Chapter Text
It was common knowledge among the Polonium Peninsula elites and those caught in their orbit that Princess Morbucks—venture capitalist, fashionista, and local champagne snob—put the extra in extravagant.
But when Blossom Utonium parked Brick’s black Porsche 911 and entered the Farmsville Botanical Gardens, she knew Princess had outdone herself. The stone path led Blossom beneath a series of ivy-festooned archways to a palatial greenhouse. Within, the late afternoon sun cast a warm, amber glow through the geometric, glass panes and enflamed an enormous weeping willow overlooking a murky pond. Paper lanterns floated among giant Victoria lily pads and painted golden shadows over the dark water. As Blossom approached the tall bar tables and the few early birds already getting the party started, her sister called out to her.
“Blossom, finally!” Bubbles waved from the upper balcony where she was stringing fairy lights in a pergola among bunches of hanging wisteria. She zoomed down to the ground level in a flurry of strappy, silver charmeuse and took Blossom’s hands in hers. “Oh my gosh, it looks even better worn.”
Blossom flared the skirt of her cocktail dress. A cascade of cerulean seed pearls shimmered against the ivory fabric as she twirled, and Bubbles made a pleased cooing sound. “Thanks,” Blossom said with a wink, “my sister picked it out.”
Bubbles bowed with a flourish. “You’re welcome.”
“This place looks gorgeous,” Blossom said as she linked arms with Bubbles and they made their way in between tables. Glossy ice candles flickered as staff lit their pyres and arranged them as centerpieces. They ducked under a string of tea lights and ascended the steps to the second-floor balcony level, above which drops of crystal hung on fishing line from the ceiling like snow frozen in flight.
“I know, right? Fire and Ice was a great choice for the theme. It feels kind of magical.”
“It’ll be more magical when they finally open up the bar,” Buttercup announced at the top of the stairs. The red bodycon she wore put up a good fight, but there was little dressing up her surly, sardonic mien.
Before Blossom got the chance to properly greet her second sister, a little girl bursting with energy jumped from the top stair at a full sprint with her skinny arms spread wide. “Blossoooooom!”
“Gotcha!” A flash of green and a few fluttered skirts later, Butch hovered in between Blossom and Bubbles and their pint-sized assailant, who was reduced to happy peals of laughter as she hugged her dad’s neck.
“Hi, Brisa,” Blossom greeted the little girl.
Bubbles put her hands on her hips. “Brisa, what did I say about running around in here? You don’t want to break any of the decorations, do you?”
“Daddy started it!” Brisa pulled at Butch’s hair.
“Hey, what kinda crime boss throws her best henchman under the bus?” Butch said.
“The kind who walks away with the goods while some bozo takes the fall.” Buttercup joined them on the steps and poked Butch’s cheek.
Brisa snickered. “Bozo.”
“Betrayed by both my girls! What can I do but release…the sad farts—pfffft!” Butch blew raspberries in Brisa’s neck and she shrieked in delight. She wriggled out of his arms and took off running again in her patent leather shoes and bright blue dress.
“Oh for crying out loud—Brisa!” Bubbles called after her. “Don’t worry, I’ll grab her. You, start partying.” She shot Blossom a pointed look and dashed after the rambunctious Super six-year-old.
Butch snaked his arm around Buttercup’s waist. “So, I’m a bozo now?”
Buttercup rolled her eyes, but she didn’t push him away. “What do you mean, ‘now’?”
“Well, I bagged your fine ass.” He pulled her closer for a kiss, but Buttercup flattened her hand over his face. Blossom had to bite her lip not to laugh at them.
“Dude, come on, Blossom’s right there,” Buttercup grumbled.
“No no, don’t stop on my account,” Blossom said, unable to hide her smile. “It’s kind of nice to see you settling down, Buttercup.”
“Hey, you can pry my vintage 1950s apartment from my cold, dead hands.”
Blossom didn’t doubt for a second that Buttercup would fight tooth and nail to hold onto the cramped apartment she’d lived in since she’d first moved to Citiesville to begin her career as a beat cop. But that was Butch’s battle to wage, not Blossom’s. “Well, I for one like being closer to you now that I’m in Citiesville too.”
Buttercup yanked on Butch’s goofy, Olaf-patterned tie. “Hear that?”
“Woman, your apartment is a shit hole,” Butch said. “At least mine’s got central heating.”
“You had no problem staying warm last night.”
“I’m just going to…” Blossom had no interest in intruding on their personal conversation and took the opportunity to slip past them. Unattended, she wandered around the balcony level, marveling at the clusters of birds of paradise and calla lilies and so much green. Even with her red hair piled up and pinned back, it was warm in here, as though the space were a living lung and she nothing more than a cool sigh floating through it.
More guests trickled in, each styled in a spectrum of frosty blues and fiery reds in honor of the theme, and a DJ played something soft and vaguely R&B over the speakers. Blossom didn’t make it three steps before friends and work colleagues stopped her to compliment her dress, offer their congratulations, and inquire about where her missing beau was.
“Fashionably late, I’m sure,” Robin Snyder teased. She was glamorous in cream and gold that brought out a glow in her astonishingly blue eyes.
“Oh yeah, Brick’s gotta be the trendiest guy I know.” Mike Believe smiled so sincerely it almost hurt, and somewhere songbirds cooed for joy, probably.
Robin snorted. “Trendy? The guy’s been known to wear a full suit to Starbucks.”
“Well, I think he’s brave for having his own style and sticking to it.”
Blossom bit back a laugh as she imagined Brick reacting to his style choices being called brave by a guy wearing a ruffled suit shirt and pale pink bow tie.
More party-goers approached Blossom, and she took the opportunity to excuse herself on a bathroom pretense. As she made her way through the garden, she searched for Princess among the guests.
Unseen arms caught her around her waist, and a warm body pressed against her back beneath a canopy of Spanish moss. “Run away with me,” whispered her paramour.
Blossom smiled and bared her neck to his kiss, pleased he wasn’t so late in arriving after all. “Where shall we go?”
“Somewhere surrounded by water and no cell service.” He pressed another kiss to her jawline just below her ear, and she shivered under his warmth.
“Mm, off the grid with nothing but champagne and sunsets on the horizon,” she indulged. The subtle, sandalwood scent of his aftershave pulled her deeper into the faraway fantasy.
“We’ll drink on the beach and sleep under the stars.” His hand trailed down her arm. “No neighbors, no cameras, no obligations.” Their fingers entwined. He thumbed the diamond ring he’d given her in honor of their promise to each other. “No interruptions.”
