Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Floyd frowned as the grating sound of his phone alarm pierced through the quiet. Groaning, he blindly reached out—eyes still shut—until his fingers found the phone and silenced it. It was the second time in a row he'd forgotten to turn it off, and he was starting to resent himself for it.

BroZone, the band he shared with his brothers, was on a two-week break. No concerts, no interviews, no rehearsals—just rest and family time. And yet, here he was, wide awake at an ungodly hour. He rolled onto his side and tried to drift off again, but the moment had passed. With a resigned sigh, he sat up and dragged himself toward the kitchen in search of tea—his usual remedy for mornings like this. He padded down the stairs, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, trying to remember if anything was on the schedule.

Then it hit him. Boom was coming over today. Floyd’s groggy expression softened into a smile.

Boom. Just thinking about him made Floyd’s heart flutter. What had begun as a casual friendship—thanks to Boom’s close bond with his younger brother—had slowly grown into something deeper. Floyd wasn’t sure when it had shifted, but now… now, it felt like more than just a crush. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. He didn’t want to risk ruining what they already had.

Reaching the kitchen, he grabbed his favorite mug from the cupboard, filled it with water, plopped in a tea bag, and shoved it into the microwave. Proper tea-making would have to wait for a more awake version of himself.

To kill time, he pulled out his phone. But as he lifted it—screen still dark—something odd in the reflection caught his eye. His brow furrowed. He quickly tapped on the front camera. The moment his image appeared, he let out a small yelp and nearly dropped the phone.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. “I’m still half-asleep,” he muttered. “Just a weird dream. A really vivid dream.”

Cautiously, he picked the phone up again and turned the camera back on. The face staring at him was unfamiliar—but unmistakably his. Feminine, with delicate features, large violet eyes, and magenta hair just like his. The expression mirrored his own: wide-eyed confusion, disbelief, and a rising sense of panic.

Floyd lifted a trembling hand to his face. Gone was the faint stubble he’d been growing. In its place: smooth skin, rounded cheeks, and fuller lips. He blinked rapidly, as if that might reset the world. How had he gone to sleep as himself and woken up like this?

Ding.

The microwave chimed, jarring him out of his daze.

With trembling hands, Floyd grabbed his tea and made his way to the dining room. Maybe this was all a dream. A ridiculous, absurd nightmare. Or a lucid dream gone terribly wrong.

He sat in silence and finally looked—really looked—at his hands. Smaller. Slimmer. More delicate than they’d ever been. His gaze dropped lower, and his breath hitched when he saw the soft curve of breasts pressing against his shirt.

This can’t be real. This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming.

He remembered the classic trick: Pinch yourself. If it hurts, it’s real. If not, you're dreaming. Slowly, hesitantly, Floyd lifted a hand to his arm—only to freeze as a sudden, sharp pain stabbed through his lower abdomen. He gasped and doubled over, both hands clutching his stomach.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed.

His phone vibrated on the table beside him. A message.

Boom:

I’m on my way! Can’t wait to see you all—especially you and Branch. Get ready for an epic week!

Floyd stared at the screen, panic closing in. Boom couldn’t see him like this. No one could see him like this.

Another cramp tore through him, worse than the last. He buried his face in his hands. What’s happening to me?

Then—shuffling footsteps. Someone in the hallway. He looked up just in time to see a girl step into the dining room, rubbing her forehead like she’d just crawled out of the world’s worst hangover. Her squinted eyes barely registered him at first, and her raven-black hair was a mess, falling into her face. But what made Floyd’s blood run cold was the set of pajamas she was wearing—pajamas he’d seen hundreds of times.

“Bitty B?” he asked instinctively, heart pounding.

The girl froze, eyes snapping open. Sapphire blue. Too familiar. She stared at him with wide, wary eyes, like a cornered animal.

“Who the hell are you?” she snapped. Her voice was higher, unfamiliar—wrong. She winced at the sound, visibly unsettled, but recovered quickly. “Wait… are you one of Bruce’s hookups?”

Floyd recoiled in horror. “What? No. Ew—God, no.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. “Then how the hell did you even get in here? Did one of my brothers let you in? You need to leave. Now. I am not in the mood to deal with random fans today.”

“Okay, wow. Calm down.” Floyd stood with effort, hand braced on the table as another cramp twisted through him. “You really don’t recognize me?”

“Why would I—?” She paused, studying him. Her expression flickered.

Floyd limped toward the kitchen, cradling his stomach. The girl followed after him, more irritated than curious.

“Hey! I’m serious! You need to get out right now!”

