Archive of Our Own ^beta

Brick remembers the first time he saw her.

He was made from horrible things, made from evil and destruction, and obviously hated the most the one that was his counterpart. That long auburn hair he wanted to rip out of her head, pink eyes he wanted to see crying, burn that skin and make her girly voice scream in pain.

He was only seven, but his hands trembled with desire to create chaos.

Then, she kissed him, out of nowhere. He was dead.

Again, brought to life for the second time, Brick wanted more. Vengeance? Too little to express the size of the evil inside his heart. He wanted, needed to kill her, to ban her from existence, destroy every particle that made her body, with his bare hands if possible.

But turned out that the same way it was impossible for them to defeat the Rowdyruff Boys, it was impossible to defeat the Powerpuff Girls. Not because they didn’t have the power to do so, but because just like a normal person, they all grew up, and suddenly destruction wasn’t a priority anymore.

And Brick always said to his brothers: don’t get close, don’t talk to them, don’t mix with them, they’re our rivals.

But Boomer was dumb enough to disregard this order with the blondie when they shared a class in Sophomore year. They started talking, laughing, sitting together, and soon enough she was everything he babbled about, even with Brick telling that she was forbidden.

He told them to not get close, falling in love was implicit, goddamnit.

He still remembered how his vision got red when Bubbles entered the front door with Boomer, holding hands, a stupid smile on both their faces.

“I just wanted to communicate you that Bubbles and I are dating.”

“No”, Brick answered, and his brother frowned. “I forbid you. I said that we mustn’t get close to them.”

“You really said? Wow, I thought Boomie was kidding”, Bubbles teased, crossing her arms.

“Whatever. Fuck off, you’re the dumbest of us”, he said to his younger brother, getting up to leave. Butch was on the kitchen, watching the scene while eating a box of cereal. “You better not repeat his mistakes.”

But no more than a year after, Butch did exactly what he was told not to. Brick was walking in the cafeteria when spotted Buttercup and Butch sitting close, whispering at each other, and the Puff ended giggling. He knew them sufficiently to be aware that Buttercup never giggled, and Butch never smiled like that before.

He was coming out of the training room when Butch opened the door of his bedroom, no shirt, and called him.

“So, BC is here, is that fine?”

Brick looked inside and Buttercup was there, on his brother’s bed, lying on her belly, looking at something on her phone. She was wearing one of Butch’s shirts, bare legs.

“Hey, Brick”, she called over her shoulder.

His vision reddened again, and flew to an asteroid belt to destroy some of them.

One year had passed and Brick was suddenly forced to divide his moments with them. Bubbles and Boomer looked like a married couple, Buttercup practically living on his apartment, even sleeping on Butch’s bedroom on weekends, and he had to buy ear plugs to avoid listening to something when both of the Girls were present.

And when destruction wasn’t an option anymore, Brick started doing therapy. He was more controlled now. He really felt like it – sometimes he still had the urge to put fire on everything and make people suffer, but most of times he just despised everyone, cursed or just left the place, avoiding greater damage.

Even HIM noticed how much calmer he was. Brick heard HIM commenting with Mojo, a day after he came from a “date”, forced to share a table with the two couples and with her.

Her.

A pronoun that makes him shiver more than the masculine one, on his first years of life.

She still was the snobbish, proud, controlling, bossy, unbearable girl he met.

But now…

The sound of her irritating girly voice became soft, and made him shiver when she said his name, trying to sound authoritative. She was too good to be anything close to authoritarian, but it was nice to see her try. Hands on her waist, frowning, plump lips closed in a furious line.

Brick would just put his hands in his pockets and stare back at her, smirking, eyebrows up.

It made her furious. He loved it.

He would mock her tirelessly, day and night, every time their brothers would oblige them to get together, testing her patience. She was good at that, pretending she was fine, but some looks she threw at him made clear that she wanted to kill him.

He loved it, too. It was reciprocal.

“She’s used to me doing it, that’s why she’s so good at pretending. Like a pissed mom would do to an annoying child in public”, Buttercup once said to him, when he, Boomer, Butch and she were eating breakfast on a Sunday.

“You’re saying I’m annoying?” Brick asked, perplexed.

“C’mon, dude”, she laughed, legs resting on Butch’s lap, his hand caressing her thighs. The intimate things their brothers would do with their girlfriends made him uncomfortable. “You drive her insane. She once said she wanted to strangle you, and blamed me for being so violent that was influencing her.”

Brick hated to admit, but Butch’s girlfriend wasn’t that bad. She was actually quite nice, having interests close to his brothers. Bubbles, on the other hand, was too happy for his taste.

What Buttercup said stayed on his mind.

I drive her insane. She drives me insane.

Maybe we can put it to a good use.

He mentioned it to his psychologist.

“You’re telling me you’re planning to propose a fight with Blossom, so you two can resolve the mutual hate?”

“Exactly”, he answered, looking at his red Vans and not at the woman in front of him. The thought seemed better on his mind.

“Brick, I don’t think this is a good idea.” The psychologist sighed, but by the tone of her voice, he knew the woman wanted to laugh. “You could just sit down and talk, like grown human beings, and resolve everything.”

“Out of question.” He crossed his arms, looking up. “I may be very civilized now, but I won’t talk to her like a fucking diplomate.”

“Your brothers did it. Why can’t you?” The psychologist asked.

Brick huffed. “Because they’re weak.”

“They’re weak because they figured out how to pass over the resentments you have had since you were children, were able to admit and even discover that what they feel for the Girls are reciprocal?”

Brick rolled his eyes. “Tch. Love is the key to become weak. The fighter who has something to lose can’t fight with all his strength.”

“Why do you need to fight?”

Brick paused. They didn’t have a physical fight for a long time, not even Butch and Buttercup (he knew they resolved their problems in other ways, now). Sometimes they even fought side by side against monsters.

“I’m a fighter”, Brick answered, looking down again.

“I thought your brother was the fighter, and you were the leader.” The psychologist crossed her arms. “Your brothers passed your leadership and decided what was best for them, and even for you, instead of you.”

It hurt his pride.

“Besides, I know how good are your grades, and how much you like to read, and study, and be alone. Do you think that if your relationship with them were complete chaos, would you have any time to do your things?”

He leaned his head against the couch.

“Touchée.”

“I’m not telling you to love Blossom, not at all. I may add that I think that’s impossible, due the negative feelings you have with her. But maybe she turns out not so bad, like you said Buttercup is.”

“You’re telling me to became friends with... her?” Brick scoffed.

He hates saying her name.

“No. Just… try to stop hating her, first.”