Blossom stared at the ring on her finger and his hand in hers. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to cry tonight. The party had barely begun and everyone was waiting for them. Spinning in his arms, she looked into his haunting, red eyes that possessed her as much now as they had that very first night so many months ago when he challenged her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart. “Brick,” she said.
His honest smile was a thing of beauty, and a sight she never tired of seeing. “Blossom.”
She kissed him then, and she swore she could taste his joy. “You’re late,” she chided him. His short, styled hair was a bit windswept from flying here; she’d taken his car, and he generally hated the idea of cabs and ride share. Too plebeian, too unhygienic. Nonetheless, his grey suit was pressed and perfectly tailored. Blossom ran her hands down the path of his crimson tie over his vest. “Fashionably so.”
“I got here a while ago,” he admitted.
“Ah, hiding, then?”
“Biding my time.”
They watched each other, unblinking, as if this were middle school and gloating rights were on the line for whomever could hold out the longest.
“Princess put a lot of effort into this party,” Blossom said.
“Princess needs a hobby.”
Blossom squeezed his arm. “All our friends are here.”
Brick flexed under her Super powered grip. “I don’t have any friends.”
She smiled wryly. “Sure. You look too good not to be seen.”
He ran his hand down the bodice of her dress, and Blossom felt every seed pearl his fingers passed over as if they combusted into fireworks under his touch. “Now, how am I supposed to argue with that?”
“I do love it when we agree.”
Brick slipped his hand along her jaw to draw her in for a real kiss.
“Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with his presence.” Princess Morbucks was a vision in scarlet and Louboutins as she approached Brick and Blossom.
“Yeah, yeah,” Brick grumbled. He squeezed Blossom’s waist in a silent promise to continue this later.
Blossom broke into a wide smile and reached for Princess. “I was looking for you,” she said. “This place looks amazing!”
Princess fluffed the crown of auburn corkscrew curls pinned atop her head like so many layers of icing and fondant. “I know, right? I’m literally a genius.”
Brick snorted, but Blossom ignored him and embraced Princess in a fierce hug. It had been a couple weeks since they had seen each other while Princess was off globetrotting in the name of expanding her investment portfolio, but it felt like much longer. “Thank you so much for organizing this engagement party for us so quickly. You didn’t have to.”
“Please, and miss a chance to force Brick to promenade in front of his betters? Who do you think I am?”
They laughed. Brick did not join them. “Betters is more than a stretch,” he said.
Princess poked him in the chest. “Okay, sourpuss, we get it. Now tuck your balls back in and escort me to the bar. We’re getting drunk and playing Who Shit the Bed later. I have so much tea to spill that I’m putting the ew in oolong.”
That got a sinister smile out of Brick, and he offered his arm to Princess. She had a frightening knack for cheering him up. “Deal.”
Blossom bade them go on ahead while she made a quick bathroom stop. As she examined her reflection in the mirror, she remembered a dreary day last year when she’d checked into a threadbare hotel in Citiesville. That girl had been lovelorn and beaten, having nothing and expecting even less when she wandered into Boomer’s bar looking for a way to drown for a little while. The face staring back at her now was almost a stranger with her vibrant, pink eyes bright from smiling. Her sisters were out there waiting for her, waiting to celebrate her happiness and to share in it. Friends she’d let fade and friends she’d never before given a chance were here to support her. The man who had ever been a rival to best, a wall to scale, and a reminder that no matter how far she fell, she need only reach for the sky and fly was waiting to announce to everyone who mattered that he’d chosen her, and she’d chosen him.
Blossom had promised herself she wouldn’t cry today, and it was a promise she wouldn’t be keeping. Laughing at herself, she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Her cheeks hurt from smiling even now. She closed her eyes and held onto this feeling, ichor in her veins telling her the happiest of endings are the ones we make for ourselves.
After touching up her makeup, Blossom headed back out to rejoin the party. Her phone buzzed, startling her, but she brightened when she checked the caller ID. “Hi, Boomer.”
“Hey, Blossom! How’s my favorite former freeloader-in-arms doing?” Boomer teased.
Blossom lingered at one of the standing tables near the bar away from most of the guests. “Missing our dishwashing dream team days, obviously.”
He laughed. “Hard second. Bubbles really makes a mess in that kitchen, and now I’m holding the line all by myself.”
“Maybe you should put out an ad on Craigslist for a roommate.”
“Oh, totally. Fun couple searching for full-time third wheel and freelance dishwashing enthusiast. Must be okay with Super hearing and X-ray vision compromising your privacy 24/7.”
“Extremely tempting.” She scanned the crowd and found Brick being talked at by Mike and almost smiling as he sipped his drink. “I’m guessing you didn’t call to tell me you’re just running a few minutes late.”
Voices muttered in the background of Boomer’s call, and an ambulance siren blared in passing. “Unfortunately not. I’m so sorry. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than at your party to support you, I swear. But there was a suspected Super attack in London this morning and Major Glory specifically asked me to check it out with him, since I’m one of the only guys in the New York office who can actually make a trans-Atlantic flight on short notice pretty fast—”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Blossom said. “I know how much you’ve been wanting to get more field work. You deserve it. The ISL is lucky to have you.”
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. “I really am sorry. I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear.”
Blossom glanced over at Brick again. Wes Goingon and Elmer Sgloo had joined Mike and him, and he seemed to be actively engaging in the conversation with minimal signs of suffering. “Do you need me to tell Brick?”
There was a pause. She imagined him grimacing as he switched ears and lowered his voice. “I can send him a text.”
Blossom let her power manifest on her palm and squeezed her fingers together, itchy. As if he were acutely attuned to any fluctuation in her energy, Brick caught her looking at him across the room and held her heavy gaze. “Okay,” she said, and left it at that.
Another pause. Blossom wanted to say more, but there was nothing left for her to say. “Hey, have fun tonight,” Boomer said, contrite. “You deserve it.”
“I know. Stay safe, Boomer. We’ll miss you here.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
They hung up, and Brick was already halfway to her.
With Brisa happily hanging out with some of the other guests’ kids, Bubbles spent the next twenty minutes walking twenty feet; friends stopped her to chat and take pictures in a nearly relentless stream. By the time she made it to the bar, exhausted, all she wanted was a cold glass of water and a break from grinning to the point of aching. The cute bartender on duty smiled at her, charming in his three-piece suit, and Bubbles returned it without thinking. When he left her to take another guest’s order, her smile fell and her gaze lingered on his profile. He wasn’t blond, but his hair was light enough that she could almost pretend.
