The next morning at Townsville High was almost more chaotic than usual. Rumors had spread quickly after the Rowdyruff Boys' grand reappearance, and the halls were buzzing with curiosity. Everywhere Blossom went, she could hear people whispering about Brick, Butch, and Boomer. Girls giggled in clusters, sharing glances at the boys whenever they passed, while the guys were a little more wary—except for the athletes who were already treating Butch and Boomer like part of the team.

Blossom walked through the main corridor with Buttercup and Bubbles beside her. The noise was almost overwhelming, but she kept her focus. She had bigger things to worry about. Calculus exams were around the corner, and she had a student council meeting to prepare for. But despite her best efforts to concentrate, she couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off—and it wasn't just the girls gawking at the Rowdyruff Boys.

"I swear, every girl here has lost her mind," Buttercup grumbled, her tone more irritated than usual. "Do you hear them? They're all drooling over Butch and his stupid smirk."

Blossom glanced at a nearby group of girls. Sure enough, a trio of cheerleaders were whispering and glancing toward Butch, who was casually leaning against a locker, laughing with a couple of football players.

"I heard Butch is going to try out for the team," one girl said, eyes sparkling. "He'd be so good. Did you see how built he is?"

The other girl giggled. "And his arms... Ugh, I wouldn't mind sitting next to him in gym."

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable. What do they even see in him? He's a jerk."

Blossom suppressed a smile. Buttercup's frustration was a mix of genuine annoyance and the fact that Butch had already weaseled his way into her circle of friends. Buttercup wasn't one to easily let people in, and Butch's sudden infiltration of her social life had set her off.

"I don't know," Bubbles said softly, walking beside them. She tugged at her backpack strap, her mind elsewhere. "Boomer's been really sweet. Maybe they're not as bad as we remember."

Buttercup shot her a disbelieving look. "Bubbles, please. Don't let Boomer's puppy-dog eyes fool you. They're still trouble."

Bubbles bit her lip, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yeah, maybe. But people can change, right?"

Blossom wasn't so sure about that. The boys had only been back for two days, and already, the school was buzzing with drama. While Bubbles might have been tempted to see the best in Boomer, Blossom knew better than to trust Brick. The way he had acted yesterday—distant, detached, and angry—didn't sit right with her.

Why are they really here? she wondered, her eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on Brick.

He was standing by his locker, alone. Unlike his brothers, who had already integrated themselves into the social scene, Brick was a shadow. He didn't engage with anyone unless he had to, and even now, his expression was cold as ever. His red eyes scanned the crowd, uninterested and irritated, like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Before she could stop herself, Blossom made up her mind. She was going to find out what was going on.

Brick

Brick hated being here.

His brothers had already thrown themselves into the school with reckless enthusiasm, but Brick couldn't stand it. The noise, the crowds, the endless stupid gossip swirling around him—it was enough to make him want to punch a wall. But he couldn't. Not here. Not when he had to keep up the act.

He caught sight of Boomer and Butch down the hall, surrounded by a gaggle of students. Butch was grinning like a wolf, soaking up the attention as a group of girls watched him with wide eyes, clearly impressed with his athletic build and cocky attitude.

Boomer, as usual, was smiling and chatting with ease. He'd always been the one who could blend in effortlessly, whether he was making friends or chasing after girls. And judging by the way Bubbles kept sneaking glances at him, Boomer was already working his charm.

At least they're enjoying themselves, Brick thought bitterly, his fists clenching at his sides. They didn't have the same weight on their shoulders as he did. They didn't care why they were really here—why they had been forced to come back.

Before Brick could spiral deeper into his frustration, a voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

"Brick."

He turned sharply and was met with Blossom's steady gaze. She stood just a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. The sight of her, so composed and calculated, sent a jolt through him. They hadn't spoken since their return, and he had deliberately avoided her. He didn't want to deal with whatever complicated mess she would inevitably bring into his life.

"Can we talk?" Blossom asked, her tone neutral but firm.

Brick's jaw tightened. He knew where this was going. "About what?"

Blossom took a step closer, lowering her voice slightly. "Why are you here?"

For a second, Brick didn't respond. He wasn't sure why, but the question made his skin crawl. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, searching for answers he didn't want to give. She was too smart for her own good, and the last thing he needed was her sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

"None of your business," he said coolly, turning back to his locker.

