Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"christmas got me blue"

Buttercup & Butch

Singing along to Christmas carols all alone

For Buttercup, Christmas had never been so heavy with pain and anger. Yes, she'd been known for her temper since childhood, but it always softened as the holidays approached. Nothing calmed her heart more than having the perfect opportunity to relax at home, enjoy a good meal, and, of course, the perfect company.

But now, she sat on the living room sofa, glancing disdainfully at the blazing fireplace while her sisters glued themselves to the window, watching the Christmas carols. Her sisters had given up trying to get her to join them; they'd surrendered to her sour expression. Nevertheless, Buttercup began to hum softly the tune that echoed through the street.

She had resisted the sudden onset of tears, and she would continue to resist them as long as she had the strength. However, she couldn't help missing the conversations with that jerk who knew exactly how to steal her breath and steal her dreams.

“I love Christmas music,” Bubbles commented as she sat down next to her. “Don’t you?”

“I do like it, it’s just that I’m not in the mood,” she replied before sighing and resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Tough days.”

“Aww.” Bubbles hugged Buttercup, letting her rest her head on her chest. She knew very well what her sister’s emotional state was at that moment, so she wasn’t going to leave her alone, just as Blossom wasn’t going to either, who appeared in the living room with a tray of three mugs of hot chocolate. The conversation between them began to flow normally, even though one of them had a completely broken heart. There was nothing a mug of sweet and delicious hot chocolate couldn’t soothe, even if only for a short time.

However, in that house on the volcano, Butch remained with the lights off in his room, illuminated only by the television playing a cliché Christmas movie. He laughed at the ridiculous situations in the movie, but somehow, the typical story had kept him pretty focused. His brothers were in their rooms; they'd asked if he was up for video games, but he'd refused, saying he was going to bed early because he had practice the next day. A partial lie, since he did have practice, but it was almost midnight and he hadn't slept a wink because he'd been watching that movie.

When the characters shared their final kiss accompanied by Christmas carols, he turned off the screen and stared into the darkness of his room. He didn't like being alone, but sometimes it was necessary to clear his head and think only of himself. At least, that was Butch's consolation, as he refused to let a single tear fall.

"I'm a complete idiot."

Ever since you left, my broken heart is so cold

Buttercup sat watching the rain fall. Sitting on her bed by her window, she wondered if she'd overreacted. After that argument on the last day of school before the summer break, Butch's words had broken her heart, but now, thinking rationally and seeing things differently, maybe he was just acting like he always did, making the same aggressive jokes, just like they were... and maybe she was just going through a vulnerable moment.

She didn't know for sure, but she did know that his words had hurt her, deeply. She heard Blossom call; it was lunchtime. She dried her tears and left her room as quickly as she could. She didn't want to show that she was upset, and while she didn't feel like eating, that would only show her family that something was wrong. She had convinced her sisters that everything was fine; she had to keep up the lie.

Butch, meanwhile, was in charge of washing the dishes after lunch. His brothers were somewhat worried, because every time it was his turn, he grumbled and tried to convince them to some kind of duel to prove his strength and get out of the situation. However, this time he agreed without complaint and stood up, heading towards the kitchen. In his head, he couldn't stop blaming himself for the way he had acted in front of the boys, and of course, for how it had directly affected Buttercup. Thinking about her made him angry, since it had all been her fault, hadn't it? I mean, who got angry over a simple joke? Everyone understood it was a joke. His brothers laughed; that was proof enough, wasn't it? Yes, of course.

So why had Buttercup reacted so badly? Didn't she know how to behave? Didn't she understand the purpose of the gift? Or did she simply not like it? Those questions were also swirling in his head, and not even the water could distract him from what was gnawing at his conscience. He knew it; he had done something wrong, and Buttercup's reaction, her rejection, was a clear sign of it.

"Butch," he heard Brick call, "want to play a game? Time for video games."

"Oh, okay." Boomer had gone into the kitchen to prepare the snacks. Being with his brothers meant he didn't need to let his mind play tricks on him. He could get distracted, yes, of course; he wouldn't think about Buttercup, much less about the fact that the snacks Boomer was putting in a bowl were her favorites: those sour strawberry gummies. To everyone's surprise, apple gummies weren't her favorite. They were the ones she ate most often, especially when she "needed to concentrate" before a test, or before a game, or in any situation. They were simply her favorite gummies, and he knew it.

Sitting on the couch, waiting for his brothers to finish their race—since he had triumphed over them, taking advantage of the edge he'd gained by staying on that level all night until he surpassed it—he couldn't help but recall what had happened with the girl that last day of classes before winter break.

That day he had arrived with a gift for Buttercup, wrapped in bubble wrap and, of course, inside another, less carefully crafted wrapping with a classic Christmas design. He didn't know when he could give it to her since, as the last activity of the semester, a game had been organized between the teams of each class. Sophomores would face them, and they, as the seniors, would demonstrate their supremacy in the sports league—at least, that's what Buttercup and the rest of her basketball teammates had said.

Butch had every intention of cheering her on, but the way they interacted was somewhat different. He couldn't simply walk up to her and say, "Good luck in the game, I know you'll be the best." It didn't feel genuine. Those words would have been appropriate if they came from Brick and Boomer, since they were friends, but not from him. He knew it was different, at least for Buttercup, just as she was different for him, compared to Blossom and Bubbles.

After the game, with the third-years clearly victorious over the second-years, everyone gathered before the last period to congratulate the athletes on their flawless win. Buttercup, wearing her black jacket with her team's name on it, looked incredibly radiant. Butch felt the usual flutter in his stomach after seeing her. It seemed incredible to him that, even though it felt so obvious, no one could say for sure that Butch was interested in Buttercup.