His psychologist helped him lots. If wasn’t for her, he would probably be in jail, accused for genocide.

So, Brick tries to stop hating.

🌸

He actually starts to listen what she says during their AP classes. She has a good rhetoric on Politics’ debates, likes to talk about International Laws, is good at Calculus, a certain talent to Chemistry, and even likes some books he likes, too.

He notices how there’s a difference between her real smiles and laughs and the ones she fakes to be social. How her long nose wrinkles when she’s laughing about something genuinely funny, how the corners of her mouth raise just a bit when teachers compliment her, her serious expression when debating, frowning and chewing the end of her pen when concentrated. How she taps her nails – always in red polish – on her leg, dangling it when anxious. Her voice is almost all the time at a slightly cheered up tone, but when no one’s looking (besides him, of course), she stares blankly at people, even rolling her eyes from time to time, as if those mere mortals bored her.

This particularly makes Brick smile.

She always dresses much more formal than her sisters – Buttercup’s always wearing sport clothes, tighter and basic, and Bubbles likes romantic summer dresses, bows and transparencies. The way she dresses is so incredible well-behaved, but at the same time lets the mind wanders, especially when she’s using skirts. She likes sandals, sometimes with, sometimes without heels, and is always smelling like a floral scent – how cliché.

She has a slightly irritating habit of twisting locks of hair on her finger, especially when distracted, biting the inside of the cheek, her full lips in an almost-pout. He almost got caught looking at her on those moments more than once.

Her voice is firm and kind, most of the time, a kind of motherly (he thinks – he never had a mom, a demon doesn’t count – he makes a mental note to tell this to his psychologist), but she’s always annoyed when talking to him or Buttercup. When she’s happy, talking to her friends, her tone rises a little bit, and sometimes Brick catches her looking around, covering her mouth shyly, as if her excitement was some crime.

It’s funny paying attention to her relationship with her sisters. She’s constantly arguing with Buttercup, and Bubbles seems to be the one to give her advices. It’s quite similar to his relationship with his brothers: Brick’s always punching Butch and Boomer sometimes still listens to what he has to say.

It’s impressive how much control she has, and how much controlling she can be at the same time.

He wonders if she ever relaxed – he knows she must have a lot over her shoulders, like he used to feel before things settled down.

But she’s the superhero, not him.

Brick’s just a guy with superpowers, a little inclined to evil. He doesn’t have to deal with press conferences, propaganda, appearances, being a good example to kids, and whatever else Bubbles once told him.

Besides all that, she’s the president of student council and the Debating Club, one with the higher grades (after him), always talking and smiling to everyone.

Doesn’t she get tired?

🌸

Her voice calling his name after he says something, with a lot of cursing involved, of course, makes Brick's insides twist. He almost fails in his nonchalant pose because being disturbed by her is news to him.

“What?” Brick asks, not even looking, balancing on the back legs of the chair. He knows she’s on the pose.

“Language! You can’t debate saying that the f-something imperialism is guilty of underdevelopment in Latin America!” When directed to him, her voice is loud and bossy, pink eyes flashing in irritation. “And sit straight!”

“Why not? It’s true.” Brick continues balancing on the chair, looking at the boy in front of him, who seems a little frightened. He’s not interested in memorizing people’s names.

“Don’t curse. I’m warning you”, she points a finger at his face.

Brick scoffs. “Or what? You’re going to imprison me?”

“I could!” She replies, exasperated.

“Under what claim? Because I said that fucking imperialism is the reason why South America developed only 10 percent, and I’m being optimistic, of what it could?” Brick crosses his arms, still looking at the boy.

“Because it seems that at any moment you are going to blow this school up!” She answers. “And I agree with you in this, I just can’t let you say inappropriate words in class!”

Time seems to stop. Brick looks at her, slowly, frowning, and something changes. He knows all class has their eyes on them.

“You said you agree with me?”

She blinks twice, before averting her pink eyes to the floor. Brick can swear she’s blushing. “I did.”

“I thought you were a Conservative…?” He mumbles, genuinely confused.

She looks up again, seeming offended. “Of course not! You never payed attention to my seminaries on Women’s Rights, and LGBTQIA+ movements? Reproductive Rights? Gender Equality?”

She knows his answer. Obviously, he didn’t.

The signal of her blushing when talking to him is news, too. It makes Brick feel funny. Suddenly, he’s not angry anymore.

He simply looks to the boy in front of him. “As I was saying, the f-something imperialism is guilty.” He smirks, voice less rough, expression close to normal.

Some people laugh, the boy seems to relax, and starts to talk his retort. Brick can’t fight the urge to look at her, so he pretends he’s cracking his neck. She’s serious, but for a fraction of a second her eyes lock on his, and a slightly trace of smile appears on the corner of her mouth.

Her cheeks redden, and Brick stops balancing on the chair.

🌸

They go out with their siblings to grab some burgers at a food truck two weeks later. Brick’s walking a little far from them, Bubbles tangling arms with her and Boomer, Butch with an arm around Buttercup’s shoulders.

Butch stops a bit, waiting for Brick to reach them. “So, wanna smoke some, bro?”

Buttercup hits his arm. “I told you to not bring it, dumbass!”

“So he doesn’t listen to you either”, Brick grins, hands on the pockets of his jeans. “Is it good?”

Butch takes his arm out from Buttercup and pats his leather jacket pocket, grabbing a ziplock with a big smile. “Great.”

Brick nods, and Buttercup rolls her eyes.

“Stoners.”

They get a little far from people, next to a bus stop, dimly lit and empty. Butch rolls the joint for them in record time. “I’ll eat ten burgers after this.”

“Glad you’re paying”, Brick smiles. Bubbles, Boomer and she approach them.

“What are you doing?” Bubbles asks. “We already ordered ours.”

“Those jackasses are going to smoke before”, Buttercup answers for them. Brick looks at her, but her eyes are on his brother, frowning.

“I want to enjoy full potential of this meal”, Butch answers, looking around before grabbing the lighter and lightning the joint. He takes three puffs before passing it to Brick.

He smokes, feeling the familiar sensation of it burning his throat a little, exhaling away from people’s faces, doing it two more times. He closes his eyes, leaning again the bus stop, fighting the smile that creeps on his lips.

“Want some, Boomer?” Butch offers, and Boomer thinks a little more than he should.

“Nah, dude. I’m good.” He refuses looking at Bubbles. Brick hates his brother is always trying to be a good person next to the blondie.

“Shame”, he murmurs.

Her eyes are finally on him, and he smokes looking directly at her, like a dare.

I dare you to look away.