Blossom didn't back down. "You and your brothers disappear for years, and now you're suddenly back in Townsville? Back in our school? Don't tell me there's nothing going on."

Brick slammed his locker shut, the sound echoing through the now-quiet hallway. He turned to face her, his eyes blazing with barely restrained anger. "I said, it's none of your business."

Blossom met his glare head-on, refusing to be intimidated. "You're hiding something. I can see it."

He took a step toward her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I don't owe you an explanation, Blossom. Stay out of it."

Blossom's expression didn't waver, but Brick could see the flash of determination in her eyes. She wasn't going to let this go, and that only made him angrier.

"I'm just trying to understand," she continued, her voice softer now, like she was trying to reason with him. "You're not acting like you want to be here."

Brick's fists clenched. She was too close to the truth, and it was pissing him off. He couldn't afford to let anyone—especially her—know why he was really here. He couldn't let her get involved.

"There's nothing going on," he growled, stepping even closer, his red eyes boring into hers. "So stop digging. Trust me, Blossom—you don't want to know."

For a moment, they stood there, the tension between them crackling like static electricity. Brick's heart pounded in his chest, and he could see the gears turning in Blossom's mind, trying to piece together the puzzle.

Finally, Blossom broke the silence. "Fine," she said, her voice clipped. "But I'm not stupid, Brick. I'll figure it out."

With that, she turned and walked away, her steps purposeful and quick. Brick watched her go, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to push down the storm of emotions boiling inside him. He hadn't meant to get so worked up, but just being around Blossom brought out a side of him he didn't like—a side that was too close to caring.

And that was dangerous.

Butch

Butch leaned back against his locker, eyes gleaming as he watched Buttercup storm past him after class. She was annoyed again—he could see it in the way her jaw was set, her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

Perfect.

"Hey, Buttercup!" he called after her, his grin wide as she whipped around, her green eyes blazing with irritation. "You heading to practice? Thought I might tag along, y'know, since your friends seem to like me so much."

Buttercup's nostrils flared, her temper already on edge. "I don't care what they think, Butch. You're not coming to practice. Got it?"

Butch shrugged, still smirking. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. But, uh, your friends seem pretty cool. Maybe I'll hang out with them later."

The muscle in Buttercup's jaw twitched, and for a moment, Butch thought she might swing at him. Part of him hoped she would—it had been way too long since they'd sparred, and he missed the thrill of it. Buttercup was one of the few people who could keep up with him, and he loved pushing her buttons.

But before she could say anything, Brick's voice cut through the tension.

"Butch."

The warning in Brick's tone was unmistakable. Butch glanced over at his older brother, who was standing nearby, his arms crossed and his red eyes narrowed.

"Quit messing around," Brick said, his voice low and sharp. "We've got other things to focus on."

Butch rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Brick's authority was the one thing he never questioned, even if he didn't always agree with his brother's uptight attitude. Brick might have been a pain sometimes, but Butch respected him more than anyone else. If Brick said to back off, he'd back off.

"Fine, fine," Butch muttered, giving Buttercup one last taunting grin. "Catch you later, Buttercup."

Buttercup muttered something under her breath and stomped off, her frustration palpable. Butch watched her go, feeling a mix of amusement and something else he couldn't quite place.

The cafeteria was its usual chaotic self—an endless buzz of conversations, laughter, and the occasional clatter of trays. Buttercup had grown used to the noise over the years. Normally, it didn't bother her; it was just part of the daily grind. But today? Today it felt like every single sound was amplified, each laugh more irritating than the last.

And the source of her irritation sat directly across the table, completely unaware—or more likely, completely aware—of how much he was getting under her skin.

Butch.

Buttercup slouched in her seat, chewing angrily on the end of her straw as she watched him with narrowed eyes. He was leaning back, his arms crossed behind his head, his whole body language practically screaming, I own this place. And to make things worse, her friends, Zach, Cassie, and Nate, were all laughing along with him like he was part of their group.

Zach, a lanky soccer player who had been one of Buttercup's best friends since middle school, was recounting some story about yesterday's gym class. "Man, you should've seen Butch during drills. Guy's a beast. Blew past all of us, like we were standing still."

Cassie, who played volleyball and was one of Buttercup's few close girl friends, nodded in agreement. "No kidding. We could use him on the team for sure."

Buttercup stabbed at her salad, her fork clinking against the bowl louder than she intended. She could feel Butch's eyes on her, that ever-present grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was enjoying this—enjoying watching her squirm.