“That better be vodka,” Butch drawled as he parked beside her and set his empty glass on the bar. He tugged at his starched collar to loosen it.
Bubbles sipped her water through a straw to save her lipstick. “Eighty proof H2O.”
“Booooo. Not on my watch.” He floated over the bar and rummaged around for a bottle of Grey Goose. “I’m so glad Brick stayed friends with Princess. Bless that beautiful snob.” He moved fast, blending vodka and vermouth in a bath of ice. Bubbles caught the lemon he tossed her way on pure instinct.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be back here.” The bartender glared at Butch.
“It’s cool, I know what I’m doing.” Butch snatched two martini glasses, flipped the glass vodka bottle, and caught it.
“Butch,” Bubbles chided.
Before the poor bartender could take two steps, Butch dashed over the bar, and Bubbles followed him across the greenhouse to a garden table, giggling.
“You couldn’t just wait to be served like everybody else?” she asked.
He was all pomp and puffery as he pulled out two chairs for them and filled their glasses from the shaker. “You looked like you needed an intervention ASAP. C’mon, hand me that lemon.”
Bubbles sighed, but she sank into the seat next to him while he cut two lemon twists for the garnish. She accepted her purloined martini and took a sip. “Mm! You’re really getting good at this.”
Butch tasted his drink. “Hey, you’re right. This is some classy shit.”
“B-3’s in capable hands with you at the helm.”
“Eh.” Butch shrugged her off, but there was no mistaking the pride in his smile. “It’s not a bad gig.”
“Whatever you say.” She ran her finger over the rim of her glass, thinking of B-3’s quiet ambience, her favorite spot at the end of the bar where she had a great view of the mirror-backed drink display. Curiously, she tended to spend more time there now that Boomer was away a lot than she had when he still worked the bar. Even under new management, it would always feel like his place, his memory branded to the polished wood like years of glass rings.
“He’s not coming tonight?” Butch said. He watched the crowd of gathered guests, but when Bubbles looked up at his question, he held her gaze.
“Emergency,” she said, not bothering to hide her disappointment. “He wanted to come.”
Buttercup’s cutting laughter rose above the din. She had a hand on Wes’ shoulder for balance as their group cackled about something Mitch had said. Bubbles wondered what the joke was.
“You think so?” Butch asked.
“Yes,” she said with confidence. But Butch’s stare held, questions left unspoken. “He’s trying,” she added, “but it takes time. I know he wanted to be here, but I also know how hard that would’ve been for him too.”
“I know.”
“Working with the International Superhero League is great for him. It’s his dream, and he deserves to see it through.”
“He does. Shitty timing to get called away though.”
Bubbles took another sip of her drink but found it had lost its bracing chill. The lemon peel had sunk to the bottom of the tepid glass.
Butch noticed. “Listen, sugar. You’re allowed to be pissed at him for missing today. He’s got his shit with Brick and so do I, but that doesn’t mean you gotta put on a show.”
Bubbles flushed. “I wasn’t.”
“Great. Then there’s nothing stopping you from throwing back a couple more of these bad boys and hitting the dance floor. We’re celebrating a literal miracle today. What do you say?”
It was hard to say no to Butch when he was being kind. “I say, let’s get this party started for real.”
“Fuck yes.” He polished off his drink, and Bubbles did the same. They joined Buttercup and their friends, laughing as they pulled anyone they could get their hands on to the dance floor.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Blossom’s hand was cool in Brick’s, a small gesture she couldn’t know how much he appreciated. He laced his fingers through hers, grateful for the modicum of privacy the standing tables offered as they huddled together.
“Not really,” Brick said. There was not much to talk about. Boomer wasn’t coming, and that was that. Brick was not surprised. As the days passed and he focused on building a new life with Blossom from the ashes of the old one, he knew it would be different. That first month in therapy was spent trying to convince himself that different wasn’t bad, that change was inevitable, and that there was always space to grow if only he let himself.
Butch was coming around in his own way, slowly. Boomer only ever seemed to drift further away. As much as he couldn’t bring himself to hold it against Boomer, it still stung.
“All right,” Blossom said. “The offer’s open if you change your mind.” She kissed his jaw, and he wished there were not so many people around them so he could show her how much he appreciated her offer.
“Thank you,” he said instead, meaning it. “But I’d rather not ruin your party.”
“It’s your party too. You should enjoy it.”
He snorted. “As if I could forget.”
“Which reminds me, we need to thank everyone for coming. And before you start planning your escape, let me remind you how much work Princess put into making this happen.”
The elfin glimmer in her pale, pink eyes betrayed her serious tone. He humored her. “If I decided to escape, you’d never catch me.”
“That sounds like a challenge.” She ran her hand along his lapel, and he leaned in closer. “I suggest you save your energy for later.”
She was a beauty in her snowy dress, wisps of hair framing her face. He slipped his hand around her waist, tracing the cascade of dewy pearls lower. “You know I never tire with you.”
He may have kissed her then. It was his party, as she said, so he could do what he wanted and to hell with other people’s sensibilities. But he refrained when a very distinct, very grating voice reached his Super sensitive ears through the din, and he stiffened. Blossom looked at him in concern. She hadn’t heard. She wasn’t as attuned to that voice as he was, with the lethal precision of a Geiger counter.
Brick turned and maneuvered Blossom slightly behind him out of some anxious, animal instinct, though he need not have bothered. Mojo Jojo, while possessed of the kind of peremptory grandeur reserved for tyrants and patriarchs, was still just an old creature in the winter of his life who could no longer hold up a blaster gun long enough to get through a monologue.
“Brick, there you are,” Mojo said gruffly. He was packed into a snug suit tailored to his short frame. An old one Brick recognized from past functions, but well preserved. Mojo had always prided himself on taking care of his possessions.
“Hello, Mojo,” Blossom said. She moved around Brick so that they were side by side facing the old monkey. Her hand remained in his, cool and still.
“Blossom,” Mojo allowed, polite and restrained. “Thank you for extending an invitation to me to this celebration of your betrothal to my son. The food has been passably decent, although the music leaves much to be desired.”
Brick wished he could disagree on that last point.
“You’re welcome,” Blossom said. “I’m glad you were able to make it. I’m sure Brisa will be very pleased to see you.”
Mojo looked sour. In the handful of times Brick had seen them interact, he had quickly learned that Blossom, unlike her sisters, was well suited to dealing with Mojo’s braggadocio. She was usually too in control of her emotions to rise to his needling, and too polite to give him cause to retaliate. Of course, she didn’t have Brick’s history with him compromising her.