"I thought you weren't coming to congratulate me." Buttercup's voice reached his ears, making him realize that he had been watching her the whole time he was, let's say, lost in thought. With her classic teasing smile, she tilted her head slightly before answering him.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. After all, I can tell you were waiting for me."

"Where did you get that idea?"

"Why did you say that if you weren't even thinking about me? You were waiting for me, Buttercup, and I can't blame you. I'd be surprised too if I were you."

Buttercup didn't answer; she simply shook her head as if resigned to the situation. The conversation among the group was quite pleasant. Afterward, Butch and Buttercup were left a little isolated, as if the rest had given them space to have a more private conversation.

When the moment was right, and perhaps giving in to the pressure his brothers were indirectly putting on him, Butch threw the gift he had clumsily wrapped the night before into her hands. Buttercup was surprised by the gesture, as were those who were witnessing the moment.

"And this?"

"It's a gift, isn't it obvious?" 

"Why did you bring me a gift?"

Butch then felt the pressure of the situation: they were being watched by all the onlookers surrounding them. Suddenly, the collective interest was in their interaction. They hadn't thought they'd ever see Butch willing to give Buttercup a present.

"Just because," he replied casually, trying to ease the tension. Buttercup didn't wait any longer than necessary and opened the gift, finding a yellow flower made of wire and metal, clearly handmade, with its own pedestal. A smile and admiration appeared on her face within seconds.

"You're thoughtful," Buttercup said, still gazing at the flower, but then she looked at him with a certain gratitude in her eyes. "Do you want to win my heart?" That question sealed the deal, and Butch felt his heart race. He didn't think about his answer; it simply came from the depths of his being. He smiled mockingly, adopted a relaxed posture, and shrugged before saying,

"Relax, it's nothing sentimental. I just thought you needed something that your temper wouldn't break."

The group reacted with laughter and flattering expressions regarding the gift. No one had seen anything wrong with the gesture, much less with Butch's words, since they usually treated each other that way. But Buttercup felt like the boy's words had been dumped on her: she interpreted what he said as mockery of her temper, not as a sincere gesture.

"Are you serious?" Buttercup asked.

"Of course. Didn't you like it?"

Butch's mocking posture and the nonchalance in his manner made Buttercup react badly, throwing the gift back at him. The boy's green eyes fixed on the metal flower, whose petals cracked slightly. "What's wrong with you? Why did you do that?"

"I don't need your metal nonsense. Save your stupid jokes, Butch." The anger in Buttercup's voice drew the attention of those present, who fell into absolute silence at her outburst. Butch, feeling somewhat intimidated by the exposure of the moment, snorted before replying.

"It was just a joke. I know perfectly well I can't give you anything, calm down. It's nothing sentimental, like I was going to write you a love letter. That would have been humiliating, and you know it."

"What do you mean?"

"I could never write something like that."

And that was the breaking point. Buttercup stormed off, not because she thought he'd made fun of her—they often joked like that, alluding to each other's complicated personalities—but because she felt it wasn't really a joke, and that Butch was capable of rejecting her in public.

On the other hand, Butch stood there, silent, pretending he didn't care about her reaction or anyone else's. But inside, he was completely regretful for not having been able to say what he really wanted: that it was indeed a sincere gift, that he'd taken the time to make it by hand so she could understand that his feelings might seem simple, but they had no ulterior motives.

Since then, neither of them has made the first move to talk.

I sent you an invitation
but I don't think I'll be seeing you

On December 20th, the Utonium family would be having a Christmas party. It wasn't a big deal; they would simply share snacks and drinks with the other scientific families belonging to the Townsville Scientific Association.

"Everyone's invited! You too, girls," the Professor said with great excitement. "It'll be a short gathering, but we can come back to the house afterward and enjoy it with our closest friends and family." Buttercup, who hadn't reacted at all during dinner, suddenly lit up, as if a spark had ignited a circuit she thought was dead. Buttercup's sisters noticed this change in her demeanor, but decided not to ask her anything, at least not now, since their parents were present.

"Are you going to invite him?" That was the first thing Blossom said when she entered her room without permission. Buttercup looked at her strangely from the comfort of her window. She shook her head, and just as her other sister appeared and they both decided to go inside and close the bedroom door, she replied,

"I don't know who you're talking about."

"Butch," Bubbles said, sitting down on the bed, "and I'm telling you straight so you don't dodge the question later. Aren't you going to invite him? After all, Mojo is our dad's co-worker."

"I don't have to invite him, he's going to be there anyway," Buttercup said, glancing out the window. "Besides, I don't want to see him."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely sure."

But the truth was, this incident had given Buttercup an idea. Giving in to her impulsiveness, and from the comfort of her room, she sent him a short message:

“I’ll see you at the Association party, if you dare.”

She left her phone on the bed and went downstairs to join her family for dinner. She didn’t want to be glued to the device waiting for a reply, but she did hope to have one when she got back to her room.

Buttercup was completely unaware that Butch had read the message the instant he received it. Lying on the sofa with his brothers as they tried to start another game on the video game console, he read the message over and over.

He smiled with a mixture of mockery and sadness, and although the idea of ​​responding to that provocation was tempting, he decided to lock his phone screen and put it aside, at least for the moment. He was definitely excited at the idea of ​​seeing her and perhaps clearing up the situation they were going through, but he was certain that, whatever the case, this situation would be an emotional trap. When there was no response, Buttercup assumed Butch wouldn't be coming to the party, and that feeling of emptiness consumed her until she fell asleep. It wasn't that it was him who hurt, but that the guilt was consuming her.

Hoping that Santa brings me what I really want

The traditional toast to kick off the Christmas party was offered, and although she didn't drink alcohol, she was prepared to pretend her glass of soda came from the same bottle of sparkling wine the legal adults were drinking.

She tried to distract herself despite the sadness and disappointment she carried, refusing to participate in the conversations with the other young people her age, especially when the brothers of the boy she wanted to see joined in.