"What can I say?" Butch said, his voice dripping with false modesty. "I like to win."

Buttercup didn't even look up from her salad. "You mean showing off," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear but without making it a full-blown argument. Not yet, she thought, though her patience was wearing thin.

Cassie laughed softly. "Come on, Buttercup. He's got a point. You're competitive too. You guys are practically the same."

Buttercup straightened in her seat, finally meeting Butch's smug gaze. Same? The thought made her stomach twist. She wasn't anything like him.

"The difference," she said, her voice low and firm, "is that I don't need an audience."

Butch chuckled, clearly unfazed by her attempt to shut him down. "You sure about that? 'Cause I remember you making a big deal about taking first place in every gym class event last year."

"I earned it," Buttercup snapped, dropping her fork with a clang. She could feel her anger rising, the familiar heat crawling up the back of her neck. Her temper was notoriously short, but she'd been trying—really trying—not to blow up in front of her friends. Not over this.

Before she could say anything else, Nate, who had been quiet up until now, leaned in, trying to defuse the situation. "Alright, alright, let's cool it, you two. We all know you both like to win, so how about we call it a draw?"

"Yeah, whatever," Buttercup muttered, sitting back in her seat, arms crossed. She wasn't about to let Butch see how much he was getting to her. He's just trying to piss me off. And unfortunately, it was working.

Butch, of course, didn't let it go. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at her, that maddening smirk still plastered on his face. "You know, Buttercup, you don't have to get so worked up. Your friends seem to like having me around. Maybe you should try it."

Buttercup's fists clenched under the table. He's not serious. He's just doing this to mess with me. But it still stung, the way Zach and Cassie laughed at his comment, like it was no big deal. She shot them a look, but they didn't seem to notice.

Zach leaned back in his chair, oblivious to her frustration. "Butch has a point, you know. He fits in."

Buttercup clenched her jaw. "Fitting in doesn't mean I have to like it."

Cassie nudged her playfully. "Relax, Buttercup. You're acting like we've let some stranger sit with us. Butch is cool."

"Right," Buttercup muttered, her eyes fixed on Butch, who hadn't stopped smiling at her. "Cool."

How is no one seeing what he's doing? she thought. It's like I'm the only one who gets it. It wasn't that she didn't understand why her friends liked him—he was athletic, confident, funny in that annoying way—but he wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to weasel his way into her group, her space. And yet, here he was, making himself comfortable, as if he'd been part of the crew all along.

"So," Cassie said, trying to ease the tension, "we're all heading to the arcade after school, right?"

Buttercup perked up. Finally, something to look forward to. "Yeah, I'm in," she said quickly, grateful for the change in topic.

"I'll be there too," Butch added nonchalantly, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Buttercup's head snapped toward him, disbelief flashing in her green eyes. "You're not invited."

Butch just grinned, completely unfazed. "Doesn't sound like anyone's stopping me."

Before Buttercup could argue, Zach clapped Butch on the shoulder, grinning. "More the merrier, right?"

Her blood boiled. Of course, he's going to invite himself. She wanted to scream. "Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth. "Just don't slow us down."

Butch leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Boomer

Boomer watched the scene play out from a distance, leaning casually against the cafeteria wall. He had a good view of everything from where he stood—Buttercup, getting riled up by Butch's antics, Zach and Cassie laughing like nothing was wrong, and of course, his main focus, Bubbles.

He hadn't approached her yet, choosing instead to watch, take in the scene. Bubbles was sitting with her group of friends, a bunch of girls from the cheerleading squad. They were deep in conversation, but all Boomer could focus on was her laugh—light, airy, the kind that made you smile without even thinking about it. She was the kind of girl that had that effect on people.

But his smile faded slightly when he noticed David—some guy from the soccer team—slide into the seat next to her. He leaned in closer than necessary, his eyes on her the whole time. Boomer watched as Bubbles politely smiled back, clearly engaging in conversation but not giving David too much to work with. Still, the guy was making an effort. Too much of an effort, in Boomer's opinion.

Really, man? Boomer thought, his jaw tightening as he pushed off the wall. His hands slid into his pockets as he made his way over to the table, his steps deliberate but casual. He wasn't going to make a scene, but there was no way he was going to let David think he had a shot.

"Hey, Bubbles," Boomer said as he approached, his voice warm, but with a slight edge. He nodded at her friends, but his eyes were focused on her.