When he exhales, she blushes again. He’s starting to like it – makes her uncomfortable, makes him feeling powerful. Like the strategy he used with her as a kid finally worked.

When they’re finally eating, Brick’s silent, and she’s chatting about school with Boomer. The conversation is quickly ended when Bubbles starts feeding her boyfriend with fries, and she’s silent too.

Brick cleans his throat, she looks up. She has some make-up, dark rosy lips, eyelids glittery. He thinks it’s such a waste of time, put on all that stuff just to eat burgers with her sisters.

“Didn’t know you smoke”, she starts conversation, shyly. Brick restrains the surprise in his face; he never heard her voice so low and uncertain.

He looks quickly at the couples. Boomer and Bubbles are still feeding each other, like one of them is incapable of doing it alone, and Butch and Buttercup are watching something on her phone, laughing.

“I do”, Brick says. He doesn’t know why she’s talking to him.

“You do it frequently?” She asks again.

He sighs loudly, trying to look annoyed. “Often”, answers, taking some fries. His eyes are scanning her face, again daring her to look down; this time, she doesn’t.

“You know the neurons you kill when smoking won’t ever return?”

She’s using a fork and a knife to eat the burger. Brick has to fake a cough not to laugh at that.

“I know.”

She continues eating like a princess, each piece delicately, so her lipstick remains intact. It’s fucking ridiculous, Brick thinks.

They don’t talk after that.

🌸

The next Politics class, Brick isn’t debating, but she is, against some girl he knows is from a church, and he’s sketching on his notebook, cap in a strategic placement that covers his eyes.

The girl starts saying something and he’s obviously not paying attention, but when the teacher stops the clock, his hand pauses, pencil on the last detail he drew.

“Blossom, your turn. You have five minutes.”

Brick looks slightly up, and everything he can see from that angle is her crossed legs, red plain shirt, black skirt and summer sandals, her toes with red polish, too.

“Abortion should be a constitutional right. We can start from the premise that if men got impregnated, abortion would be legal. It’s a clear violation against women’s rights, forbid us from deciding if we want to change our entire lives. The government can’t opine about people’s bodies, it goes directly against the free will, the first Human Right, and mainly in the liberalism that says to guide this nation, and many other. Generating a life is a very important thing, which will have numerous consequences, especially for women, and involves a series of factors—”

Brick looks at her thighs the entire debate. Her voice, firm, makes him bite his lips – she’s not authoritarian, but absolutely sure about that subject; her arguments are accurate and based on scientific evidence, and she doesn't even stutter – it genuinely impresses him.

She clearly wins. He looks up in the instant she’s shaking hands with her opponent, smiling brightly. Brick’s so busy thinking how much he hates that smug face when she catches him looking at her.

Lasts less than two seconds, but it’s enough to make his neck and ears warm. Brick leaves the room and almost trips on his way to do it – and he can swear he heard her laugh.

🌸

Brick hated sharing the table with the Girls, but by now he’s getting used to it. Buttercup always brings lunch, and Bubbles sometimes makes decorated tupperwares for each one of them. He’s a bit glad that they include him in these little things, even thought he tends to fast all morning.

But one day she’s not with Bubbles when she enters the cafeteria. Brick pretends he’s not looking for her, again faking a neck cracking, but Buttercup taps her nails on the table, getting his attention.

“She’s at the Principal.”

He opens his mouth to say that he has no idea who she’s talking about, but by now Buttercup is intimate enough to punch him, so Brick remains quiet.

“Who?” Butch asks, chocolate on his cheeks, munching a brownie. She shakes her head, wiping it with her finger, and he smirks. “Was it dirty?”

“Can’t you eat without making a fucking mess?” Buttercup asks, and Butch nuzzles her face with his.

“Clean for me.”

She laughs, pushing his face away after kissing him on the nose, and Brick rolls his eyes.

Love is for the weak.

He’s trying hard to ignore the love birds when she scares him, sitting right on his side, face flushed, smiling openly like always. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and some of it brushes his arm.

“So, guess what?” She asks, and Bubbles stops feeding Boomer to smile back, excited. “I’ll be the speaker at our graduation!”

“Wow, nobody expected this!” Buttercup mocks, and she looks coldly to her sister. “Blossom, obviously you were going to be chosen. There’s no goody two-shoes like you, sis.”

Brick disguises a laugh with a cough, but Butch fully laughs and Boomer smirks, Bubbles rolling her eyes.

She doesn’t like the joke.

“Someone has to be the good example, Buttercup.” She crosses her legs under the table, and her knee bumps Brick’s, making him recoil and move in the opposite direction quickly as if a lightning bolt had hit him.

She looks at him, eyebrows up, but Brick avoids her eyes.

Couple minutes pass. Boomer and Bubbles go talk with the Drama table, Butch and Buttercup to get some sodas, and he’s sitting in a secure distance from her now, Metallica ringing loudly from one of his earphones.

Brick feels her switching her posture, crossing arms over the table, looking at him. She’ll talk to me.

“You’re not hungry?” Her voice is calm. He hates her calm voice – is unfamiliar to him, and make his lower belly weird.

“No”, Brick says, eyes on the phone screen.

“Oh”, She whispers, and he has to look up to that small sound. She’s biting her lips, and it’s his time to cross his leg, annoyed. “It’s just I never saw you eating, and I’m not hungry, so I thought… You might want…”

She nods in the direction of her brownies. Brick frowns.

“I do intermittent fasting.”

She opens her mouth, nodding. “Do you think it works?”

He shrugs. “I don’t feel hunger. And I’m more alert. Helps losing some weight.”

“You don’t need to lose weight, you look fin—” she points out and holds her breath, like she said something wrong.

Brick presses his lips together.

Was that a compliment? What the fuck?

“Means the fasting is working”, he answers dryly.

She nods. They are silent again.

A sigh makes Brick looks at the brownies, and he knows she’s watching him.

“Bubbles’ going to be sad.” She supports her face in one hand. Brick rolls his eyes. “I asked her to keep me some, but I forgot and ate on the first break, so…”

He reaches the brownies and eats in just one bite, and she yelps slightly, shaking her head.

“Why you ate? What about your fasting?” She asks, voice a little higher, surprised. He likes the feeling of disturbing her.

“Two brownies won’t destroy me”, Brick grumbles, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I’m not in the mood to hear your sister whining about it.”

Butch and Buttercup are returning when she gets a few centimeters next to him. He feels the side closest to her shiver, as if close to danger.

“Thanks, Brick”, she says, voice soft.

He’s absolute sure that his ears are turning red, and doesn’t say anything back.