"Why are you keeping so far away?" Buttercup watched Boomer take a seat next to her on the living room sofa. She had been enjoying the Christmas tree lights, as if making a wish with each interval the colorful lights presented; but when the blond boy arrived beside her, her attention shifted to him.

"I don't feel like socializing," she replied, settling more comfortably on the sofa. "Actually, I was already thinking of going to bed."

"But the night is young, you can't stay inside so early."

"Who says no?"

"I say no, as a guest. I can't let you, as the hostess, leave me alone."

"Well, you can talk to my sisters. I know very well what you and Bubbles have going on."

"So what? Can't I talk to one of my best friends?"

"Do not tell me..." She chatted with the boy for a while; the conversation seemed enjoyable, as all the discomfort she'd been feeling vanished when she was with her friend. But a single reference to Butch dampened her spirits again.

"Even good gifts can come from people with zero cognitive ability, you know, those who don't think before they speak."

"We don't need to bring that up, please."

"Okay, but I wanted to tell you something."

"Hurry up before I change my mind."

"Butch was planning to show up later because the idiot fell and twisted his ankle this morning."

"Was it serious?"

"Not at all," he shook his head and settled back on the sofa, "but it was kind of funny to watch. He's been a little distracted lately."

"Oh."

“He did want to come,” he told Buttercup, as if he wanted to assure her of the truth.

“Oh.”

“Aren’t you going to say anything else?”

“I don’t know what else I should say.” Boomer looked at her skeptically, as if he didn’t believe Buttercup’s apparent indifference. He had noticed the way she was looking out the window. “I’m waiting for it to start snowing,” Buttercup insisted when Boomer challenged her.

“Of course you are,” Boomer replied with obvious irony, “and I’m not in love with your sister.” Buttercup didn’t want to respond; she simply remained silent. If she kept pushing the situation, she would end up crying in her friend’s arms, and she wasn’t going to let Boomer tell Butch the gossip.

Christmas got me blue
'Cause I've been missin' you

Butch finally arrived the next day, unannounced. The night was marked by the light snow of December, but it seemed that even this chilly threat wasn't enough to stop Butch from standing on the doorstep waiting for Buttercup, who was taking her time coming down from her room. She was looking for warm clothes to wear to greet him at the door, like a scarf. Blossom and Bubbles feigned indifference, but Buttercup knew her sisters would be glued to the window.

"Hi," she greeted him.

"Hi." From that response, Buttercup knew immediately that the boy was freezing. His lower lip was trembling, his hands were in his pockets as if he were trying to look casual, and his nose was red. Seeing that expression, Buttercup couldn't help but get annoyed, because Butch's arrogance didn't change even in these circumstances.

"You're a clown, how could you come out in this cold?"

"Don't worry about it." Those damned, dry, indifferent answers were what was causing Buttercup unease. They weren't honest. She knew perfectly well that Butch had a good reason for being there, frozen, under the illuminated Christmas doorway of her house. But he wouldn't admit it, and perhaps she hoped Butch would. For the first time, she hoped he would admit it.

"So, what did you come here for?" The expression on Butch's face began to show his displeasure with what had happened. Regret was also visible in the way his smile twisted. Many things were going through his head, but Buttercup was just waiting for an answer.

And after so much hesitation, Butch looked her in the eyes. “I apologize for what I said when I gave you the gift,” he said, lowering his head. “It was made with love, real love. It’s just that…” Buttercup remained silent, but didn’t reply, so Butch continued with a soft, almost defeated laugh: “I guess I’ve lost, Buttercup. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t feel able to speak; in fact, she felt that if she uttered even a word, her voice would break, revealing her discomfort to the one who had caused it.

“The truth is, Buttercup, I like you, and I wanted to let you know. But I can’t control my mouth when I’m under pressure, and I felt everyone’s eyes on us…” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “I didn’t want the moment I confessed my feelings to be in front of an audience. I’m not a showman.”

Buttercup, in a different situation, would have mocked him for referring to himself as a "man" when he wasn't even of legal age. However, the boy had just confessed his feelings, something she'd never imagined, since Butch didn't seem like the type of person who would openly confess his feelings so casually. She wondered if he knew they were being spied on; she also wondered if his sisters were still glued to the window or if, after hearing what Butch had said, they'd realized it was best to let them enjoy their moment alone.

"Okay, but don't just stand there in silence, please, woman, say something." Buttercup shook her head slightly when she heard Butch's words. Her head was a jumble of thoughts after Butch's confession echoed within her. She looked at the boy's face again, but now she wondered if the redness was from the cold or from what she had just said. She touched the back of his neck, a gesture she had acquired from spending so much time with him, and had an idea.

"You're freezing." She took off her scarf and wrapped it around Butch's neck, who couldn't quite control his bright eyes after realizing Buttercup's gesture. It was December 21st, the very beginning of winter, and they were both warming up with a simple act of coziness. They didn't know if that meant reconciliation, nor was it as if Buttercup had also expressed her feelings to Butch that night; they had simply bridged a distance that had been killing them, a cold distance that contrasted sharply with the warmth of the scarf. Without even cracking a smile, lest she give herself away, she asked him a question; but his answer was accompanied by a smile she had never seen before: a smile that could only be reserved for someone you genuinely like.

"Better?"

"Better."

Chapter Text

"a marshmallow world"

Bubbles & Boomer

When the snow come to cover the ground
It's time for play, it's a whipped cream day

Townsville awoke to a thick blanket of snow, which unleashed Bubbles' Christmas spirit with the same excitement she felt as a little girl, for no one in her home loved Christmas more than she did.

Before nine o'clock in the morning, she was already in her garden, about to convince herself to go to the park to take the best pictures of the snowfall and keep them for herself. The trees, the streets, the white grass, and the decorations covered in snowflakes—all of it was being photographed by the girl, unaware that, at that very moment, Boomer was flying overhead out of simple curiosity.