Bubbles looked up, her face lighting up when she saw him. "Oh, hey, Boomer!" she said brightly. "What's up?"

Boomer leaned on the edge of the table, positioning himself just close enough to draw attention without being obvious. "Not much. Just wanted to check in. You excited for the game this weekend?"

Bubbles smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, we've been practicing hard. I'm ready for it."

Boomer nodded, his tone casual but firm. "Good. I'll be there. Wouldn't miss it."

Bubbles blinked, clearly a little surprised by his certainty. "Oh, you don't have to. I've been doing this for a while, you know."

"I know," Boomer said with a grin, leaning in just slightly. "But I want to. I'm looking forward to seeing you in action."

David, who had been watching the exchange with a slightly furrowed brow, cleared his throat. "Yeah, the cheer routine should be awesome."

Boomer shot him a quick glance, his expression friendly but with a clear undertone: Back off. He wasn't about to let some random guy swoop in and make a move on Bubbles. Not when he had his eyes on her.

Bubbles, for her part, remained polite but didn't give David much more than a nod. She turned back to Boomer, her expression softening. "Well, I guess we'll see if you actually show up," she teased lightly, her tone guarded but playful.

Boomer's grin widened. "Trust me, I'll be there."

As he stood up to leave, he gave David one last look—just a brief, knowing glance—before turning back toward his brothers. He wasn't usually the jealous type, but something about seeing another guy get too close to Bubbles made him feel… possessive. She wasn't like other girls, and that made her worth the chase. But he wasn't going to let anyone else get in the way.

She's going to be mine, Boomer thought as he walked away. Even if I have to play the long game.

Blossom

Blossom sat at the front of her biology class, her hands carefully arranging her notebook and textbook on the desk. Normally, she enjoyed this class—it was straightforward, organized, filled with facts and figures that made sense. But today, her thoughts were scattered. Part of her attention was on the project that had just been assigned, but a larger part of her was focused on the person sitting next to her.

Brick.

When the teacher announced the group project earlier that week, Blossom had mentally prepared herself for working with just about anyone. But when she saw her name next to Brick's on the assignment list, a small knot of tension had formed in her stomach. She hadn't spoken to him much since the Rowdyruff Boys returned, and the last thing she wanted was to make things awkward.

But now, here they were, seated side by side, working on a project neither of them seemed particularly excited about.

Brick was scribbling notes in his notebook, his expression as closed off as ever. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge her presence beyond what was absolutely necessary. Blossom studied him for a moment, wondering if this was his default mode now—cold, distant, and perpetually annoyed. He wasn't the same cocky, in-your-face Brick she remembered. This Brick was different.

"Let's just get this over with," Brick muttered, his eyes still on his notebook.

Blossom nodded, keeping her tone neutral. "Agreed. We can split the work, but we'll need to coordinate on the analysis."

Brick finally looked up, his red eyes flicking toward her for the briefest second before returning to his notes. "Fine. Whatever."

The tension between them was thick, but Blossom didn't push. She wasn't here to argue with him or ask questions he clearly didn't want to answer. They were stuck together for this project, and that was the extent of their relationship. For now.

After a few minutes of silence, Blossom spoke again, her voice steady. "I'll handle the research. You can take the data analysis."

Brick didn't argue. He just nodded, his jaw tight. Blossom could sense his frustration—not just with the project, but with something else, something deeper that he clearly wasn't going to talk about.

She tapped her pen against the edge of the desk, trying to think of a way to ease the tension without prying too much. She wasn't good at small talk, but sitting in silence with Brick for the entire class wasn't going to work either.

"So," she began slowly, "have you always been into biology?"

Brick's eyes flicked up again, and for a moment, he looked like he was debating whether or not to answer. After a beat, he shrugged. "It's fine."

Blossom raised an eyebrow. Fine? That wasn't much of an answer. But she didn't push. She'd learned long ago that Brick wasn't the type to give more than he had to. Still, his guarded nature intrigued her more than she wanted to admit.

They worked in silence for a while longer, the only sounds in the room coming from the soft scratch of pens on paper and the distant hum of the air conditioner. Blossom kept her focus on the project, but every so often, her eyes drifted toward Brick. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with him, but whatever it was, he wasn't going to let her in on it.

For now, this is fine, she told herself. They didn't need to be friends—they just needed to get through this project. But a part of her, a small, curious part, couldn't help but wonder: What are you hiding, Brick?