🌸

Brick hates that the first thing he thinks of asking Buttercup, one afternoon she invites him to play basketball, is if her sister will be there – he doesn’t know why, but his mouth opens and Buttercup raises an eyebrow to him. He just accepts, mumbling whatever over the book he’s reading, and half an hour later the Boys and Green Puff are in one of the courts in a park next their apartment.

“Me and Brick against you suckers”, Buttercup points at Butch and Boomer, and her boyfriend pouts.

“Why do you wanna be with him?” He’s clearly jealous, and Brick crosses his arms, sighing.

“Because we are too good, we can’t be together. You would smash them.”

Buttercup winks, throwing her arms around Butch’s neck, and it seems to satisfy him, making them share a quick kiss.

“I want to see you complain about me and Bubbles after that.” Boomer elbows his older brother on the ribs playfully, and Brick scoffs.

“Difficult to choose who’s the worst couple between you two.”

But he’s surprised Buttercup was right. She’s really good herself, but his brother is almost as good as she; soon Brick’s dripping in sweat, struggling to keep up, and Boomer is almost as bad as he.

Brick scores a three-point shot and Buttercup high-fives him, laughing.

“Great job, dude!”

He just smirks, returning to his position, but Boomer’s faster, scoring right after him. He hears Bubbles cheering and turns around to find the blondie clapping on a bench.

They continue until Buttercup scores three three-point shots in a row, and the game finally ends. He fists bumps her, laughing a little, exhausted, and Butch hugs Boomer, the blonde’s face completely red.

Brick seats next to Bubbles, wiping his face on a towel, and she raises up, giving Boomer a towel and a bottle of water.

“Boomie, you were great!” She giggles, kissing his cheek, and he takes the water.

“Don’t kiss me, I’m sweaty”, he says, panting, but Bubbles hugs him anyway, making him laugh.

“You know I don’t mind when you’re sweaty. Actually, I like it.” She’s clearly teasing him, and Brick pretends he can’t listen to them, taking his sneakers off and concentrating on the sweat droplets on his back.

“You like, huh?” Boomer kisses her neck, and Bubbles giggles, hands on his wet hair. “I know you do.”

His hands are going down her waist when she lets a high-pitched noise, making Boomer laugh. “Want some ice cream? I want some ice cream!” Bubbles gets away from him, biting her lip. “You deserve some!”

“Do I?” Boomer cleans his face with the towel. “What flavor?”

She fakes an innocent expression, but her tone is full of second-thoughts. “Blue cotton candy.”

Boomer wipes his face, laughing. “Yeah, maybe some of blue cotton candy will make me feel better. Where’s the ice cream guy?”

“Right there, next to those trees.” She points, and Boomer raises his eyebrows, grinning.

“Those trees, where’s no one’s close to?”

“Exactly”, Bubbles replies, and Brick looks with the corner of his eye to her. She has an unmistakable desire look on her face, lids heavy and biting her lip. Boomer starts jogging to her, and soon they’re gone, giggling.

Idiots. Who do they think they’re fooling with that ice-cream bullshit?

Brick looks up to Butch and Buttercup, still playing basketball. She dodges him, scoring a two-points shot, and shows the tongue to her boyfriend, making him run after her, the two playing that game for a while, when Butch catches Buttercup by the waist, turning her in the air, both laughing.

Brick hates those moments, when he’s alone, having to witness moments of affection. He likes that his brothers are happy, but it’s weird and uncomfortable being the third wheel to two couples at the same time.

He takes a deep breath, sun burning his skin, and starts to feel a little dizzy, cursing himself for sitting in a place with no shadow and for not bringing a water bottle or any money to buy some. It's strangely hot for a spring day.

Brick rests his head on his knees, closing his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Certainly, his blood pressure is low due to the exercise under the hot sun, heat waves coming from the asphalt under his feet.

“Fuck”, he curses. Training on their training room is nothing compared to keeping up with Buttercup and Butch on basketball.

Brick is so tired he doesn’t realize someone’s getting close to him. He takes another deep breath, counting to ten, when her floral parfum disturbs him, making him look up so quickly his blood pressure definitely drops, and he almost falls backwards.

“Brick!” She yelps, holding him by his shoulders. He doesn’t know if it’s the sun, or the fact he’s too white to his own good, but her hands burn him, and he cringes. “Are you fine?”

He raises a hand in front of his face, trying to block the sunbeams. “Yes.”

“No, you’re not, your lips are pale and you’re hot!” She says, bossy tone, and he can’t resist smirking.

“Thanks. I work out.” His voice is rough, and he’s thirsty. Brick doesn’t see how her face gets flushed, nor the way she rolls her eyes at him, closing his to take a discreet deep breath.

Returning to her posture, she asks, “Can you get up? I think your blood pressure’s down.”

“I’m fine. Don’t need your help”, Brick mumbles, feeling dizzy. “Do you have water with you?”

“Come here, stubborn”, she complains, and he manages to get up, following her blindly out of the courts. “Sit down”, she tells him after a couple minutes, and he obeys, eyes still closed and only realizing he’s finally on the shadow when his head rests against a cold wall.

However, Brick feels a colder thing touching his forehead, contrasting with his hot skin, and groans in protest.

“What the fuck—” he holds it, and widens his eyes at the sight of a water bottle, almost freezing. He looks at her, and she’s squatting beside him, hands resting on her knees, their faces at the same height.

“Language”, she smiles, nodding at the bottle at his hands. “Drink it. You’ll feel better.”

Brick doesn’t want to look desperate, but it’s hard – he drinks everything in just one sip, without even breathing. He finishes it and hands it to her, resting his head on the wall and breathing deeply.

“Did you eat?” She asks, now sitting with crossed legs in front of him. She uses her ice breath to put some ice inside the bottle, putting it on the floor. “It will melt, then you can drink again.”

Brick shrugs, trying not to think on how she’s using her special power in his benefit. “Maybe.”

She chuckles. It’s a new sound. “You’re still punishing yourself for those brownies?”

He raises an eyebrow at that, and is forced to open on eye to look at her. She’s twisting a lock of that bright orange hair on a finger, looking down, a smirk on her lips — fucking teasing him.

This is also new. Makes him even more uncomfortable.

“Where did you came from?” He changes the subject, tries to focus on continuing breathing deeply.

“Yoga class. Bubbles called me but I could only come now”, she answers, and he finally notices her clothes.

Tank top and yoga shorts, showing a hell lot of skin – more than he ever saw, that he ever even thought of before. He never imagined her chest and shoulders would be covered in freckles.

Brick’s glad he’s already flushed, because he can definitely see the curve of her breasts from that angle.

He closes his eyes again, trying not to think about it so much. He’s a teenager, after all – he has to recognize even the girl he hates the most is…

Well. A girl.