It was no secret to anyone that they liked each other; they just didn't know it from each other, as it was all just speculation. And perhaps they were both comfortable that way. He knew Bubbles would be excited about the snowfall, so he thought he might as well go to her house and see her. He was deeply grateful to be woken by his cat; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to wake up in time to share in the girl's joy.

The snow was just snow until he discovered its beauty through Bubbles's joy and enthusiasm. It was from that moment that his perception of winter and the Christmas season changed.

However, he knew he couldn't just approach her, especially considering he had decided to keep his distance. But Bubbles's curious voice pulled him from his reverie.

"Are you going to keep pretending you don't know me?"

Boomer, faced with Bubbles' direct challenge, adopted a completely indifferent stance and replied:

"I'm not avoiding you, I just have better things to do."

Bubbles looked at him suspiciously, knowing his words weren't sincere. Boomer lived on the other side of town, what was he doing near her house at this hour of the morning?

"Liar."

"I have no reason to lie to you."

"You're red."

"It's from the cold!"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Boomer observed her silently for a few seconds, as if undecided about his answer. However, he descended from the heights, and when he was in front of her, he took his scarf and wrapped it around her.

"Don't get too big for your britches, Utonium." Without another word, he took flight far away, leaving Bubbles completely confused but delighted by the gesture and the sweet scent of Boomer's perfume.

It's shining so your nose won't freeze

Boomer and Bubbles' relationship was always a push and pull. Just when they felt they were getting closer to achieving something, they had to back down, as if they were afraid of their own progress. So, it was no surprise that Bubbles was wearing Boomer's scarf while telling her sisters she didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

"We're not friends anymore."

"Bubbles, we're going ice skating tomorrow," Buttercup announced as she finished arranging the lights above the fireplace.

"I know that already, why do you bring it up?" Bubbles asked, a hint of indignation in her voice.

"Because the boys are going," Blossom replied, handing her a cup of tea. "We're all going together, remember?"

And so, the next day, the six of them met at Townsville Park to go ice skating. Although it was simply an activity of camaraderie between friends, both the boys and girls wanted to strengthen the obvious bonds that united them. However, they felt that Bubbles and Boomer should make the first move, not only because they were the most obvious, but also because they had liked each other for much longer than the rest.

They started skating, but Bubbles and Boomer were left until the end, so they had to skate together through the crowd of people who had decided to be in the park at that time and place.

But the moment stopped feeling awkward, as they both knew very well how to get along with each other, and after a couple of minutes, they decided to challenge each other to a mini-race, which led to them skating together holding hands.

"I was thinking about something," Bubbles said after they both decided to take a break, "and it's that snow looks like powdered sugar."

"Do you think so? When I was little, I thought it was something like whipped cream."

"Something like frosting?"

"Yes, that same kind, the kind they put on cakes."

"But that's something creamier."

"Well, to be honest, I don't think powdered sugar is a good point of comparison either."

"Whipped cream, that's better." Bubbles got flustered, crossed her arms, and turned her back on him. Boomer watched her for a few seconds, then stood up and walked away from the bench. She felt bad about her reaction, because she knew it hadn't been right, but it wasn't like she was very good at expressing her feelings. Sometimes she felt hypocritical when she told Buttercup she should control her temper, when she herself couldn't handle her own feelings.

She felt a snowball hit her coat, and when she turned around, she saw Boomer's lovely smile as he held another snowball.

"Can you make snowballs with powdered sugar?"

Bubbles smiled and went over to him to throw a snowball at him.

"If you know how to handle it, then yes!" They stayed like that for a few minutes until they decided to go together to continue playing in the snow closer to the forest, because, according to Boomer, there was more snow in that place because it was less invaded by people; but the real excuse was that he wanted to spend some fun time alone with her, away from the inquisitive gaze of any person with red or black hair.

Oh, the world is your snowball, see how it grows
That's how it goes, whenever it snows

The two friends started their snowball fight away from the crowds in the park. Although there were families nearby, they were still at a safe distance, allowing them to enjoy the small, intimate atmosphere they had created. Bubbles launched the first attack, which Boomer narrowly dodged. When he went to counterattack, he did so gently so she could dodge it too, but it still grazed the toe of her suede boot. Snow flew everywhere, and laughter enveloped them on that cold day. After Boomer was knocked down by Bubbles, she suggested they stop the fight and build a snowman.

"Don't you think that's a better idea?"

"Actually, it is. It's more fun if we want to work as a team." Boomer crouched down to create a large ball as a base, and Bubbles crouched down beside him to help. Although they remained silent as they built that giant snow globe together, at one point, Bubbles, with a huge smile on her face, said to him:

"I wish the world felt like this every day."

"Like what?" Boomer wondered, without looking up from the snow.

"Light and fun. It doesn't seem like there are any worries other than having a good time, don't you think?"

Boomer didn't want to spoil Bubbles's thoughts, however childish they might be. He knew she was talking about the holidays. They weren't adults yet, not old enough to worry about things that would terrify them later. When he looked up, the innocent smile on the girl's face made the butterflies in his stomach flutter uncontrollably.

"Well, to be honest, I think I feel the same way."

But Boomer wasn't referring to the joy of the holidays, but to Bubbles' smile. She made his world light and fun. She gave him the warmth he didn't see coming. She was the main reason he thought the world could be a better place, because when Bubbles smiled, the constant tension in his neck eased, and when that smile was for him, he felt like he could ascend to heaven without a problem.

Without warning, Bubbles threw a snowball that hit him squarely in the face, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, brushing the snow off his face and the collar of his coat. "We agreed to a truce!"

"It's always a good time for a surprise attack."

"Oh, so that's what we're going on about, huh?" Bubbles didn't answer, she just laughed. "Well, I have a proposition for you."