“Did you need something?” Brick cut in.
Mojo bristled, even though Brick hadn’t meant to sound short. “A word, if you don’t mind.” His beady eyes slid back to Blossom.
“Of course. I’ll give you a moment.” Blossom gave his hand one last squeeze, and he held her gaze. He knew she wouldn’t wander too far, but she wouldn’t intrude, either. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the party, Mojo.” She smiled and excused herself to mingle with friends.
When she was gone, Brick retrieved his whiskey tumbler and took a sip. “I’m surprised to see you here. You were so against this.”
Mojo made a face like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Brick narrowed his eyes, suspicious. “Do you think so little of me even now?”
Brick leaned on the table. It was easy to weaponize his height over Mojo, but Mojo rarely reacted as one should to such a tactic. It was about presence, and Mojo had always been the type to fill a room and force out the oxygen until everyone else choked. “I don’t think of you much at all, actually.”
Among the subtle scent of flowers and fire, Brick detected a whiff of Mojo’s familiar scent, new parchment and Pledge. He imagined the Observatory then, the immaculate tile and the purple sofas and the hundreds of books lining the walls. He could almost hear his brothers’ laughter as they ran around pelting each other with Nerf guns while Mojo made dinner in that stupid ‘There’s No Me in Evil’ apron.
“I see,” Mojo said, weary, and Brick regretted his tone. Mojo powered on before he could think of something to say. “I only wanted to express my concession, which is not to say I have reconsidered my previous position on the matter of this affiance, of which you are acutely aware and which I will not go into laborious detail rehashing the multitude of reasons why it is a betrayal of your original mandate, an arguable waste of my own efforts, not to mention an unhappy victory for that most odious and primeval institution of marriage—”
“I asked Blossom to marry me and she said yes,” Brick interrupted, keeping a rather admirable lid on his temper in the process, if he did say so himself. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you belabor your selfish point to death at my own engagement party. So, if that’s all.”
Mojo grabbed Brick’s wrist in his thin hand, and while it would have been nothing to break the hold, Brick did not. Mojo watched him with the age-old resentment Brick had known his whole life, but it was tired. Defeated. “I am trying, albeit very poorly, as you have so succinctly put it, to congratulate you.”
“That is the worst congratulations I have ever heard in my life.”
“Yes, well, I am not pleased, which is entirely a different emotion from concession or even acquiescence. Let me be clear, I do not encourage this union—”
“You’ve been nothing but clear on that point,” Brick said.
“However.” Mojo looked ready to pop a blood vessel for all Brick’s interruptions—he hated to be interrupted, always had—but he held it together. “It is and always has been my greatest wish to see you and your brothers succeed in this life. I may have a specific and, shall we say, impeccable definition of success, and while I would never cede ground on semantics—” He glared at Brick when it looked like Brick would interrupt him again, which he would have, if not for what Mojo said next. “I realize now that there may be other interpretations of success. And as I pass my days at the Observatory alone, in solitude, without the physical accompaniment of other people, and I read about what you and your brothers have done, or rather, not done, I feel, perhaps, in some small and inconsequential way, that I would like a different life for you now. One not quite so alone, or solitary, without anyone in close physical proximity to pass the time.”
Mojo had not let go of Brick’s wrist, but his grip was loose, soft. If Brick pulled, he may have slipped his hand around Mojo’s.
“What I am trying to say to you, my eldest son, in far too many words as you are overly fond of reminding me, is that I do not oppose your aspirations for joint tax filing status with Blossom. She is, of course, a nuisance in every etymological way—”
“Watch it,” Brick snapped.
“—but she has accepted you in a way I heretofore have not, quite possibly to my detriment,” Mojo said. After that, he paused for a much needed breath, and Brick gave him that moment, too stunned to say anything. “I am old and set in my ways. I know what I am, and what I am not. And I know I do not want to depart this life with you as my enemy, Brick. I have tried to control you, and I have failed. I have tried to forget you, and I have failed. I would like to try to accept you now, as she has. And I would like you to give me that chance.”
Brick had no idea what to say to that. After Mojo had saved his life during the incident with Dinah Swathe, Brick had quietly tolerated Mojo’s presence whenever they were all together, usually for Brisa’s benefit. But Mojo had never expressed anything more than that to him, and he had been quick to voice his supreme disapproval when he found out that Brick had proposed to Blossom.
“Are you dying?” Brick asked.
Mojo curled his lip to reveal sharp, simian teeth. “Not in any rush, I assure you. I am being serious.”
“In that case,” Brick said.
In that case…
He pulled his wrist free and ran a hand through his hair. He conjured images of shadowy villains lying in wait to attack him, and he dispelled them. They were not real, and he did not have to live every day on the defensive. Even Mojo, especially Mojo, was not the threat he had been primed all his life to cut down. “You’re asking a lot.”
For the first time that night, Mojo looked unsure. “I know, but I will ask again. Please.”
What a fucking sap he’d become. If Princess were here, she’d tell him it was only fair given the totality of the circumstances. If Mike were here, he’d probably congratulate him on leveling up. The thought almost made him smile at the absurdity of it all. He knew better than most what it was to prostrate oneself and ask for a second chance. “Fine. You can have your chance.”
Brick had never seen Mojo cry, and very rarely did he become emotional beyond expressing rage or frustration. If his therapist were here, he’d probably say that was a red flag that explained quite a lot. Right now, Mojo did not cry, but he unfurled like a fan, bearing the hidden folds of himself he never would have allowed another, especially his most insolent son, to see until now.
“Thank you,” Mojo said. “Thank you,” he said again.
“There you are.” Princess killed the surreal, almost poignant moment with all the delicacy of a howitzer, drawing eyes from all the guests around them, including Blossom. “It’s time for your big speech, and don’t even think about planning your escape.”
Brick glowered at her. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Oh, hi Mojo,” Princess said.
“Princess. You just interrupted a private conversation, meaning, one in which you were not invited to partake, much less stymie as you have.”
“I will stymie to my heart’s desire, buddy. This is my party, and I’ll be stymieing all night long in really great shoes, so stand down. Now you,” she nudged Brick, “get Blossom and get your sour butt on the balcony. Everyone’s waiting. I’m waiting.”
“Jesus Christ,” Brick grumbled as he allowed Princess to manhandle him.
Blossom didn’t ask about his conversation with Mojo when he led her to the second floor balcony. She only held his hand and smiled, and he loved her for her ability to read his moods. When he was ready to talk, she would listen to him.