The sun was starting to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets as Buttercup made her way to the arcade. The air was warm, and a soft breeze rustled through the trees, but none of it calmed the buzzing frustration in her chest.

Her friends had already texted about meeting up, and she was half looking forward to it. The arcade was her favorite spot to blow off steam—whether it was battling Nate in air hockey or trash-talking Zach in racing games, it was always a place where she could be herself.

But today, there was a dark cloud over her plans. Butch.

The second she spotted him walking a few paces ahead with Zach and Cassie, her stomach twisted. He was laughing with them, completely at ease, like he was part of the group. And her friends, her friends, seemed totally fine with it.

He doesn't belong here, Buttercup thought, clenching her fists. He's just messing with me.

And he was messing with her. That stupid grin of his when she got annoyed, the way he acted like he fit right in when he didn't. She knew his game, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with.

She let out a breath, trying to shake it off as she caught up to them. Just ignore him. He's not gonna ruin this for you.

Inside the arcade, the familiar sounds of electronic beeps and game buzzers filled the air. The place smelled like popcorn and old carpet, and it was lit with neon lights that flickered against the darkened walls. It was packed with kids and teens, everyone huddled around machines, intensely focused on their games.

Buttercup's eyes scanned the room, spotting her favorite machines near the back—skeeball, air hockey, and the retro fighting games she could dominate with one hand tied behind her back. She was ready for this.

"So, what's the plan?" Cassie asked, looking around excitedly. "We're hitting air hockey first, right?"

Zach grinned, already heading toward the tables. "Oh, you're going down, Buttercup. It's my turn to win today."

Buttercup's lips twitched into a smile. "In your dreams."

But before she could join Zach at the air hockey table, Butch appeared beside her, rolling his shoulders back as if he was getting ready for a fight. "You know, I'm pretty good at air hockey. How about we make this a real challenge?"

Buttercup shot him a look. Of course he'd throw himself into this. "You're not playing against me," she said flatly, picking up the air hockey paddle.

Butch leaned on the side of the table, grinning at her. "Scared you'll lose?"

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "You wish."

"Prove it," he said, his grin widening. "I'll take you down in five minutes flat."

She wasn't about to let Butch worm his way into this, especially not when he was clearly trying to get under her skin. But her competitive nature got the better of her, and she found herself gripping the paddle tighter.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth, slamming the puck onto the table. "You're on."

They went back and forth across the table, the puck zipping so fast that it was hard for the other players to follow. Buttercup's eyes were laser-focused on the game, her reflexes quick and sharp as she deflected shot after shot.

Butch was good—better than she expected—but Buttercup wasn't going to let him beat her. Not in front of everyone. She could feel her competitive fire building, that familiar rush of adrenaline that came whenever she was locked in a challenge.

"You're gonna lose," Butch said with a smirk, sending the puck flying toward her with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"Not a chance," Buttercup muttered, her paddle slamming down with a satisfying clack, sending the puck flying back with even more speed.

Butch barely deflected it, his grin faltering just a little as he refocused. "You don't back down, do you?"

"Not when I know I'm gonna win," she shot back, her eyes blazing with determination.

The puck flew across the table again, and Butch lunged forward, swiping it into the goal with a fast, sharp move.

Buttercup scowled as the buzzer went off, signaling Butch's point.

"Point for me," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What's that, two to one?"

Buttercup grit her teeth. "I'm just warming up."

But as the game continued, something strange started happening. As much as she wanted to stay angry at Butch, there was a part of her that… was starting to enjoy it. The way he pushed her, challenged her, made her want to play harder. She hated to admit it, but it was kind of fun going against someone who could actually keep up with her.

Still, she wasn't about to let him know that.

"Come on, Buttercup, is that all you've got?" Butch teased, his eyes gleaming with competitive excitement.

Buttercup narrowed her eyes, then suddenly swung the paddle in an impossibly fast arc, sending the puck straight into Butch's goal with a loud clunk.

"Four to three," she said, smirking. "Looks like you're slipping."

Butch laughed, shaking his head. "You wish. I'm just getting started."

Before they could get back into it, though, Cassie called from across the room. "Hey, you guys! There's a long line for air hockey. Let's check out the skeeball machines!"

"Yeah, come on," Zach added. "We'll settle this later."

Buttercup huffed, feeling the adrenaline still buzzing through her veins. She wasn't done yet, but as she turned to follow her friends, Butch stepped in front of her.