Floyd opened the medicine drawer and pulled out some aspirin. Without a word, he filled a glass of water, turned, and calmly offered them to her.

“I heard you,” Floyd said quietly. “But you’ve clearly got a headache, and we’re both gonna need your full brain power for whatever the hell this is.”

She stared at him, confused.

Floyd softened his voice. “Take them, Bitty. Please. Then look at me again—really look at me. Something’s wrong. And I think... I think it happened to both of us.”

The girl stared at Floyd like he’d completely lost his mind—but she took the pill anyway, tossing it back and draining the water without breaking eye contact.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked sharply. “Who are you? If you’re actually a BroZone fan, you'd know that nickname is only for my brothers and close friends. To everyone else, it’s just Branch now.”

Floyd looked at her—at him—with a tangled expression of fondness and dread. “Because it is you. And I know that because... it’s me, Branch. I’m Floyd. Your brother.”

Silence.

She blinked. Once. Twice. Then scoffed, letting out a short, nervous laugh. “Real funny, ‘Floyd.’ Okay, joke’s over. Who are you really?”

Floyd raised both hands in surrender, speaking slowly, carefully. “I know it sounds insane. I know it makes zero sense. But take a second. Look at yourself. Listen to your voice. That’s not how you normally sound, and that face? It’s not the one you’re used to seeing in the mirror.”

Still skeptical, the girl slowly set the glass on the counter. Her frown deepened. Without a word, she walked into the hallway and stopped in front of a small mirror mounted on the wall.

She froze.

Floyd watched from the kitchen, waiting for the inevitable.

“What the…?” Branch whispered, staring at his reflection. His fingers brushed over his cheekbones, jawline, lips—like he was trying to wake the glass into telling the truth. “What is this? What the hell...?!”

Floyd stepped into the hallway behind her and crossed his arms. “Yeah. Welcome to the club.”

Branch spun around, his face pale and wild-eyed. “I’m dreaming,” he said flatly. “I’m—I’m having a nightmare. This isn’t happening.”

“Sure, Bitty,” Floyd said with a forced, crooked smile. “And I'm dreaming of glitter explosions, unicorns, and sudden voice changes. Totally normal dream stuff. You know, nothing says ‘dream logic’ like having to adjust your neckline every five seconds.”

Branch visibly paled. “What’s happening to us?!” he cried, his voice rising a full octave—making both of them flinch.

Floyd held up a hand, still trying to keep him from spiraling. “That, Bitty B... is the million-dollar question.”

Before they could even begin to process their own situation, a high-pitched scream rang out from upstairs. Floyd and Branch locked eyes—alarmed—and bolted up the stairs.

When they reached the hallway, a tall, slender woman stumbled out of the bathroom, eyes wide with horror. She slammed the door behind her like she was escaping a crime scene. Her long, light greenish hair was tousled from panic, and her face said it all: utter trauma.

Floyd hesitated. “…Clay?”

She threw her hands up. “Oh, for crying out loud—you too?! Yes, it’s me!” she snapped in a voice far too sweet and melodic to match her mood. “I woke up needing to pee, and surprise! Something vital is gone. Now the toilet is a warzone, and I’m the enemy!”

Branch ran both hands down his face. “This is officially worse than I thought.”

But before anyone could respond, another voice called out from a nearby room—sharp, groggy, and full of irritation.

“Can you all shut up?! We're on vacation, not in a horror movie. You’d better have a damn good reason for screaming like someone’s being murdered.”

A figure appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a bedsheet like a toga, mismatched slippers flopping with every step. Her shoulder-length dark green hair stuck out in wild directions, and her piercing blue eyes scanned the group with mounting fury.

Her gaze landed on Branch, Floyd, and Clay. “Who are you people? Did Bruce invite you?I told him no hookups were allowed to crash here while we're on vacation!” She threw her head back and yelled, “BRUCE VALTREN! WAKE UP! I SWEAR TO GOD—”

“Hello, sister,” Branch cut in, folding his arms with a deadpan smile. “Welcome to the apocalypse.”

The girl blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Clay didn’t even answer—just shoved his phone up to the girl’s face, front camera on. The transformation was instant. All the color drained from her cheeks as she took in the reflection.

“That’s not me,” she whispered, eyes wide with disbelief.

“That’s what I said,” Floyd muttered. “But the faster you accept it, the less likely you are to black out. Maybe.”

Without another word, she darted past them and into the bathroom, stopping short in front of the mirror. Her breath hitched.

She stared, frozen. Then, in a much smaller voice: “…We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

“Looks like it,” Clay muttered, arms crossed, still visibly rattled. 

