls. Must be the good guy versus bad guy dynamic that keeps him in his place. But her tone isn't enough to distract him from her words.
"Wait, you what?" He pushes to his feet, and from the rustling on the other side, he figures she did, too. "Getting over me?"
"Don't change the subject, Brick Jojo. This isn't one of your pranks to humiliate me, is it? Because it's not funny, and if I find a hidden camera somewhere, I can promise you that you won't make it out unscathed."
Hope blooms in his chest, exactly at the point where her finger digs into his skin, because if there's a chance that this is reciprocated, then he'll gladly let her freeze his limbs.
He rummages in his pockets. A paperclip, some gum wrappers, and a dull pencil stub the size of his pinky. It'll have to do. He smooths a gum wrapper against a wall and blinks on his night vision.
"Fine, how about this? Here's a new list. Reasons why Blossom Utonium is exactly my type."
,
,
On the other side of the wall, four Supers press their ears to the door.
a/n.
WHEN THE CHAPTER DROPS, IT'S ANOTHER BANGER. The real lyrics to Ddu du Ddu du, I swear. Anyway, here I am after, what, seven months of silence on this fic? I swear I've been keeping busy: writing my thesis, graduating, writing on other blogs, drawing lots of things, etc. But even without these external distractions, it was tough to churn out this chapter because the first part was pretty much cemented. The other two parts, on the other hand, have been rewritten and reworked into the ground, and I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but ta-dah! My first ever completed fic, which is huge for me. Hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
I'm not done with this universe, though! Stay followed/subscribed because I'll be back eventually with spin-off chapters and things I didn't get a chance to include in the main story. Follow me on tumblr (aerysian) for occasional updates and twitter (aerysian) for...not much honestly. See you all soon!
aeris
