Chapter Text
Normally, he and Phineas tried to share all of their classes, but inevitably every semester, there'd be at least one they didn't.
Usually it was their electives. While the two of them shared most of their interests, their paths did occasionally diverge. When they had to fulfill their foreign language requirement, Phineas took Spanish while Ferb took Mandarin. Their sophomore year, Phineas took journalism while Ferb took philosophy.
This semester, Phineas decided he wanted to take debate. Ferb… liked to leave the talking to Phineas.
It was more than fine by him. He'd had his eye on Home Economics since their Freshman year, but it was only open to Juniors and Seniors, so this was his first chance at it.
As a plus, Isabella signed up with him.
"It'll be nice to pair up with someone who knows what they're doing," she'd said, and Ferb agreed.
There were more than a few people at their school that expected him to carry them through group projects just because he was the Ferb Fletcher. Isabella almost certainly received the same treatment.
Oddly, this was the first class they'd ever been in with just the two of them together. Usually, if they were in the same class, Buford or Phineas or even Adyson were there too. However, Buford had taken film-making this semester, and Adyson was in pottery.
It meant a lot of time spent together working on homework, which Ferb was enjoying.
Whenever Isabella spent time around him, it was almost always with the rest of the group, especially as they'd gotten into high school and everyone's schedules had gotten more packed. He missed the quiet moments they used to have back when they were kids.
He missed getting to be her friend.
Now, they sat under the tree in the backyard and worked on budget worksheets together. Isabella hauled her sewing machine over to his house, and they set it up across from his on the workbench in his bedroom to sew pajama pants for their midterm. They went to the grocery store to price check ingredients for their mock dinner party.
She didn't pressure him to say anything, she didn't constantly fill the quiet with chatter, and whenever he did have something to say, she gave him her full attention.
Some afternoons, when Phineas had been particularly oblivious, she quietly confessed her hurts and desires to him, knowing he'd listen just as intently.
That day, they were baking muffins in class.
"Of course, the one day I don't have my hair tied back," Isabella groused, brushing a strand of hair off her face as she stirred her batch of batter. "I thought we were working on meal-planning today. Isn't that what Mrs. Meyers said yesterday?"
"Maybe she woke up with a craving," Ferb joked quietly, but he also leaned over and reached into his bag, pulling out a spare scrunchie and passing it to her.
Isabella laughed lightly. "Maybe," she agreed. "Thanks, Ferb." She quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail.
When she turned, he saw she'd smeared flour over her cheek.
He reached out a hand, and she held still for him.
"Oh, what is it?" she asked, brow creased in worry. "Please tell me it's not blueberry juice! I cannot walk around with a purple stain on my face where everyone can see! That'd be so embarrassing."
Ferb shook his head and started brushing off the powder.
She was cute when she was flustered.
He froze.
His hand sat there, cupping her cheek, as his mind went blank.
"… Ferb?" Isabella asked. Her eyes were so beautiful, looking up at him from underneath a thick, dark fan of eyelashes, and he was so gone on her.
… He was so buggered.
He quickly shook his head and offered an apologetic smile, getting the rest of the flour off and withdrawing his hand as fast as he could.
She wasn't his to love, and she never would be.