"What is it?"

"How about you and I run away from here?"

It's a sugar date, what if spring is late?

Once they were far from the park, they realized their breathing was ragged and their coats were damp. They had walked so fast they hadn't noticed they were practically jogging, their desire to share a more private moment alone far outweighing their perception of the bad weather surrounding them.

"Hot chocolate?" Boomer asked, and she answered with a nod and a shy smile.

"It's a friendly date," Boomer added. She didn't reply, simply smiled and followed him. She was sweating profusely, unsure if it was a date or not; after all, he had said it was friendly. But a date is a date, isn't it? Even if it was between friends, he could have chosen a different word, but he said date. That choice of words made them both equally nervous all the way to the café.

Once inside the café, holding their hot chocolates, the conversation resumed. The café's decor was beautiful, in Bubbles' opinion; the hot chocolate was so delicious because of its texture and perfect temperature, Boomer said; the snow was still falling…

“Spring is still a long way off, isn't it?” Bubbles asked. “If it's snowing so much, it's because more cold fronts are coming.”

“It's December, of course spring is a long way off,” Boomer laughed. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Not really, because if it were spring, we wouldn't have been able to take refuge here to enjoy this hot chocolate.”

“All things in their own time.”

“Are you going to tell me now why you were distant a few days ago?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It's not the right time.”

“So when will it be?” Boomer took Bubbles' hand and stroked it with his thumb. She blushed deeply, but didn't take her eyes off his hands.

“It will come.”

In winter it's a marshmallow world

Bubbles left her house with her camera. She didn't tell anyone where she was going, nor did anyone ask, as she couldn't go too far. She had a clear destination: Townsville Park. The previous night's snowfall had surely left the most beautiful landscapes for her and her camera to enjoy. Few cars could be heard in the area, and she also knew there wouldn't be many people, if any, in the park. Who would be crazy enough to go out in the cold that morning? One photo after another. Of a tree, the bench, the fountain, the snowflakes on the pine trees, the city in general, the beautiful white wonder covering part of the asphalt. Bubbles' happiness was radiant and warm, as Boomer described it, who was once again flying over the place where she was.

"Boomer!"

He reacted to the call, not realizing that she had called out to take his picture.

"Oh! You look so cute! Look at you!" Boomer approached her once his feet were on the ground. He looked at the image on the camera and smiled. He looked surprised, but the contrast of the background colors made him look more innocent, like a child from a Christmas card.

"I liked that picture, even though I look naive."

"I don't think naive is the word."

"What would it be?"

"Pure."

"You're exaggerating." Bubbles continued taking pictures while Boomer remained silent. After a while, Bubbles decided she had taken enough and could go home. But Boomer showed her the contents of her backpack.

"I don't remember seeing you with a backpack."

"Probably because you weren't paying close enough attention," Boomer remarked as he pulled out a blanket and a thermos. "But I know that after being exposed to such cold temperatures, you'd need some of this."

"People are going to call us stupid for being exposed to the cold." “They can call us stupid for other reasons besides this. And, well, what does that matter? Let’s have a nice time, shall we? Don’t worry about the rest, because I don’t think anyone comes to stroll through the park at this hour.”

They found a bench and sat down, not caring if it was damp, since they were wearing their coats. Bubbles told him the blanket wasn’t necessary, but that she would accept the hot chocolate.

“Oh, it’s delicious,” Bubbles remarked after taking the first sip. “Seriously, Boomer, it’s just like the one from the coffee shop. Did you buy it there?”

“No, I made it with these hands you see here,” he showed her his hands. “I just went to get one yesterday, I was going to get the recipe no matter what, and I ran into Mitch, you know he has a part-time job there? Well, we chatted and he kindly gave me part of the recipe.” It's not the same, of course, but…

"When you say he gave you the recipe 'kindly,'" Bubbles interrupted, "you mean you threatened him, right?"

"Bubbles!" he feigned offense. "How could you think that about me?"

"Am I right?"

"Absolutely, but that doesn't make it any less offensive."

"I appreciate you doing this."

"For you, I did it for you." Bubbles rested her head on Boomer's shoulder. He smiled and remained silent for a moment so she could get comfortable. Inside, he wished the world would freeze over so he could stay in that position forever, because he wouldn't mind.

"I have to tell you something," Bubbles said without moving.

"Tell me," Boomer replied, trying to sound calm even though his pulse was racing.

"Snow makes the world look like it's covered in layers and layers of marshmallows."

"I thought we agreed it was whipped cream."

"I think it depends on what I want to have with the hot chocolate. Today, I'm enjoying the mini marshmallows."

"I thought you were enjoying my company." Bubbles smiled shyly, thought for a couple of seconds, and let herself be carried away by the fleeting idea that popped into her head. She placed her left hand on Boomer's right cheek, drawing him close enough for her to kiss his left cheek softly, innocently, and tenderly. The gesture left him speechless.

Amid the silence, the snow began to fall slowly onto the park ground. Bubbles looked up at the sky, once again overcast, and pouted slightly.

"I should go home. I can't afford to catch a cold. If I get sick, I won't be able to enjoy the holidays."

"Wait." Boomer pressed his lips together, searching for the right words. Bubbles set down her thermos and turned to him; the sudden silence piqued her curiosity, especially the tension on Boomer's face.

"Is everything alright?"

"I owe you an explanation."

"Why? What are you talking about?"

"I think it's the perfect time. I need to tell you why I've been keeping my distance from you."

"But, Boomer, it's snowing. Can't you tell me on the way?"

"No."

Boomer took the girl's hands, but didn't look up immediately, gathering the courage to confront his feelings and actions. Once he felt ready, he looked Bubbles in the eyes, revealing his flushed cheeks and nose.

"The reason I was trying to keep my distance from you is that I like you too much, and just when I spend time with you, I feel the need to spend even more time with you."