A low groan made everyone turn. Floyd was leaning against the hallway wall, one hand pressed to his stomach, his expression tight.

“You okay?” JD asked, blinking out of his daze.

Floyd waved him off. “Yeah. Just… stomach cramps. Probably something I ate.”

"Speaking of which—" Clay began, but was interrupted by another scream, this time coming from Bruce's room.

All four froze for a split second—then sprinted to the door and burst inside. There, standing in front of the full-length mirror, was a woman with long, loose purple hair, wide violet eyes, and a very distressed expression. Her hands hovered awkwardly near her chest, like she didn’t know where to put them.

“What the hell happened to me?!” she cried. “Where are my muscles?! I train almost every single day! I didn’t work this hard just to wake up with balloons! What kind of messed-up nightmare is this?!”

Floyd leaned on the doorframe, exhausted. “Morning, Bruce. Welcome to the club.”

Bruce spun around, blinking in disbelief. “Welcome to the—what the fu—? Floyd?!”

“At least your tiny brain made the connection,” Branch said, arms crossed, deadpan.

Bruce’s eyes flicked between them. “Branch?”

Clay raised his hand. “Clay. Hi.” Then he jabbed a thumb toward JD. “And that bundle of rage and tangled bedsheets is John.”

Bruce stared at all of them. “...You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I wish we were,” JD muttered.

Clay threw up his hands. “Okay, since we’re all here now—does anyone have a clue what the hell is going on? Like, any theory at all? Why did we all wake up in female bodies?!”

Before anyone could answer, a loud gurgle cut through the tension.

Everyone turned.

John held up a hand. “That was me. I’m starving. Can we theorize after food?”

Bruce groaned and pushed his new hair out of his face. “Loose hair is an oven. How do women do this all day?”

The others shrugged helplessly.

“Fine,” Bruce said, already walking out. “Breakfast. I’m making eggs. If you don’t like it, tough. Learn to cook in your new bodies.”

The others followed in tense silence and took their seats at the dining table. Bruce, though still visibly irritated, moved with practiced efficiency as he whipped together something edible. Once the plates were served and he finally sat down with them, the tension snapped back into place like a rubber band.

Branch rested his elbows on the table and scanned each face with intensity. “So… theories?”

Clay gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe we’re dreaming? Some kind of shared lucid dream?”

Floyd scoffed through a mouthful of toast. “Doubt it. This stomachache feels way too real to be a dream.”

The group collectively winced.

“What did you eat last night?” Bruce asked without looking up.

Floyd paused. “Can’t remember.”

Clay leaned forward, frowning. “That! That’s what I was going to ask earlier. Does anyone actually remember what we did yesterday?”

A heavy silence dropped over the room.

“I remember walking around the city,” John offered, brows drawn.

“And Clay geeking out over some old book in a book shop,” Bruce added with a roll of his eyes.

“It was a first edition! You uncultured heathen,” Clay huffed.

“We got burgers afterward,” Branch said slowly, the pieces falling into place. “Ate them in that little park.”

Floyd snapped his fingers. “Yeah, and there were carnival posters. We were arguing about going...”

“But did we actually go?” Branch finished, frowning.

The silence stretched.

“After the food, we came home,” Branch murmured. “Then… nothing. It just cuts off.”

“Same,” Clay nodded, pale. “Like someone hit ‘delete’ on our brains.”

“Fantastic. A blackout without the fun of drinking,” Bruce muttered, rubbing his temples.  

Floyd forced a grin, raising an imaginary glass. “Preach, sister.” 

Branch groaned. “Floyd, now is not the time.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” Floyd snapped, throwing his hands up. “Because clearly, the most rational thing here is going to bed as myself and waking up in—” he gestured wildly at his now female body, “—this!”

Bruce sighed. “You done?” 

“Nope.”

John Dory smirked, running a hand through his hair. “Look on the bright side—if we’re stuck like this, at least we’re hot.”

Clay suddenly bolted upright. “Phones!”

Everyone blinked.

“Check your phones,” Clay said, already reaching for his own. “Texts, photos, call history—anything that might explain how we ended up like this.”

Chapter Text

The group moved in quiet sync, hands diving into their pockets. The air crackled with tension—part dread, part fragile hope. But after several minutes of searching and coming up empty, the room filled with groans and frustrated sighs. One by one, they slumped forward, letting their foreheads drop onto the table in defeat.

“Maybe this is the universe punishing us,” John mumbled into the wood. “Payback for all the hearts Bruce shattered.”

A smack landed on her shoulder.