He’s sweating a lot, too, and starts raising the ends of his shirt to make some wind, trying to cool himself down, and whispers a tch, annoyed at the sweat on his neck and back.

“You’re sweating a lot”, she points out, and he refrains an ironic exclamation to simply nod. “Maybe I can help?”

Brick looks at her, irritated. She, in contrary of almost every one, doesn’t seem to get intimidated by his expressions – he hates that.

“How?”

She blows an ice wind in controlled proportions at him, and a whispered fuck leaves his mouth again when the cold touches his face and neck, a welcomed shock that makes him shiver, resting his head against the wall again and pressing his lips together.

She keeps cooling him until Brick sneezes, and she stops, cheeks in a crimson red, and he locks his eyes on hers.

I dare you to look away.

Brick wins again after maybe a minute.

“Water is cool to drink”, she says, voice weak, and Brick grabs the bottle to drink it up in just a sip again. She sighs, frustrated. “Well, now I’ll have to do more.”

“Why are you helping me?”

She twists her hair on a finger again, not looking at him. He can feel her knee close to his.

“That’s what a hero does. Helps people”, she says, and Brick scoffs, shaking his head.

“I’m your enemy. Why would you do it?” He insists, and she rolls her eyes.

“We’re not enemies anymore, your brothers are dating my sisters.”

”I’m your enemy”, he repeats, raising his eyebrows.

“Can’t you accept that I helped you? I don’t want nothing in return, I just did because that’s what I would want people to do for me, if I was having problems!”

“I think I would never do this for anyone besides my brothers.”

She crosses her arms, finally getting pissed. “Fine, Brick, next time your blood pressure drops and you almost faint, I won’t hold you and give you water. I’ll just leave you burning in a court!”

Brick laughs. She seems surprised at that.

She’s always catch by the teasing.

They stay in silence for a while. He uses his shirt to wipe the sweat on his forehead and misses the way she looks at his body, biting her lip.

“Is it still hot?” she asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes”, Brick whispers. He’s hungry, too.

“Do you want me to…” she whispers, tapping her fingers on her knees, and he clears his throat before saying yes again.

Brick never thought her ice breath could be so useful. She used it against him innumerous times when they used to fight against each other, and he used his heat vision against her.

She keeps blowing cold wind to him until he’s not flushed anymore. The weather is still hot, but she remains impassible, not even a little sign of sweat on her face.

“How could you be cool like this on one million degrees?” Brick asks, curious.

“I’m naturally colder. Feel.” She seems surprised at his tone, without malice or disdain, and extends an arm at his direction. Brick hesitates, looking from her arm to her face. The hair on her arm is blonde, contrasting to her skin a bit. She rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Brick touches her forearm with his, and can’t avoid looking surprised to feel she’s actually really colder, as if his skin is burning on fever.

It’s the first time in his life he ever touches her.

“Maybe it’s due the cold. My special power.” She shrugs. His hands are close to hers, and he pays attention to her perfectly painted nails. “Maybe that’s why your body temperature is so high, too.”

He considers it. It’s a plausible explanation.

“Never thought about it.” He mumbles. She smiles shyly.

“There’s a lot of specific things Professor is discovering about the Chemical X. I’ve always had so many questions about it.” She looks up at him. There’s some hair falling on her face, as her bangs starts to come out of her hair clips.

“We’re not actually made of the X.” Brick tells her, and she frowns.

“No?”

“Jojo used a toilet. I mean, a jail toilet is probably really radioactive. So.” He smirks, making her smile back.

He hates how this makes him feel weird - she smiled so easily, like she would do to a random person. She never once smiled like that to him.

“I’ll tell Bubbles she’s kissing a guy that came from a dirty toilet.” Her expression is so similar to Buttercup's when she’s doing some prank that disturbs him, and Brick almost laughs, when the green puff in question, right next to her boyfriend, spot them.

“There you are! Hey, sis.” Buttercup smiles, hands on her waist. Another similarity. “We’re starving, for fuck’s sake. Let’s grab some lunch.”

“Are you alright, bro?” Butch asks, kneeling down to Brick. “The sun, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m fine now, just need to eat.” Brick nods, getting up with a little difficulty, ignoring the worried way she looks at him, getting up too.

“Is this frequent? Blood pressure falling after exercising?” She looks at Brick, but he ignores it, looking at his feet.

“He’s probably with empty stomach and didn’t drink enough water.” Butch crosses his arms. “So, frequent.”

Brick mouths a fuck you to his brother.

“So, let’s go, I need to find Boomer before he gets Bubbles pregnant, that bastard.” Buttercup rolls her eyes. “Glad you’re here. She won’t ever listen to me.”

“That’s how I feel with you.” She says, accompanying her sister, Butch right behind them.

Brick gets the water bottle and walks behind them too. He really, really, really tries not to look at her, her freckled shoulders, long orange hair almost getting to her bottom, blue yoga shorts. He really tries not to get flushed, or to think how her, from all people in the world, helped him from passing out, or wander where the hell those curves and other things came from.

But he’s a teenage boy, after all.

🌸

The next Politics class, the teacher requests someone to debate and she immediately raises her hand. Brick sinks into the seat, crossing his arms, trying to go unnoticed by everyone and considers taking a nap.

“Blossom? Right. Do you want to choose someone to debate with, or can I choose?” the teacher asks. His cap is strategically positioned, hiding his eyes, and he leans against the wall, ready to sleep.

“Brick.” He hears her authoritarian voice, knuckles of his fists white, trying to control himself. “First of all, you can’t sleep at class.”

Says who, he mouths, sitting properly and propping his chin on his hand. Her pink eyes narrow at him, and he raises an eyebrow.

He knows she heard him with the superhearing.

“Great, so!” The teacher sits on the table top. “You know the rules, Blossom, Brick. Respect, wait the other one’s speech to end, no violence.” The middle-age man looks at Brick. “Good debate.”

She seats on the desk positioned to debating, and Brick drops himself on the desk in front of her, snorting, arms crossed.

He hates this. Hates that he wanted to do that stupid class on the first hand, that she wanted too, that the teacher didn’t avoid the conflict between the two – for fuck’s sake, everyone knows they’re enemies!

“So. Want to pick a subject?” she asks, crossing her legs. She’s wearing jeans today, and a white polo shirt.

But Brick thinks. His psychologist was right - he's the leader, not the fighter. It's Butch's job to get things in the psysical way - with her, the best way to fight is in the intellectual field, the one she’s best on, almost as good as he, and maybe, maybe, he can defeat her in this.