"Huh?"

"I like you, Bubbles, and I think everyone knows it, but I didn't know how to handle my feelings, and I needed to tell you at the right moment."

"Boomer…"

"The right moment is right here, in the middle of Christmas time, with the snow falling all around us."

Bubbles smiled at him, letting go of his hand to brush the snowflakes off Boomer's head.

"We'd better get out of here before we get covered in whipped cream."

"Please don't ignore me."

“I’m not doing it, Boomer,” she said, letting go of his other hand so she could cup his face in hers. “I appreciate you making the first move.”

“Bubbles…”

“I like you too. I appreciate you confessing your feelings to me now.”

“It was the right time.”

“Of course it was.” Boomer looked down for a second, but immediately looked up again to close the distance between them and share their first kiss. But Bubbles stood up and, with a playful smile, said: “It’s not going to be that easy! You owe me for trying to push me away!”

He was stunned, but succumbed to the girl’s charming smile, so he nodded, grabbed his things, and trotted over to catch up with her. “You’re right.”

“Shall we go home?”

“I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Chapter Text

"Merry Christmas, I miss you"

Blossom & Brick

You walked in the party your coat was untied
Slammin' the door 'cause it's colder outside

There was nothing harder for Brick and Blossom than facing a reunion after publicly announcing their breakup, even though it wasn't recent. They had broken up eight months prior, but they hadn't crossed paths during that entire time apart. However, with the arrival of the holiday season, everyone was announcing get-togethers, and of course, invitations were sent out to everyone involved.

"I'm not going," Blossom declared as she put her clothes away in her closet.

"Please, you've never missed a Christmas party," Bubbles said, lying down on her sister's bed. "Why don't you want to go?"

"I don't have the right outfit."

"You know you can wear my clothes. We're the same size."

"I don't feel comfortable in your style."

"Stop making excuses and be honest. Why don't you want to go?"

"I just don't feel like it." She closed her closet and leaned against the door. "Nothing's going to happen if I don't go."

“You’re going to be home alone, and you know Dad isn’t going to like the idea.”

“I’m not ten anymore.”

“Why don’t you just admit you don’t want to go because you don’t want to run into Brick?” Buttercup said, bursting into her sister’s room and sitting down next to Bubbles on the bed. “It’s better to be direct than to keep making excuses.”

Blossom was silent for a minute and sighed heavily. She was an expert at making excuses, but those closest to her knew how to spot them.

“I don’t want to see him,” she admitted. “I don’t want to run into him by any chance.”

“He’s not going,” Buttercup assured her. “Butch told me he’s so antisocial that he’s already made plans for that night. You can imagine what he’s going to do.” She looked at Bubbles.

“Study?”

“Study.”

Blossom sighed heavily and sat down in her desk chair under the watchful eyes of her two sisters, who were waiting for a quick answer.

"Okay, then I'll go. Tell Robin I'm coming." Both Bubbles and Buttercup celebrated Blossom's words, and without waiting for anything else, they left the room. Blossom, meanwhile, straightened her chair so she could face her study materials. Inside that pile of documents were not only the high-graded papers she kept to submit with her university applications—on the recommendation of her teachers, since they were a fundamental part of proving her worth on the honor roll—but also the brochures of the universities she wanted to attend. She only had half a year left, and she already had to start applying and making herself known in this new environment. In one way or another, she was grateful not to have Brick around, because she could simply focus on herself without feeling guilty about being accepted to a university whose campus was far from her boyfriend's campus… well, ex-boyfriend's.

Her only concern at that moment was what excuse she could use at the party to get back home quickly, and she was terribly disappointed when she couldn't come up with anything her sisters couldn't easily refute. Even more so when she pretended to enjoy a glass of soda and chatting with that red-haired boy, Dexter, who kept going on about his famous project that had caught the attention of academics at a prestigious university. She wanted to leave Robin's house; she couldn't stand being there another minute.

Then Blossom knew she shouldn't have gone to that party, especially when the door opened. It wasn't the sound of the door that made her react; it was the cold that rushed in like an unwelcome gust, and then Brick's figure, his coat askew, his scarf slipping off his neck, and that way he had of closing doors as if he were always late for something.

The atmosphere in that house, filled with lights, laughter, and overly loud music, remained unchanged. It was one of those end-of-year parties, a farewell gathering that no one wanted to call a party; they had more important things to focus on. Not everyone was aware of Brick's arrival, but she was. She glanced at him for just a second, which was more than enough. Eight months had passed since they last spoke, and it seemed she could still remember how his shoulders tensed when he was cold.

"Are you listening to me, Blossom?"

"Yes, sorry."

Brick didn't look at her immediately. In fact, the first thing he did was look for his brothers, and once he was with them, almost instinctively, he looked over his left shoulder and saw his ex-girlfriend talking to the guy who had always been interested in her. He didn't look at her for more than two seconds, trying to remain indifferent even though the sight hurt.

"Now that you're here, you might as well try to have some fun," Butch said as he handed him a can of beer.

“We’re underage, we can’t drink,” he replied, pushing away the can his brother offered him.

“Always so proper,” Butch said sarcastically, opening the can. “If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it.”

During the entire time Brick and Blossom were in the same space, they didn't greet each other, nor did they look at each other again, at least not at the same time. The night went on, the fun continued, but something felt off from that moment on.

And all that I want on my list is that look, on your face

December dragged on with cruel slowness. Last year. Last assignments. Last breaks shared without speaking. It felt so endless that by the first week of the month, Blossom already felt like enough was enough, even though it was only Wednesday. And no, she wasn't saying that because she was busy; she was saying it because she'd had enough of Brick: she saw him constantly in the library, that guy appeared everywhere.