“Hi, everybody!” Blossom spoke into the microphone the DJ gave her. The music cut out and everyone gathered round to hear what she had to say. “Brick and I wanted to take just a brief moment to thank each and every one of you for coming out tonight. We’re so excited to start the next chapter of our lives together, and we’re grateful to all of you for being here to celebrate with us.”
Someone whooped enthusiastically. Mike yelled, “Soul bond!” Robin slapped a hand over his mouth and said, “I apologize for him!"
Blossom went on to wax poetically, and Brick took a moment to search the crowd. There was Butch with Brisa hanging on one arm and Buttercup on the other. The former beamed at Brick, while Buttercup looked like she’d sat on a particularly thorny stick. While they weren’t ready to beat the shit out of each other at the first excuse anymore, Brick couldn’t say he regarded the so-called toughest fighter much beyond her obligatory relation to Blossom.
Bubbles was there, of course, surrounded by a gaggle of girlfriends. When Brick met her gaze, she smiled brightly and mouthed Congratulations to him. Fucking sap that he was slowly becoming, he smirked.
“The biggest thank-you of all goes to Princess Morbucks, of course,” Blossom said. “Without you, this party would not have happened, and we wouldn’t even be here. Princess, you’re a queen walking among us. I love you so much, and thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“You’re goddamn welcome!” Princess shouted, earning more than a few laughs.
“Brick?” Blossom passed him the microphone to say a few words. There went his little fantasy of getting out of this without having to say anything.
He accepted the microphone and Blossom’s pleading gaze—you are not alone here, she seemed to say. “I don’t really have anything to add. Blossom pretty much covered it.” Beside him, Blossom watched him with a small smile. In the crowd, all eyes were on him. If it were any other situation that didn’t involve the most intimate relationship he shared with a person exposed now for the world to see and celebrate, he would have radiated. But as it was, Brick found himself a bit at a loss for words.
Brisa waved to him, hoping he’d see her. Butch watched him with a steady gaze next to her. No cheesy grin, but he was here. He was here, and that was more than Brick could say for Boomer, who had every right to tell him to go fuck himself, he didn’t deserve any of this. Mojo watched too from a stool at the bar with a glass of sparkling water, alone.
Brick cleared his throat. He turned to Blossom, who was all that mattered in this moment created to celebrate their happiness. “My brother told me once that I don’t deserve you,” he said directly to her. “I think he’s right.”
Blossom’s lips tightened. Her argument was all over her face.
“I think he’s right,” Brick said again, “but I’m going to prove him wrong anyway. You know me, can’t resist a good challenge.” He gave her his hand, which ignited with a smoldering flame.
Blossom swelled like she might cry, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave him her hand in return, a snowstorm threaded through her fingers, and they clasped. Chemical X boiled and burst as they raised their hands, and from their union a shower of sparks lit up the hanging crystals. It flashed fire-bright before fizzling out to harmless steam that descended among the guests in a cool, dreamy fog.
Mike and the other hopeless romantics who were far too easily overcome clapped and cooed, but Brick had eyes only for Blossom. He switched the mic off.
“I meant what I said,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes, I’ll work every day to deserve you.”
She palmed his cheek. “You and I are equals. I chose you, and you chose me. We don’t deserve each other; we’ve earned each other.”
In all the universe, Brick fantasized that there was only the two of them in that moment. How lucky he was to have such a solid partner, to never feel alone again no matter what the future may hold.
Until Mitch Mitchelson ruined it by shouting for them to make out already, and Buttercup picked him up by the collar to drag him back to the bar. Blossom took it in good humor and blew a kiss to the guests, who soon let them be to resume the festivities.
“I don’t suppose I could convince you to dance?” she asked as they descended arm in arm back to the main floor.
“Why not? It’s not like I have any shred of my mysterious bad boy reputation left after that cloying spectacle on stage.”
“Afraid not. It’s completely shot at this point,” she teased.
They joined the crowd and he spun her in his arms so that they were pressed chest to chest, and she was a little breathless. Red sparks jumped from his fingers down her naked arm, and she shivered. “Maybe not completely.”
They held each other close as they wended among their friends to the music, and he couldn’t help but have fun in her arms.
Between getting the party started with Bubbles, entertaining his rambunctious daughter, and squeezing in a couple dances with a reluctant Buttercup, Butch felt like he had sweated out a week’s worth of water weight. But Brisa was having the time of her life and had the energy of a supernova; there was no way Butch was going to waste a moment of this time in her pre-adolescent life when he was her favorite person in the world and she wanted everybody to know it.
But even Butch knew his limits, and right now he could use a break. He just didn’t expect his respite to come in the form of his four-foot-tall creator.
Mojo cleared his throat. “Good evening, son.”
“Hey, Mojo.” Butch peered down at him. “When did you get here?”
“At 6:30 pm sharp, of course.”
“So what were you doing for almost two hours before you came to say hi?”
Mojo did not have an opportunity to explain himself when Brisa tackled him with a squeal. “Grandpa Mojo! You came!”
Brisa’s affection, liberally given, transformed Mojo from crotchety old monkey to sentient putty. “Of course I came. I recall promising you a dance, and I, Mojo Jojo, do not equivocate on my promises.”
Butch wondered about that, but Brisa seemed pleased to accept him at his word. “C’mon, let’s go! I love this song!”
Britney Spears’ Toxic blared through the speakers and possessed both young and old alike to move and sing along, such was its timeless power. Even Mojo put up with the jarring electric violin hook for the chance to spend a little time with possibly the only person on the planet who loved him without exception. Maybe he really was dehydrated, because Butch’s heart warmed a little at the sight of Mojo dancing with his daughter like he didn’t care what anybody thought.
His thirst soon got the better of him, and he wandered to the bar. He didn’t bother ordering with the bartender and grabbed a bottle of overpriced Voss water from an ice bucket set up at the end.
“You look like a 1980s gigolo who just cashed a check,” Brick said, sidling up with an empty glass in hand.
Butch crushed the emptied water bottle in his bare hand and took a look at himself: his dress shirt had popped three buttons, his tie and jacket were nowhere to be found, and his spiky, black hair and tanned skin glistened with sweat from dancing and the summer humidity. Brick had also lost his jacket, but unfortunately not the designer pole up his ass.
“Treat me right and I’ll buy you a drink, clown,” Butch said.
Brick’s smarmy look vanished at the reminder of his prior social suicide by birthday party. “You need new material.”
“Why? The old shit seems to be working great.”