“Ow! Bruce!” John yelped, jerking upright. “Now that I’m a delicate flower, you can’t go around bruising me. You’ll break my lady bones!”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Please. I don’t have the strength to hurt anyone right now. In case you missed it—we're all ladies now.”

“I’ve noticed,” John grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. “My arms feel like wet spaghetti.”

“If this was some kind of punishment,” Floyd added, “it would’ve been just Bruce. Not all of us. And he’d be the one curled up with this hellish stomachache.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Clay sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve turned into women. No clue how, no idea for how long. Perfect.”

“First thing we should do is buy clothes that actually fit,” Floyd offered, more practical than amused. “There was a sale on dresses yesterday.”

“I’ll pass,” John said, standing up and stretching. “I’m going to the gym. Buy me something cute—I trust your fashion sense.”

Branch blinked. “Wait. Seriously? You wake up as a woman and your first instinct is to go work out?”

“That sounds more like something Bruce would say,” Clay muttered.

John turned back with a cold, determined look. “I need to learn how to use this new body. Strengthen it. So when we find whoever did this—I’m ready.”

“Great,” Clay said with a snort. “If it was the universe, I’m sure it’ll be shaking in its cosmic boots.”

Bruce stood up with a dramatic pout. “Fine. I’m going with him. I want my biceps back. And maybe a smoothie.”

“Make it two,” John called as he started up the stairs. “I need protein. And revenge.”

“We should go buy clothes,” Clay muttered, slumped against the table in resignation.

“We should,” Floyd echoed, though his tone lacked conviction.

“But…?” Branch asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“But my stomach hurts too much, and I don’t want to go out. Also…” Floyd hesitated, glancing at the door. “Boom’s on his way.”

“What?” Branch frowned. “Say that again?”

“Boom’s on his way!” Floyd repeated louder, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

“And you can’t just tell him not to come?” Clay asked, his tone more confused than annoyed. “Floyd, it’s Boom. He’ll understand. We’re kinda stuck in a... complicated crisis right now.”

“No! Just canceling on him out of nowhere would be rude and—” Floyd’s voice caught. He swallowed hard. “I… I want to see him.” A single tear escaped down his cheek before he quickly wiped it away.

“Are you crying?” Branch asked, startled.

“No.”

“Is it because of Boom?” Clay asked gently.

“I don’t know!” Floyd snapped, his voice cracking. “I don’t know why I’m crying! My stomach hurts, my body feels wrong, everything’s a mess, and I just—I want this to be over!”

A heavy silence fell over the room. No one quite knew how to comfort him. Then, without a word, Bruce stood, went into the kitchen, and returned with a steaming mug of tea. He held it out awkwardly.

“Here. I figured you’d want something warm. You always drink tea when you're upset.”

Floyd took it with trembling hands. “Thanks,” he whispered, holding the mug close like it was the only steady thing in the world.

Bruce lingered a moment. “I’m gonna go change. If I take too long, JD’ll leave without me.” Then gently ruffled Floyd’s hair before stepping back. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

Floyd gave a small nod. “Yeah. Go.”

“He won’t be alone,” Branch said softly. “We’ve got him.”

Bruce nodded, then disappeared upstairs. A few minutes later, he and John came down wearing oversized sweatshirts and fitted shorts, gym bags slung over their shoulders. They looked ready for a workout—or an identity crisis.

“We’re heading out. If anything changes, text us,” Bruce said, heading for the door.

“Wait!” Clay stopped them. “You can’t go out calling yourselves John and Bruce! People will stare!”

John blinked. “Okay… then what do you suggest we call ourselves?”

Branch raised and eyebrow. “Seriously, you can write a whole album, but you can't think of two fake names?”

“Johanna and Brianna,” Floyd mumbled into his tea.

“Or,” John added with a shrug, “just call me JD. Gender neutral.”

Bruce turned with a sly grin. “Shut up, Johanna Dory.”

John rolled his eyes. “Let’s go, Brianna. Before I throw my gym bag at you.”

They flung the door open just as Boom raised his hand to knock.

All three froze.

Boom stared. Bruce and John stared back—wide-eyed, lips twitching, every muscle in their bodies screaming retreat. Then, with matching strained grins, they quickly flanked him on either side like malfunctioning hostess bots.

“Hi Boom! Bye Boom!” they chimed far too brightly—and immediately bolted down the steps like their lives depended on it.

Boom remained rooted to the spot, blinking after them in disbelief. “…Okay,” he muttered, stepping inside like someone bracing for a haunted house.

Following the muffled voices, he entered the dining area—only to find three women staring at him like cornered prey.

“Uh... hello?” he ventured, cautious. “Did I… come to the right house?”