"I'm not finished with you," he said, his voice low but playful, leaning in just a little. His closeness caught her off guard for a second.

Buttercup raised an eyebrow, her pulse kicking up. "Yeah, well, you're gonna have to wait."

Butch smiled, then jerked his head toward the far side of the arcade. "Fine, but I bet you can't beat me at skeeball."

Buttercup smirked, pushing down the strange flutter in her chest. "Oh, please. Skeeball's for beginners."

Butch shrugged, his smile widening. "Let's see what you got."

Without waiting for her to respond, he started walking toward the back of the arcade, weaving through the crowd like it was nothing. Buttercup's eyes narrowed. He was baiting her, as usual. But something about it was different now. Less irritating, more... challenging in a way that actually made her want to play along.

Before she knew it, she was following him, her friends already distracted by a racing game in another corner of the room. She didn't realize how far they'd walked until they reached a nearly empty part of the arcade, the noise of the crowd fading into the background.

Butch stood next to a skeeball machine, tossing a ball casually, but his eyes were on her.

"You really think you can beat me at this?" she asked, sliding a token into the machine next to his.

"Doesn't hurt to try," Butch replied, tossing another ball with precision, the ball landing in the 50-point hole.

Buttercup picked up her own ball, rolling it with quick precision into the 40-point hole. "You're not as good as you think."

Butch grinned, throwing another ball, this one perfectly landing in the 100-point slot. "Guess we'll see about that."

The game between them went from competitive to something else entirely. With every roll of the ball, they edged closer to each other, their shoulders brushing as they tossed another round. Buttercup hated how easily he could get to her, how his presence alone made her more fired up, more focused. But the more they played, the more she realized… she was actually having fun.

And the more she realized that, the more annoyed she got with herself.

"Okay, that's it," Buttercup said, dropping the ball in frustration after Butch scored another 100 points. "This game is rigged."

Butch chuckled, tossing the last ball lazily into the 20-point hole. "You say that every time you lose."

"I don't lose," Buttercup retorted, leaning on the edge of the machine, her arms crossed. "I just choose not to waste my time on dumb games."

Butch stepped closer, leaning his arm on the machine next to hers. "You sure about that? 'Cause it seems like you're just mad I'm better than you."

Buttercup rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the small smile creeping onto her lips. "In your dreams."

Butch grinned, but before he could say anything else, the lights in the arcade flickered for a moment. A couple of the machines buzzed, the power surging for a split second.

Butch's eyes flicked up to the lights, his expression sharpening. "Did you feel that?"

Buttercup frowned, her senses kicking in. She'd been so caught up in the games, she hadn't been paying attention, but now that he mentioned it, something was off. The electric hum in the air was stronger than usual.

Before she could respond, Butch took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "It's probably nothing, but—"

He didn't finish. A crackle of energy buzzed around them, and suddenly the machines around them sparked, electricity jumping between them.

Without thinking, Buttercup reacted instinctively, her eyes flashing green as she raised a hand, creating a quick burst of energy to block the sparks from hitting them. Butch moved just as fast, throwing up a barrier of his own to contain the rest of the electricity.

The sparks fizzled out, and the arcade returned to its usual hum of noise, but Buttercup could feel the adrenaline still thrumming in her veins.

"Well," Butch said, brushing a hand through his hair. "That was fun."

Buttercup shot him a look. "What the hell was that?"

Butch shrugged. "Weird power surge, maybe? We stopped it. No big deal."

Buttercup huffed, dropping her hands. "You act like that happens every day."

Butch grinned again, stepping closer to her. "With you around? Who knows?"

Buttercup opened her mouth to argue, but then she caught the look in his eyes—mischievous but also... different. Less teasing, more genuine.

For the first time since they'd started hanging out, she didn't feel the urge to punch him. Instead, she felt... something else. Something that made her heart beat just a little faster.

No way, she thought, shaking her head. I'm not warming up to him. Not after all this.

Butch chuckled, stepping back. "Come on. We should get back to your friends before they think we ditched them."

Buttercup watched him for a second before reluctantly nodding. "Yeah. Don't get used to winning, though."

Butch's grin widened. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As they walked back toward the main area of the arcade, Buttercup couldn't help but feel a strange shift in the air between them. He still got on her nerves, sure, but something had changed. And for the first time, she wasn't entirely sure that was a bad thing.