The bartender came by to get Brick a new drink, took one look at Butch, and coldly receded behind the bar without even asking if he wanted anything. Just to spite the guy, Butch helped himself to one of the bar stools and spread out like a centerfold.
Brick lingered. “I’m glad you made it tonight.”
“You kidding? Free drinks I don’t have to pour. How could I say no?”
Brick watched him.
Butch stole his scotch. He took a sip and winced. “Jesus, how can you drink this shit? Tastes like fossil fuel.”
“No accounting for taste,” Brick said, like a jerk. But the warmth in his pitiless eyes betrayed him.
Butch finished the last of the smokey drink and blinked the moisture from his eyes. “No wonder you breathe fire.” He passed Brick back the empty glass, but he didn’t let it go when Brick tried to take it back. “Hey, I wouldn’t miss this. For real.”
The brothers watched each other for a beat before Butch let go. “Thanks, Butch.”
Brick didn’t ask about Boomer, and Butch didn’t bring it up. It wasn’t his place. But as for Butch, he’d spent enough years serving abroad without his brothers around to know what he wanted in his heart of hearts. Seeing Brick sacrifice the thing he valued most to save Brisa’s birthday had been the excuse he was looking for to let himself get it back. “You’re welcome. And hey, congrats. Never thought I’d live long enough to witness divine intervention.”
Brick snorted. “Fuck you.”
Butch checked the watch he wasn’t wearing. “No can do, my shift ended ten minutes ago.”
That one actually got a laugh out Brick, and Butch made room for him on the stool next to his. They ordered snacks, which the bartender obliged because there was no way he was going to ignore the star of the party himself, and Butch settled in comfortably to shoot the shit with his brother.
Buttercup watched the dance floor from her secluded perch on the second floor balcony. She’d kicked off her heels to spare her sore feet after dancing too fast with Brisa and her sisters. Wes had noticed her wandering off alone, but she brushed off his offer to sit with her. He had a date tonight who filled out his suit too well to be ignored, and Wes deserved a night off from the demands of active duty. Buttercup was content to curl up on a bench surrounded by lush, green leaves nursing her drink in peace.
Plus, it meant she wouldn’t say something to ruin Brisa’s fun. Butch’s daughter had boundless energy as she spun around the dance floor with Mojo. The cantankerous Super chimp seemed weirdly at ease swaying with her to the tune of some 90s boy band love song. Buttercup watched them carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop along with the bodies of innocents when Mojo inevitably snapped. But he didn’t.
“This is so stupid,” she muttered to herself.
“The dated pop music or the cult of humiliation happening on that dance floor?”
Buttercup startled. She hadn’t even heard Brick sneaking up on her. He had a drink in his hand and a pinched look on his face like he’d been struggling with a severe case of constipation all evening. His unsettling, red eyes slid from the view of the dance floor to Buttercup.
“All of the above.” Buttercup swung her legs off the bench and sat up straighter, poised for action should the need arise. Brick, however, didn’t budge.
“Hiding?” he asked.
“No. Just taking a break.”
“Alone and out of sight.”
Buttercup frowned. “I could ask you the same thing. What are you doing in my spot?”
Brick swirled his drink like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He glanced back at the party below, and the hard lines of his face eased. “Hoping to take a break myself.”
Buttercup followed his gaze and picked out Blossom singing along to the music as she danced with Robin, Mike, Clara, and Bubbles having the time of her life. It didn’t take a genius to put it together that Brick probably felt like the odd man out. From what blessedly little direct social contact Buttercup had had with Brick, he seemed like the type to hate big, loud events like this.
“So you’re pooping out of your own party,” she said.
He reacted exactly as she predicted he would and puckered up like a cat’s asshole. “I’d say I’ve suffered enough for one evening.”
“Well, I’m not giving up my spot for you.”
“Well, I’m not going back out there.”
Feeling deliciously petty, Buttercup folded her legs beneath her and draped her elbow over the back of the bench to take up more room than she needed. “You do you.”
Instead of fucking off like he should have, Brick took a seat next to her and propped his ankle over his knee. His deliberate manspreading took up enough space to be obnoxious, but the bench was just long enough that she didn’t have to physically touch him. Asshole.
“That wasn’t an invitation,” she said.
“It’s my party. I can sit where I want.”
Deciding that arguing the point any further would just make her sound like a petulant child (she could already hear his accusations), Buttercup let it lie. But she didn’t cede any space on her side of the bench.
They sat there quietly for a time as the music changed, sipping their drinks.
“Jesus Christ,” Brick muttered.
Buttercup immediately noticed the source of his cringe. The Macarena came on and Mike got super into it. “Wow, he’s really leaning into that hip swing.”
Others had picked up the dance, including Mitch and Butch and some other guys, much to the amusement of everyone else.
“Who even requested this song?” Brick asked.
“I bet Mike did," Buttercup said. "I bet he practices that dance in the mirror in his underwear and couldn’t wait to show off his moves.”
“Thanks, now I’ll see cursed visions of Mike swinging his hips in a jockstrap and tube socks in my nightmares.”
“Well, that’s a vivid fucking fantasy. Sounds like this isn’t your first rodeo.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know you’re picturing Mike in an ass-less jockstrap right now.”
Brick rubbed his eyes. “Well, I am now. Fuck.”
Buttercup smiled wickedly. “Hey, he’s a fit guy. I bet he looks great in that fantasy. Why don’t you describe it to me in detail?”
Brick shot her a look that probably would have scared most people, but there was no real venom behind it. “Buttercup, stop.”
She began to sing along to the Macarena just to fuck with him. He looked so uncomfortable yet so trapped that she couldn’t help but laugh at him. To her surprise, he laughed along with her, a throaty, strangled thing like he hadn’t planned on it. Buttercup couldn’t recall the last time she’d ever heard him laugh at something that wasn’t diabolical in nature, and it threw off her momentum.
“You’re probably right, though,” Brick said. “I bet he would pull off a jockstrap.”
“Shit, enough. Now I’m actually picturing it too.”
“You know he worked at a chestaurant after high school, right?”
Buttercup wheezed. “You’re fucking joking.”
Brick was positively glowing with amusement. “Paid his way through college.”
Buttercup looked for Mike again on the dance floor. He had picked up Robin and spun her around, laughing like this was the greatest day of his life. “Damn, I think I just got a boner.”