Well, this isn’t physical, and he’s trying to stop hate her for more than two months, now. That was the advice.

“Ladies first.” He wets his lips. Her smile fades a bit.

“Okay. Demilitarization of the police.” She joins her fingertips, looking like a news anchor.

“Agree.” Brick says, looking at his black Nikes. He notices she has short heels on, foot dangling a little.

“Hm. Social inequality.”

“Sucks.”

She bites her lip, annoyed. “Global warming.”

“Happening at the moment.” He yawns, looking up at her. Her cheeks are starting to get red, and she’s obviously controlling herself. Like a pissed mom with an annoying child.

"Labour rights."

"You didn't pay attention to my seminar about International Labour Organization, two weeks ago?" Brick defies her, shaking his head negatively, a fake disappointment, repeating a thing she said months earlier.

“Violence.” she taps her pen on her thigh, cheeks a little flushed in embarrassment.

“Too vague.” He shakes his head. “You want to know if whether I am in favor of violence, or what?”

“What do you think about the violence in urban centers, and what could we do to stop its raising?” she passes a hand through her hair, falling over her shoulders. Brick looks at its movement for a couple seconds.

“You should be the one answering it, you perpetuate violence in urban centers.”

There’s a clear change on the mood. The teacher straightens his back, paying attention, and again all eyes are on them.

“What do you mean, I perpetuate violence?” her tone is high pitched.

“So you defeat robbers and monsters using the power of the dialogue?” Brick mocks, putting a foot over his knee, dangling it too. She blushes furiously, but remains quiet. “Arming civilians.”

“Disagree.” She replies.

“Me too. I prefer being the one with all of the guns.” He smirks, and some people laugh. “Death penalty.”

“Disagree.” She replies again.

“I repeat: do you defeat villains using the power of the due legal process and rehabilitation?” his voice is full of malice, and he sits properly, looking intensely at her face.

“But it’s different. They are monsters, irrational creatures that destroy civilization and cause a lot of death and damage.” She is speaking didactically, as if it was a decorated speech.

“How can you affirm that the monsters are irrational? What if humans are invading their ecosystems and they’re just trying to find a way to survive?” he points out, and the students look at each other, some nodding.

“Are you trying to invalidate my work?” she narrows her eyes again, crossing her arms. Brick tries not to think about her breasts that day on the basketball court.

“I’m debating. It’s what we’re supposed to do in this class.”

She takes a deep breath, leaning closer a little. Brick leans too, a daring grin on his lips.

“Abortion.”

“Not my choice. Public education.”

“It should be the state's priority, rather than private institutions. Education is an objective human right of the United Nations. Drugs.”

“Yes, please.” Brick immediately responds, making the class laughs; even the teacher smiles. She presses her lips together, and he knows she wants to laugh too. “Euthanasia.”

“Using the same principles of liberalism that guides this country, agree. Monogamy.”

“I have no patience to deal with anyone, let alone romantically. But maybe works out better than polygamy.” This time, he can make her smile a little. “Premarital sex.”

“A choice that must be made by each one, based on their personal principles and faith. Sexual orientation.”

“I have one, thank you.” He scoffs, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Really? You just said you can’t handle people. I thought you hated everyone.”

“There’s some nice girls here and there.” Brick wets his lips again, eyes purposely wandering down her legs. The class laughs again. “So, tell me. I will propose a moral dilemma to you. You seem to have a lot of knowledge about human rights, and you've certainly heard of Locke's principles of freedom and Rosseau's more democratic view, so to speak.”

She leans back, again, sitting very straight. Their classmates and teacher seem very interested in what he has to say.

“A derailed train will hit five unknown people working on the tracks, but you have the power to deflect it, using a lever that takes the train to another track, where you can kill just one person, someone you know and like. Would you change the route?” Brick props his chin on his hand, watching as her face become redder.

She shifts on her seat, clearly uncomfortable, and the class holds their breaths, waiting for her response.

Some time passes - he doesn’t know how long has been since he asked her. She’s struggling with that, all the students and the teacher thinking about, and suddenly the silence from earlier dissolves in chatting.

He’s getting sleepy again, and sinks on the seat, resting his head on the back of the chair and looking up, closing his eyes. Brick snoozes for a few minutes when his superhearing detects her shifting on the chair, and Brick looks down.

“I think…” she starts, and everybody becomes quiet. “I would change. The route.”

Brick analyzes her. She’s biting at the end of her pen, tapping her nails on the desk, uncrossed legs now dangling anxiously, her long hair falling almost at her waist, her white polo shirt with all the buttons opened, showing a bit of her chest. The stupid bow is always on her head.

“You would kill the person you know and like?” he asks. She nods. “Why?”

"Because that's... That’s what I do on daily basis. I sacrifice my life, my sisters’ lives, to save people we don’t know.”

The chatting restarts. The teacher looks at them, curious at the development of that debate. Brick bites his lip, shaking his head.

She’s the hero, after all.

“You?” she asks, voice low.

“See, there’s no correct answer.” He ignores her, voice low, too, and tries to keep his expression blank and relax his posture. “When you decide to save the five people, you are acting like Stuart Mill, of utilitarianism, putting the happiness of as many people as possible above your will. Theoretically this is the most correct choice, right?”

She nods slowly, processing his words.

“And makes you seem like an altruist.” He shrugs. “But let's suppose you multiply that quantity by one million. Do you think killing one million people for five million is better?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but closes instantly after.

“There’s really no correct answer.” The teacher nods. The bell that indicates the end of the class rings, and every one stands up, getting their things to leave. The middle-age man nods to Brick, who’s one of the first to exit the classroom, and he immediately puts his cap facing back, earphones already on place.

“Brick!” he pretends he didn’t listen to her out of breath voice, nor her quick steps in his direction, but it’s in vain when she puts herself in front of him, blocking his way.

“What?” he asks, annoyed. She’s so close to him, the first time he can see her face from such a closer position, and he hates how his face burns.

“What would you choose?” her eyelashes are black and long, very charming, and he swallows, her pink eyes dropping quickly to his Adam's apple and back to his eyes.

“I don’t know.” His voice’s a little strangled, so he clears his throat. “There’s no one I would sacrifice, or would miss if dead.”

“Really?” her voice is barely a whisper. “Not even your brothers, or…”

Brick doesn’t know what to say, what to answer. She’s too close, disturbing his reasoning, and the floral perfume, the same he felt that day on the court, makes his hands sweat. He can see the freckles on her chest, how slightly tall she is, her eyes on his nose’s level, orange hair framing her face… She bites her lip, and he knows she’ll say something, start some subject again.