He didn't seem to pay her any attention, and when Brick concentrated on something, there was no way he'd lose focus, not even by accident. It wasn't unusual to see him surrounded by notes, or going to look for other books, always frowning as if the future already weighed heavily on him before it even arrived. Sometimes he smiled a little, and when he did, Blossom felt an absurd pang in her chest. It wasn't anger, it was absence, and she couldn't stand it anymore.

Now she was in her living room, with a piece of paper and a pencil in front of her. Her father had asked her and her sisters to write a list of what they wanted for Christmas. None of the three girls seemed very enthusiastic about the idea, but it seemed like a way to bring closure to a chapter, at least that's what the Professor argued when he asked them if they could please write a letter with their wishes.

"And what am I supposed to wish for?" Bubbles asked, waiting for an answer from one of her sisters.

Buttercup looked up from her paper, which already had something written on it, and said,

"Anything. I'm just listing some things I'm missing, like pajamas, rain boots, sneakers, a microfiber towel. You know, things you might need."

Blossom watched closely how Buttercup wrote and then Bubbles, who had decided to embellish her letter a bit before writing, while she simply remained blank. She didn't know what to write. But then she started naming clothes, book titles she hoped to read, study materials for her future university life, but nothing excited her.

Nothing served as motivation if all she wanted at that moment was to be seen by Brick again. She cursed herself for thinking about someone who, ultimately, wasn't thinking about her.

So what if I call
And you pick up the phone

Brick enjoyed solitude when he needed to concentrate on his homework, but he hated it intensely when that solitude was accompanied by melancholy, especially since it arrived at night, as late as possible, and attacked him in his living room.

He knew exactly what he wanted to do, having longed for it for eight months. Even though his siblings had deleted all traces of her contacts from his cell phone, Brick knew the number by heart, forwards and backwards. He would jot it down in the air and then wave it away, as if that would help him come to his senses. But the temptation to dial that number was quite strong and difficult to resist.

What if she answered his call? What if she was waiting for that call? Could they talk again? Could they resolve their differences? But what if he didn't get an answer?
Looking out the window to distract himself from the temptation to call, he closed his eyes and let his imagination take over. He imagined Blossom's voice answering, full of hope, but he also imagined it with hostility and weariness. What hurt the most to imagine was the silence.

"I'm not going to call her," he declared aloud to convince himself. "I'm not going to humiliate myself."

He put his cell phone in his pants pocket and watched the snow fall on Townsville, wondering how many important things had been lost because of silence in that melancholic city. He also wondered if it was possible to imagine that someone else was going through the same thing.

And I used this holiday to make my way to your ghost

Days before Christmas Eve, Blossom left her house under the pretext of going to a girl's birthday party at school, just as her sisters had told her to. It wasn't a lie; she was on her way to the party, but she thought that perhaps she should keep them waiting. Princess, the hostess, in a show of solidarity, told her she would let her know when the Him brothers arrived.

It was ten o'clock, and she had just received Princess's message; however, this message wasn't what she was really hoping for.

Princess — 10:03 pm

"They arrived without Brick"

She felt she no longer had enough motivation to attend the party, no matter how enthusiastic Princess was about having her there. They had recently smoothed things over, and both had discovered they got along well and enjoyed each other's company. She didn't want to let her down, but her main motivation for going to the event was to see Brick and, perhaps, try to talk to him. She had thought about him a lot lately, as the melancholic nights of the holiday season were always filled with memories of what she had lost. The only thing she had been regretting losing was him.

She walked past the park she had so desperately wanted to avoid, for it was there that they had shared their first kiss at thirteen, out of mere curiosity, and at sixteen, they had shared their first kiss as a couple in that very same spot. The atmosphere felt different, and despite the cheerfulness of the pedestrians passing by with their shopping bags and boxes, she felt a pang of nostalgia and melancholy.

She heard a laugh she could recognize anywhere. Startled, she turned toward the park entrance, and what she saw was like having her heart ripped out and squeezed right in front of her face. Brick covered his mouth, his eyes narrowing; it was obvious he was laughing. Standing in front of him was a girl, one of the many who stayed behind studying with him. That laugh wasn't typical of Brick; surely the girl, standing proud of her accomplishment, had made some reference that only he could have perfectly understood. She swallowed to calm herself, but didn't find immediate relief, as Brick had placed his hand on the girl's brown hair and given her an endearing smile. Her cell phone vibrated. She didn't read the name; she simply answered the call without taking her eyes off Brick and his friend.

"Hello?"

"Blossom!" Buttercup exclaimed. "Where are you? Are you coming or not?" Brick saw her, and the smile vanished from his face, replaced by seriousness.

"I'm running late, I was watching a clown show."

"Clowns? Really?"

"Christmas clowns," she said, her eyes never leaving Brick's. "Can you believe it? With red hair and noses, a mediocre but interesting show."

He pursed his lips and took the girl by the shoulders to lead her through the park. He really wanted to keep her from realizing Blossom was referring to them.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind," she sighed heavily and turned on her heel to continue walking. "I'm coming. Wait for me, okay? Tell Princess I won't let her down."

She hung up, and although she really wanted to avoid it, she couldn't resist the urge to see where Brick was. But she couldn't find him, couldn't make out his figure, and that seemed to hurt her even more, to the point that she clenched her jaw slightly as she cursed under her breath.

"You're a bastard, Brick Him. And you're a fool, Blossom Utonium."

She had never felt so humiliated in her life. Not even when she had decided to break up with him using the pathetic excuse that she needed to focus on her academic future, when, in reality, she had decided to end the relationship because of his silent jealousy.

She could still remember it as if it had happened just a moment ago.

"Blossom, you know I'm focused on the same thing. Why do you want to break up with me? We can complement each other in a good way."

“You’re not understanding,” she insisted. “This relationship is a distraction for both of us.”