Brick chuckled, but he didn’t goad her like Butch would have. The moment passed, and Buttercup relaxed a bit. It felt good to laugh, even if it was with Brick. He, too, looked less rigid than he had when he’d sat down. He worked his tie looser, a ghost of a smile curling his lips as if to remind her that they had just had a conversation that wasn’t totally hostile. He looked almost normal like this, and Buttercup wasn’t sure what to make of him. She’d gone from openly despising him for how he’d treated her sister and his brothers, to cooly tolerating his presence in her life when Blossom made it clear this was her choice. There were even moments when he had shown a more encouraging side that made her wonder if she might learn not to write him off as a permanent grievance, like when he’d taken a serious hit for the team and dressed as a clown for Brisa’s sixth birthday party. But those moments were few and far between.
Brick felt her stare on his profile. “What?” he said, a hint of that trademark hauteur he oozed like the stench of overpriced cheese.
“Just remembering the time you dressed up like a clown and handed out balloon dicks to a bunch of kindergarteners.”
Brick’s lingering mirth disappeared. “Of course you are.”
Buttercup bit her tongue. He’d gone rigid again, and it felt weird. She returned her attention to her drink and people watching. “Don’t think I ever said thanks for that.”
“You didn’t.”
God, he was such a chode. Really, she did not understand what Blossom saw in him.
Still.
“Well, Brisa was stoked," she said. "So yeah, thanks for willingly humiliating yourself.”
“That was a truly pitiful thank-you.”
“Oh, grow up. Your ego can’t possibly be that fragile. You really saved my ass back then, okay? Not that you did it for me, obviously, but still.”
“No, I didn’t.” Buttercup had the urge to roll her eyes, until he added: “But you’re welcome, anyway.”
Butch had been angry with Brick for a long time in the aftermath of Dinah Swathe’s downfall. But since Brisa’s birthday, he’d begun seeing Brick again sometimes, just the two of them.
“I’m tired of resenting him,” Butch had said by way of an explanation Buttercup had neither asked for nor needed. She’d wasted so many years resenting Blossom that it was nothing but relief when Blossom’s apology was finally enough. It was hard to keep hating someone who was genuinely working to heal the harm they had done.
Buttercup didn’t have much skin in this game, but even she could see a difference between the man sitting across from her sharing a laugh at his own expense and the one who’d berated her in Chief Foolery’s office so long ago.
“Oh my god,” Brick said. “They’ve started a conga line.”
They sure had. There was Butch in the middle of it with Brisa on his shoulders cheering.
“Kill me,” Brick said.
Buttercup looked grave. “No way. If you die I’ll have to watch this cringe fest alone.”
“I’m not drunk enough for this.”
Buttercup downed the rest of her drink. “Me neither. If we go now, we can probably make it to the bar without being seen.”
With all the gravitas of a soldier heading to the front lines, Brick said, “I know where Princess stashed the good wine. We’ll have to be fast.”
Buttercup was already slipping back into her pumps. “Lead the way, Flameo Hotman.”
His muttered expletive in favor of carrying out the mission spoke volumes to how much he needed that wine and someone to commiserate with, and Buttercup could not complain. When they made it to the bar, the bartender took one look at Brick and shrank like the beta he was. Buttercup snorted with laughter as Brick went behind the bar like he owned the place, and the bartender conveniently disappeared for a bathroom break.
“Looking for this?” Princess appeared holding two bottles of red wine with French labels.
“Amazing timing, Princess,” Brick said.
“They started a fucking conga line,” she deadpanned.
Brick glowed with what could only be described as an expression of true love. He caught Buttercup’s eye, and she couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll grab the glasses,” she said.
“Be quick about it!” Princess shoved the wine at Brick and checked the dance floor, as if any moment now the conga line would discover their ploy and attack.
Buttercup spent the remainder of Blossom’s engagement party drinking the most expensive wine she had ever tasted with two people she never in a million years would have willingly breathed next to, howling with laughter as Princess regaled them with stories and gossip and a healthy dose of shit talking.
And she wondered, maybe, if Blossom wasn’t completely out of her mind after all.
Blossom grunted as she stumbled through the front door of Brick’s top floor apartment—now hers too as of a scant two of weeks prior—and cursed under her breath. “I can’t believe you and Princess actually got wasted. I thought that was just talk!”
Brick snickered as he pawed at the wall in search of the light switch. “Hey, what happened to it’s my party and I’ll cringe if I want to?”
Blossom rolled her eyes. He was slurring his words a bit, but otherwise still floating on the high summoned by that perfect cocktail of Bordeaux and shit talking. Princess was a known hazard, but Blossom had not expected Buttercup to join in the judgmental merriment to the extent she had. Now, Blossom was half carrying her fiancé to the bedroom in the unsexiest way possible.
“Let’s just get you in bed to sleep it off, all right?” Blossom quickly divested Brick of his suit much faster than she would have preferred had he kept his wits about him to pass the rest of the evening together as they’d originally intended.
He made a nuisance of himself when he caught her around the waist with his tie and yanked her down on the bed on top of him. Blossom’s gasp and squirming amused him to no end, and he laughed out loud.
“‘M not tired,” he complained as he tried (poorly) to hold her close.
Blossom grimaced at the smell of alcohol on his breath and shoved off him. “You say that, but once you hit that pillow you’ll pass out.”
“Nope. Not ’til you get over here.” He beckoned to her in what he probably thought was a sensual come hither gesture, but his arm just flopped like he forgot how bones work.
“After I brush my teeth.” Blossom went to do just that. She removed her earrings and her engagement ring, her makeup and the multitude of bobby pins Robin had stuck her with earlier that afternoon. Ten minutes later, she returned to the spacious, Spartan bedroom she shared with Brick only to find him conked out spread-eagle in his boxers and undershirt right where she’d left him. “Happy engagement to me,” she muttered.
Quietly, she changed into an oversized college T-shirt and a pair of Brick’s boxers, pulled back the covers, and crawled into her side of the California king.
Brick didn’t budge at all. He breathed deeply, far away in drunk dreamland, and Blossom turned on her side so she wouldn’t have to look at him. Disappointed yet resigned, she sighed into her pillow and willed herself to sleep.
♕
When she opened her eyes again, the sun was up and casting the room in a muted, grey glow through the drawn curtains. Brick continued to snore softly on his back in the exact same position as she’d left him last night. He was probably going to be hungover. Blossom rolled her eyes and slipped out of bed. There was a sour taste in her mouth that wanted washing out, and a hot shower beckoned.