Fear shots in his stomach, making his throat dry. He doesn't know why he is reacting that way, thinking of her as charming, or about her body, the way she smells, her smiles, and laughs, and her how her presence makes every pore of his body rise, the sound of his voice producing weird shivers.

"Brick?" she asks again, searching for something on his face. There's something more behind that inquisitive look.

He never noticed how good his name sounds, coming from those plump pink lips.

Brick dodges her and continue walking, ignoring her eyes on his back.

🌸

Brick likes parties. He knows pretty well he’s underage and can’t drink yet, but hey, who cares?

Not he.

He shares some joints with Butch, drinks some tequila and beers with Boomer, and thinks, a little high and drunk, that yes, he would miss his brothers if they were gone. They’re the only ones who get him, in the end.

But that also makes him think about her.

It’s been almost four months since Brick first started paying attention to her and stopped hating. He discovered things about her, and that debate frequently returns to his memory, and how she the way she looked at him after, something else on her curious expression, makes him awake at night, sometimes.

He tries to shove it off his mind in the same speed as it comes - most of the times not succeeding.

Brick sometimes doubts he really hated her – maybe he just wanted to be a giant pain in the ass? He can’t believe he ever wanted to kill her with his bare hands – maybe therapy is really working, and he’s starting to become a more civilized person, even though he always ironizes this to his psychologist.

He closes his eyes, leaning against a wall. He’s at some girl's house, he thinks he share some classes with her, but can’t tell for sure. He’s only here because of his brothers, anyways.

Brick ends his beer and takes another one – maybe his seventh? – looking around. His alcohol tolerance is pretty high.

Boomer’s kissing Bubbles in a couch, her over his lap, his hands going up and down on her back, her curly blond hair on a ponytail, scratching his chest, a few buttons of his shirt opened. Brick frowns at it, a little embarrassed, and wonders how he doesn’t mind people seeing them in such an intimate situation?

Then, he searches for Butch and Buttercup, and spots his brother smoking with some of his friends, while Buttercup is dancing…

With her.

It’s some Rihanna song on the speakers, Brick knows it vaguely, and he takes another sip of the beer. He can’t seem to take his eyes of her, using a white skirt and pink shirt, the tiniest bit of her waist exposed.

She’s really dancing, moving her body in a way he would never imagined she could, singing and laughing. She seems completely relaxed, no worries at all, like a normal teenage girl would look, and Brick bites his lips, eyes wandering to her legs. Her auburn hair is loose and moving, and he thinks maybe the weed's making him hallucinate, because she seems like a fairy, or some really pretty supernatural being.

Brick uses his superhearing to isolate her voice, some meters away. She's singing with Rihanna something about being the only girl in the world, the only one who knows your heart, the only one who understands how to make you feel like a man.

Brick feels hot all over, listening to her voice saying such things, things he would never imagine a prude like her saying. Maybe’s not the weed, but the alcohol.

Her hands are on her legs, waist, over her head, and Buttercup’s laughing, dancing with her. He’s a little hypnotized by the sensuality of her movements, her mouth on red lipstick, wide smile.

The song ends and Buttercup whispers something in her ear, going into Butch’s direction. She stands there, another song in the same rhythm begins, and so her dancing, like she doesn’t care about anyone seeing her there, alone, looking absolutely stunning; like she’s not the prodigy girl, or leader of a trio of super-heroines.

A simply girl, having fun at a party.

A boy approaches her, obviously, because just as Brick, other boys aren’t blind, they can see how sensational she looks and probably feels, and dares to touch her arm, interrupting her dancing.

Brick’s vision gets red, and it has nothing to do with the fact Bubbles’ friend put club lights on her living room, and before his brain returns to its rational mood - the normal mood - he’s walking to them, drinking the beer furiously.

He pretends he didn’t saw the boy and bumps his shoulder on his, making both look at him. Brick tries a blank expression, but his acting fails as his eyes look directly to her, not even caring about the strength he might had used on the bumping.

“Sorry.” Brick grunts to the boy, obviously not meaning it. His eyes don't leave hers, and feels the urge to touch her arms, her waist, feel the floral smell from up close.

Maybe he needs to stop drinking.

She simply stares at him, biting her red bottom lip, eyes shining, and he takes a deep breath, mind reeling at her gesture. Again, maybe the alcohol?

“Didn’t know you would come.” She says, and Brick hears it perfectly, her voice above all the noise, like a movie. She completely ignores the boy, and Brick has to look at him with his most frightening glare to make him leave.

“I had nothing better to do.” Brick answers sincerely, and she nods, her own eyes heavy. Maybe he’s dreaming, but she’s looking at him at the same way Bubbles looks at Boomer, or Butch at Buttercup.

“Want to dance?” she asks, a song from French Montana coming from the speakers - he knows it because Buttercup plays it almost daily on the boys’ apartment.

She’s definitely more intoxicating than everything he consumed that night, a black line over her long lashes, making her feline and irresistible, and Brick doesn’t think twice before getting close to her.

Seems like one of those dreams he’s been having recently, where he touches her, feels her next to him, and her voice is always soft, whispering things on his ear, heart beating fast and shaky breaths.

His hands are on her waist, her hands on his arms, caressing, while she dances, close enough to her body coolness contrasts with his warmness, and Brick finally, finally, can take a deep breath, smelling that parfum. She smiles at him, and he feels himself smiling back.

It feels awesome, he feels awesome, maybe never felt so good.

“You know what I noticed?” She whispers on his ear, and Brick can feel the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on its ends, his throat getting dry.

“What?” his own voice’s hoarse, taking another sip of the beer.

“You never said my name.”

Brick looks down at her, remembering how his psychologist thought it was impossible for him to like her. He thinks of all the times in the past couple months her voice made him shiver, her eyes, mouth, legs, everything he couldn’t stop thinking about; how she started appearing in his dreams, his thoughts, how he wanted to see her, ask about her to her sisters, how a simple good morning coming from her mouth made him slightly less grumpy.

Yet, he was afraid of saying her name.

Why?

Because it was like admitting defeat, and Brick's a terrible loser.

“Never.” He confirms, and she nods, biting her lip.

“Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.” Brick answers, and she laughs. He can feel her hips, how slowly she's moving, her arms over his shoulders. He squeezes her waist just a bit, not believing that this is really happening. "Are you?"

“I’m a little, too.” She confesses, and by her expression, Brick knows she’s blushing. He’s getting used to it.

“You?” he asks, surprised. “I didn’t know you drank.”

“I don’t. Buttercup made me do it. She said I needed a break.” She’s whispering, but he can listen to her sweet voice clearly.