“Are you serious? Is that your excuse? Be honest, please. Did I do something wrong?” Blossom remembered the desperation in Brick’s voice perfectly, as well as his teary eyes. She didn’t feel brave enough to tell him that she had developed feelings for a classmate, that she might have grown tired of the idea of ​​always sharing space with him.

“I like someone else,” she blurted out. Brick felt those words tear at his chest, offering his heart to Blossom to squeeze until it was drained of blood. She noticed the look in his eyes and felt ashamed of what she had said. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the absolute truth either.

“Someone else?”

She didn’t answer. Brick took her hands. "Tell me what I have to do..."

"Forget it, Brick, this is for the best," she interrupted, running a hand over her forehead. "I didn't tell you I was going to be with that other person, but it didn't seem fair to be with you when, sometimes, I was thinking about someone else."

"I did something wrong, didn't I?" They both fell silent, but he prayed to the gods that they wouldn't let her see him cry, while she tried to find an answer.

"You give in easily, that's your problem." After those words, Blossom left him alone. She never knew it, but that night was the first time Brick tasted nighttime melancholy.

"Blossom!"

She returned to the present when Bubbles called her name to offer her a drink. The atmosphere in Princess's house was pleasant, lively, and stable, as there was no conflict to be seen nearby. Dexter appeared with Bubbles, fully prepared to talk to her. She couldn't help it, even though she didn't want to be near him. Now she didn't understand what it was about Dexter that had excited her. Maybe he was just an intelligent boy who was very talkative, while Brick, who was also intelligent, was more reserved.

"Utonium, you're listening to me, right?"

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"You're distracted."

"I'm not."

Yes, she was, because Brick had arrived with the girl she'd seen him with earlier. He was smiling next to another girl, one who clung tightly to his arm until Brick broke free to greet the other kids.

She saw him laughing with his brothers and the other boys. Then, with Princess, who greeted him with a sisterly hug. She looked at Blossom and her eyes said it all: I'm sorry.

"I'm going home." She didn't speak to Dexter anymore, even though he had many questions about why she wanted to go home. She simply approached her sisters and apologized, explaining that she didn't feel well enough to stay in that environment.

She crossed the threshold under the watchful eyes of Brick and Princess. Blossom only said goodbye to her friend, who didn't stop her either, as she knew why the redhead wanted to run away.

"Go after her," Princess said. "Don't stay here."

“I don’t think it’s right,” Brick replied, looking down.

“So what? What do you want, Brick?”

He didn’t answer, at least not with words. After a few seconds of hesitation and uncertainty, he left the house to follow her.

But Blossom was already gone, and under the light snow, there was no sign of the girl on either side of the street.

“I’m an idiot.”

Merry Christmas, I miss you
I miss you

On Christmas Eve, the tradition of going to bed early to look forward to Christmas the next day was still observed. It was almost eleven o'clock at night, and Bubbles and Buttercup had their bedroom lights off, having been asleep for half an hour. Meanwhile, Blossom sat at her desk trying unsuccessfully to finish Harper Lee's book, as she had many questions swirling in her head. All those questions pointed to the same name: Brick.

She couldn't think clearly within four walls, so she decided to grab her coat and take a walk around the neighborhood. She had nothing to worry about; she knew she was safe on those streets. So she walked aimlessly, the cold seeping into her bones and her thoughts.

Reaching the edge of her neighborhood, she saw a male figure on the other side of the street. Brick was there, on the corner, his coat ajar. Blossom wondered if it was an illusion or if the universe simply had a cruel sense of humor.

They looked at each other. They didn't smile right away. As if afraid of the other's reaction, they closed the distance—or rather, Brick did—and stood face to face. Perhaps it was the Christmas atmosphere, but there wasn't a hint of hostility.

"Hi," he said, as if that greeting carried eight months of unspoken words.

"Hi," she replied in a very low voice.

The obvious comments followed: the cold, job applications, and how quickly the year had gone by. The silences weren't just awkward—that word didn't do them justice—but rather dense, heavy, difficult to digest. The silence was more unsettling than the obvious questions and answers.

"I just wanted to go for a walk," Blossom said when Brick asked her why she was outside in the cold. "What about you?" Brick thought, for a second, that maybe he should have called her. That way, perhaps, the encounter wouldn't have been so hard to justify, since the reason he'd left his house was her. He wanted to see her, talk to her, but…

"I stopped by to say hi to Mandy."

"Mandy? Your friend from the party?"

"Yes."

"I see." Blossom thought that maybe this encounter was what they'd never dared to provoke, however, with that response, she knew immediately that she was wrong.

"I'm going home, or I want the snow to cover me," the girl said. "You should do the same."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied, letting out a sigh.

She turned to go back home; the idea of ​​running into him had definitely not crossed her mind. Of course, she'd forgotten that Mandy lived nearby. For a second, she thought he was going to look for her, but with his response, all that hope vanished. She couldn't blame him; she'd broken up with him because she'd become interested in someone else. If Brick wanted another girlfriend, who was she to judge him?

"Merry Christmas."

She stopped walking and turned to Brick, who was giving her a small, uncertain smile.

"Merry Christmas," she replied, trying to reciprocate.

They didn't hug. They didn't kiss. They looked at each other a little longer than necessary, as if both were waiting for the other to do something—a complaint, a sigh, or to point out the mistletoe hanging from the streetlamp.

Nothing happened.

They said goodbye without promises, without plans, without certainties. They walked in opposite directions, their hearts full of assumptions. They didn't know if this was the end of something or just a pause before growing up. But the anguish in their hearts seemed to intensify when the snow began to fall.

Christmas came and went, and so did time.

Each, facing their solitary yet colorful scenes adorned with Christmas lights, regretted their pride, for they knew all too well that they had squandered the opportunity to mend things with the most important person.

What could have been hung in the air, unanswered now and forever.

How painful Christmas could be.