Steam filled the glass and stone bathroom as Blossom finished brushing her teeth, stripped out of her pajamas, and stepped under the glorious, hot stream with a sigh. It was Saturday morning, the laziest day of the week, and she began to sort through the items on her mental to-do list for the weekend. Her new standing desk was scheduled to arrive soon for the home office she’d turned Brick’s guest room into since she’d moved in. If it got here this weekend, maybe she could convince Brick to help her build it.
Blossom was so engrossed in rinsing her hair and daydreaming about the home office she’d always wanted that she didn’t notice the glass shower door swing open until Brick had already closed it behind him.
“I’m in here,” she said, miffed.
“Plenty of room,” he said, drawing close and reaching for his shampoo.
Last night’s frustration came back into sharp relief as he ignored her in favor of washing his hair and hogging the water. Blossom frowned and crossed her arms as she waited. Water and suds sluiced down his chest, tracing the planes of his abdominal muscles, and lower. She bit her lip, annoyed all the more.
When he was finished, he gestured for her to switch and take the spot under the water. “You couldn’t have waited for me to finish?” she asked as she reached for the bar of soap.
“I didn’t want you to finish without me,” he said.
Blossom dropped the soap on the stone floor when he surprised her by grabbing her hips. He pushed until her calves hit the stone bench, and she caught herself on the wall behind her. Nose to nose, and he with all the leverage, Blossom’s breaths came in shallow, anticipatory bursts. She knew that burning look in his eyes.
The bar of soap lay forgotten on the floor, its suds ferried to the hidden drain at the opposite end of the roomy shower stall. Blossom braced her free hand on Brick’s shoulder, where the water pelted his back and dribbled down her fingers in warm, silken streams. The desire to kiss him, to forget last night’s middling conclusion, quickened her blood.
As if he could taste her intentions, he licked his lips and smiled in that wicked, intentional way that never failed to draw her in. His fingers pushed her damp hair behind her ear and gripped with enough force to maneuver her head back and expose her neck, but she held his gaze in challenge, in daring. He would kiss her then, she was sure of it.
He did not.
The hand on her hip shoved her harder, too hard to resist without her Super strength, and she had no leverage at this angle so down she went, landing on the stone bench with a wet slap. Steam rose from the stone, superheated in Brick’s proximity and the warm water that dripped from the bangs in his eyes to her navel, ever lower. He still had not touched her. His restraint made her want him even more.
When his lips finally pressed against her collarbone, Blossom whimpered and threaded her fingers in his short hair. Water ran down the arm that supported his weight, while the other held her waist and pressed her closer. His kiss grazed her nipple, and she tightened her grip on his hair to keep him there, enjoying the soft warmth of his tongue and the sharp pressure of his teeth.
Just as she was beginning to writhe, he let her go and pressed his lips to her stomach. Blossom opened her eyes and watched as he kneeled before her, his hair tangled between her fingers, and those red eyes ever bold and confident. Nobody looked at her like he did, like she was the best and he would never abide her settling for anything less.
“Brick,” she said, her lungs full of steam and he pressed his mouth to her thigh.
“Lie back,” he commanded.
Blossom’s head met the wall with a gasp as he kissed her properly. She was lost in the feel of his lips on hers, his fingers laden with power spreading her out before him, his tongue pushing, tasting—
“Oh my god…” Alone in the privacy of the home they shared on this quiet, Saturday morning, Blossom didn’t bother stifling her voice as she encouraged him deeper with her fingers twisting in his soft, damp hair. Every muscle in her body begged to clench, to crush, but he anchored her with his matching strength and a singular focus on her pleasure that went straight to her ego. To see him on his knees before her, for her, entirely by choice because no one and nothing could ever make Brick cede power without his consent was the most incredible high Blossom had ever known.
She came in his mouth with a cry. Last night’s frustration left her like spirits, exorcised with divine lips and carnal worship, and Blossom slumped over a sheet of preternatural ice that had unconsciously spread beneath her palms. The ice fast began to melt as Brick covered her hand with his, channeling power and promise.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice raspy and wanting her.
Blossom looped an arm around his neck for balance. The sight of his arousal made her smirk in anticipation. “Get over here,” she commanded.
The shower rained heat and steam upon them as Brick lifted her by the thighs and pressed her against the slick, stone wall. He entered her quickly, and Blossom marveled at how hard he worked to hide the extent of his desire for her until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Oh fuck,” he groaned against the hollow of her neck when she tightened around him without mercy. “You are mad at me.”
“Not anymore,” she said, breathy as she clung to him.
He didn’t last much longer. She hissed when he bit down on her shoulder as he finished, unable to keep from smiling through it. The bathroom was full of steam from the shower and their lovemaking, and Blossom didn’t care. She loosened the vice grip her thighs had around his hips, and he lowered her to the floor with a groan as he pulled out.
A moment passed as they watched each other under the shower stream. She pushed his hair from his beautiful eyes.
“Nice finish,” she said.
He let out a sharp, amused breath and pulled her close for a proper kiss.
♕
Twenty minutes later, Blossom and Brick were clean and dressed for a casual day at home. The espresso machine was brewing and Brick was in the kitchen scrambling eggs for their breakfast, while Blossom browsed the headlines on her phone. She had a text from Bubbles:
[Bubbles: Good morning, sunshine! What time do you want to come over for trashy movie night with Buttercup?]
Blossom began to type out a reply when her phone suddenly rang with a number she recognized but didn’t have saved to her Contacts.
“Are you going to answer that?” Brick asked, annoyed by the loud trill.
Blossom startled at his voice. Her hands shook as she stared at her phone screen, understanding that yes, this was actually happening. Her eyes flickered to Brick, who was looking at her a little disgruntled as he balanced a spatula and a frying pan full of eggs. Something in her face must have unsettled him, because his eyes narrowed in concern.
She answered the call. “Hello?”
Background noise on the other end of the line suggested a crowded place. The voice panted, out of breath or alarmed. “Blossom, it’s Wei.”
Brick set down the food and continued to watch her as she blanched white as a sheet, concern morphing to suspicion at her reaction.
“Are you there?”
Blossom swallowed hard. It had been ages since she’d heard his voice. Ages since she’d thought of him in any capacity beyond indifferent passing. She’d deleted his name from her phone, but she’d memorized his number. “I’m here,” she managed.
“Who is it?” Brick asked, deathly soft. “Blossom.”
“Blossom,” Wei echoed him, and Blossom bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. “Listen, something happened. I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important.”
“Important? How?”
“An emergency,” Wei clarified. “Supernatural.”
Brick continued to watch her, but he didn’t interrupt. She drew strength from his quiet focus on her, and she breathed.
“Bloss,” Wei said, like he used to, “I need your help.”