Brick really wants to know what she drank. He wants to taste it from her mouth, get a little drunkier.

“What a bad girl.” He teases, whispering too, and she sighs, their faces centimeters apart. The sound makes him almost lose it all. “But you do really needed a break.”

“Yeah.” She nods, eyes never leaving his. He feels like he's going to burn up at any moment.

“And maybe… I can help you with that.” Brick doesn’t know where those words, or that confidence, are coming from.

Maybe he just needed to get drunk and high to talk to her.

“Oh, can you?” she laughs. Her red lips are hypnotizing. “Okay. One condition.”

Brick takes the last sip of his beer. The dryness on his throat never leaves. He blinks, biting his lip.

“Say my name.” she lightly scratches his neck.

He smirks. She’s a lot relaxed than usual, and she’s so pretty, her presence is so steady, voice like music to his ears, and he wants to touch her forever, not to hurt, but to hold, and he wonders how the hell he hated her when she’s his counterpart, perfect for him.

Brick would never admit it, of course. He would rather die than confess he’s maybe into her, in some of carnal way, a primal desire. Even more than that.

But this time, being defeated doesn't seem so bad.

So, for the first time in his entire life, Brick looks into her eyes and his lips form her name.

“Want me to help you relax, Blossom?”

It’s weird for both of them. He can sense how she trembles under his touch just by listening his voice saying her name, that forbidden word, long ago forgotten on his vocabulary, and he feels intoxicated by the smile she gives him.

She. Blossom.

“Very much, Brick.” His own name comes differently from her mouth, almost like a purr, and he doesn’t care about the party, the music, all those people from school, their siblings, nothing.

Brick touches her hair, and puts one hand on the back of her neck, Blossom’s skin so soft under his fingers, kissing her deep, intense, open mouthed and hungry, thinking about defeating her in this, too, showing he needs her more than she does. Probably he’ll regret this on the morning, but right now, he wants to enjoy it, the taste of vodka and something sweet on her tongue, how her fingers are tangling on his hair, her waist so curvy, and she’s tip-toing to reach him.

“Say my name again.” She orders against his mouth, and he bites her lower lip with his sharp teeth, her commanding send a shiver down his spine.

He kisses her deeply one more time, hands now sprawled on her back, feeling her, wanting to devour her. Maybe this is what his brothers feel? Is that what Boomer said he felt when he first talked with Bubbles, or what Butch felt when Buttercup let him touch her for the first time?

All the adrenaline is making him dizzy. He’ll definitely become addict to that.

To her.

“Blossom.” Brick says. She smiles, biting his bottom lip back.

🌸

“So, what about Blossom?” His psychologist asks, six months after that day she advised him.

“What?” Brick asks back, fighting back a smile.

"You stopped hating her?"

Brick nods.

The psychologist raises her eyebrows. “So, you’re in good terms with her, now?”

Brick nods again. “You can say that.”

The woman looks at him intensely, and he rolls his eyes, knowing his ears are probably red by now. It makes her laugh.

“Well, I was wrong when I said you would never fall in love, but I was right when said she’s not that bad.”

“She’s… fine.” Brick shrugs, biting his lip.

🌸

Things get different.

Blossom isn't a constant presence in the apartment like her sisters, at least not in the conventional way. Brick learns she prefers the late hours, a shy knock on his window that makes his heart flutter, but still a glimpse of something he had always seen on Buttercup’s eyes, that makes him smirk and welcome her to his bedroom, his bed.

She doesn’t let him go any centimeter beyond the waist, of course, but that’s fine.

The adrenaline never leaves his system when she’s near. Her kisses are shy, not like the first one, and Brick finds himself thinking about getting her a little drunk more than once, just so he can feel what that Blossom’s like, how she would react to the things he does to her.

At school, Brick gets caught looking at her on purpose, making her blush. He still feels powerful to do so. Her voice is as authoritarian as always during classes, and she doesn’t dare to look at him when their siblings are with them, and Brick has to hold a laugh. Blossom’s trying so hard to act he’s sure she doesn’t know she sucks at it. Buttercup raises her eyebrows to him one day, and he nods almost imperceptibly, making the girl smile.

They tangle fingers under the tables. She touches his leg with her foot, caressing his calf. Blossom smiles at him over her shoulder during classes, discreetly. The English teacher puts them to work together and she draws hearts on his forearm with a red pen, and he lets her. She starts sitting closer to him on lunch.

His brothers ask him about it, but he just mumbles about them stopping hating each other.

One day, Brick puts an arm over Blossom's shoulders, continuing talking with Boomer, and no one dares to say a damn thing. She freezes for an instant, but soon her hand is on his thigh.

This is how they communicate to everyone that they are on good terms. Great, even.

Brick's almost sleeping when a knock makes a smile appears on his lips. He raises from the bed quickly, opening the window, and there she is. Blossom floats to his bed, as always, and sits down.

“What are you wearing?” he sits down besides her. She always comes with leggings and T-shirts, or pajamas - now, she's with a dark pink robe.

“Well. It’s summer.” She says, looking down. Brick’s shirtless, and laughs, nodding.

“It is. But the air conditioning is on.” He looks at it, on the ceiling, and she bites her lip. “Do you get cold in here? That's why you're wearing this?”

Blossom denies it, shaking her head. Her cheeks are really pink, and he sighs, thinking how beautiful she is.

Brick leans to kiss her, and she suddenly giggles, putting a finger over his lips.

“What?” he whispers, half-smiling.

Blossom stands up, taking her robe off and revealing a white laced babydoll camisole under it, and Brick’s glad he’s sitting down. It’s a lot well-behaved than most clothes of that style (he’s a teenager, after all - he searched things on internet when puberty came), but for her? It’s more than spectacular, takes his breath away, his mouth waters, his heart race so much on his ribs he’s sure she can hear.

“So. I bought this last week.” She says shyly. Brick pats his lap, and she obeys, sitting, delicate hands on his cheeks. “What do you think?”

Brick remembers the first time he saw Blossom. He wanted to hurt her, make her suffer, even kill her.

"For me?" his voice is out of breath.

Blossom nods.

He thinks about the moral dilemma. He said he would miss his brothers, but know he understands the something more she had behind her expression that day.

He would choose her. Of course Brick would choose Blossom, how could he not?

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispers, husky, and she kisses him deep, making him groan, his hands on her waist, raising the camisole.

“Brick.” She says his name when he’s kissing her belly, finally letting him go down below the waist, and he’s trembling.

“Blossom.” He says back, when she kisses his neck, fingers digging on his shoulders, panting.

Don’t get close, don’t talk to them, don’t mix with them, they’re our rivals.

Inevitable.