NOT MY TYPE: SPIN-OFF 1 by katocchi
Brick pulls a hat over his hair and hopes that it's enough to calm his bedhead. Today of all days, he decided to snooze his alarm while half-asleep and jumped out of bed not even thirty minutes ago when the sun was suspiciously high in the sky. He checks his phone again. Nice, he still has time to make his way downtown. He'll still be extra early, but hopefully that's enough time to order his and Blossom's usual and pay before she gets a chance to get there.
He hops down the stairs, swinging by the kitchen to pick up his truck keys.
"And where do you think you're going?" Boomer's voice demands.
Brick stops in his tracks and walks backwards until he sees his brother again. He doesn't know if Boomer intends to look like Eustace Bagge from that weird kids cartoon, but he's certainly channeling the old man's energy: swallowed by the lumpy armchair cushions (one of their favorite yard sale finds to date) with a giant map unfolded on his lap and reading glasses perched low on his nose. He'd almost be intimidating if that wasn't an Anime Expo map he was poring over, highlighter in hand as he outlines the most efficient route.
"Out." Brick scowls. "What's it matter?"
Boomer's gaze scans him from head to toe in a way that almost makes him feel self-conscious. Did he notice that Brick put a little more effort into the look today? Because no, it totally wasn't for going to see—
"You're going out in that?" Butch says around the freezer-pop in his mouth. He pauses the TV to give Brick an incredulous look. "Don't you have a date with Blossom?"
"It's not a date; we're just studying."
The statement feels flimsy as it falls from his lips, and judging by his brothers' expressions, they don't believe it either. Technically, they are studying for the upcoming exam. It's something they'd done even before they started dating, but now he gets to hold her hand under the table...or something like that. He hefts his bag higher onto his shoulder.
"Is this important, or can I go? Traffic gets bad in about half an hour."
"Yes, this is important!" Boomer moves his map aside and tucks his glasses into his front pocket. "You look like a fashion disaster, and I refuse to let you out of the house looking like that."
Brick sputters in surprise. "A what? This is what I normally wear, though." Jeans, a t-shirt, a long-sleeve shirt, his signature hat, black sneakers—it's as basic as basic can get.
Butch gets up from the floor and does a walk around Brick, crunching that stupid freezer pop in his ear. Brick hopes he gets a brain freeze.
"This is your first official one-on-one date with Bloss. You can't just wear what you normally wear. Girls appreciate effort," Butch says, trying to sound like he's got experience. Which he admittedly does, but Brick is hesitant to trust the guy who moves between relationships like they're sliding doors.
"How do you even know it's the first one?"
"Because you wrote it all cute and gross on your calendar," Boomer deadpans, looming closer by the second.
"Why were you going through my things? Wait, what the—let me go!" He thrashes in their arms, but fighting off a Super per arm is a lot more difficult than it appears. Besides, he just bought this shirt. Can't have it ruined just yet. "I'm going to be late."
"Worry not, brother dearest," Butch coos. He's enjoying the way Brick's feet barely touch the ground as he's dragged back into his room. "I'll text your girlfriend to let her know you're running behind schedule."
Brick curses as he locks his truck. Like he predicted, traffic got bad almost as soon as he pulled out of the driveway, and it was just his luck to run into not one, not two, but three bad accidents as he crawled his way downtown. He debated just picking up his car and flying above the crowd, but some fucker is going to complain to the mayor again about special privileges. Brick was born in a prison toilet and saves the town on a weekly basis; he feels like the least he could get is reprieve from rush hour.
The bell jingles over his head once he steps into the shop, and the barista lights up in recognition, pausing in his counter wiping to point towards a corner booth where a familiar bow already sits. Damn it.
Bricks walks fast to the barista and hisses over the cash register, "Be real with me: do I look like an idiot?"
Somehow, his brothers managed to shove him into a pair of nice jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and a trench coat that's clearly not his—it's a little too long for his height, and he wonders if he looks as clownish as he feels. He can't even pull his hat over his face. They confiscated it to show off the French braid that would make Bubbles squeal in surprised delight.
The barista blinks. "No, man, you look good," he says.
Maybe Brick will tip this guy extra before they leave. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the heaviness of his limbs, he drags himself over to where Blossom awaits...
...and has to do a double-take.
She does the same thing, jolting when she realizes that it's indeed him. What the hell is going on? He slides into the seat in front of her. He was already burning underneath all these extra layers, but now the sweater is choking and all too warm.
"So did you get dressed in the dark this morning?" he finally blurts out and mentally kicks himself in the shin for that as she groans into her hands. "I mean, you look good. Just different."
It's not like he's wrong because that has to be a top from Buttercup and a pair of distressed jeans from Bubbles, the other two sisters' styles distinct on a very uncomfortable Blossom. He's one to talk, though. He shrugs off Boomer's coat and sets it aside—gently folded as instructed.
"I can probably guess what happened here," Blossom says, already shaking off the surprise. "Did your brothers tell you something it being the first date and dressing appropriately?"
"Yeah. Same thing on your end?"
"Yes." A smile tugs at her lips. "Though it seems like they have very different visions for how today is supposed to go."
"What are the chances that they're spying on us right now?"
"Beyond 100%."
"Boomer, I said I would take care of it!" Buttercup hisses from the rooftop of the building next door. Her hair skims her shoulders as she whips her head to the side, tempted to knock yet another silly gadget out of his hands. "And why are you using binoculars when you literally have supervision?"
"You don't know the art of espionage," he snaps back. "And c'mon, Bloss likes well-dressed guys. This is their first date. He needs to impress her."
"She doesn't care if Brick's dressed nice or not—she just likes him for some reason."
"Well then, why'd you make Blossom wear that?"
"Because Brick used to follow Instagram models with that style!"
"He doesn't care if Blossom's dressed like that or not—he just likes her for some reason," he mimics and rolls out of the way when her elbow aims for his side.
Behind them, Bubbles and Butch munch on a pile of snacks, watching their siblings fling insults at each other while trying to stay covered by the flat roof's ledge. Butch holds up five Hot Cheetos-coated fingers. I give them five minutes, he's signaling, before they get caught. She holds up three, and he bumps his wrist with hers to finalize their bet.
It was two minutes.
a/n.
hi, y'all, it's monday again! one of my favorite things to write is how the siblings mingle with each other because there's so many possible combinations for shenanigans, and having younger siblings myself, there's just something so relatable about their relationships. leave a comment or a review if you liked, regardless if you're an old or new reader! see y'all in a future monday :)
aeris