“Yes! Definitely,” Branch said, voice a little too casual. “The guys just—”

“Ran out to get emergency supplies!” Floyd interrupted, beaming with artificial brightness. “They’ll be back any second.”

Boom nodded slowly, clearly unconvinced. “And you are...?”

“I’m Flo!” Floyd chirped, doing jazz hands for some reason. “That’s Clara.” He pointed at Clay. “And she’s—”

“Betty,” Clay blurted.

Branch shot him a withering glare. “Betty? Seriously? What am I, someone’s great-aunt from the ‘50s? Or a telenovela side character?”

Clay winced. “It sounded close to Bitty!”

“Yeah, well, no. Hard pass,” Branch muttered.

Floyd cleared his throat, eyes flicking to Boom. “Focus, girls. He’s right there.”

Boom stood stiffly, eyes narrowing. “Is this some kind of hidden camera thing? Like… a prank show?”

“No, no!” Floyd let out a high-pitched laugh. “Everything’s perfectly normal! Just a normal, extremely boring, day!”

“We’re just… uh… visiting,” Clay offered lamely.

Boom’s arms crossed. “And the guys just left you here? Alone? That doesn’t sound like them at all.”

“They trust us,” Branch said coolly, lifting his chin. “Completely.”

Boom tilted his head, staring at her more closely now. “Have we met before? Your face looks... weirdly familiar.”

Branch’s eye twitched. “Never seen you in my life. I just have one of those... average faces. Like background extras in toothpaste commercials.”

Boom squinted, clearly unconvinced but without proof. “Riiight…”

Before the silence could stretch further, Floyd darted between them like a referee. “Anyway! What brings you here so early? Floyd said you weren’t arriving till later.”

“My flight landed ahead of schedule,” Boom replied, taking a seat at the table without invitation. “And since when does BroZone have female visitors? I mean—besides Bruce—none of the guys ever seemed like the ‘bring company home’ type.”

“We’re cousins,” Clay blurted. “From the countryside.”

Floyd stared at him, horrified. “From the countryside?”

“Yeah,” Clay insisted. “You know—cows, corn, wheats... country stuff.”

“Wheats?” Branch and Boom echoed in unison, eyebrows raised.

“Do you know the plural of ‘wheat’?” Clay shot back, folding his arms.

Boom and Branch opened their mouths to answer… then paused. Frowned. Said nothing.

“…Touché,” Boom admitted, pulling out his phone. “So… why are you wearing the guys’ pajamas?”

“We believe in recycling,” Clay replied proudly, as if it were a deeply noble cause.

Boom didn’t even glance up—just nodded absently while typing. Then a phone buzzed on the table.

Floyd instinctively reached for it. “Hello?”

No response. He frowned, checked the screen—and blanched.

The call was coming from Boom’s number.

His gaze slowly lifted to find Boom staring back at her, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed.

“I can explain!” Floyd yelped. “This isn’t what it looks like—”

“Oh, please do,” Boom said coolly. “Why do you have Floyd’s phone, Flo? And now that I’m looking closer… you look exactly like him.”

Floyd forced a breathy laugh. “Ha… ha… yeah, I get that a lot. About the phone—it’s simple. He forgot it. You know, when he ran out earlier? In a rush. Very flustered.”

Boom nodded… slowly. Then turned to Branch with a sly grin. “And you? What was your name again? Or can I just call you mine?”

Branch froze—then scowled like thunder. “Shut up, Boom Riversong! I would never—and I mean never—date you. You’re basically another brother to me. Ugh! Disgusting!” He jabbed a finger at him. “To you, I’m Branch Valtren!”

Boom cracked up. “I thought your name was Betty. Relax Bitty. You’re not my type either.”

Branch’s nostrils flared. “You did that on purpose, you smug little—!” He lunged across the table.

Clay barely caught her in time, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Branch! Please! Calm down!”

“I swear I’ll just lightly knock him unconscious!” Branch snapped, kicking his feet.

“Girls—girls!” Floyd cut in, exasperated. “Let’s not murder anyone before lunch.”

Boom leaned back, still grinning. “So… Branch, Clay, and Floyd. That’s what we’re doing?”

Floyd sighed, rubbing his temples. “Are we really that bad at pretending to be women?”

“Not the worst,” Boom shrugged. “But let’s be real—strange stuff follows you guys around like glitter on stage costumes. Honestly, I’d sooner believe you magically turned into women than believe you have long-lost countryside cousins.” He looked between them. “So… how the hell did this happen?”

“We don’t know,” Floyd admitted, slumping slightly. “Last thing we remember, we went to sleep like normal, and then—” He winced suddenly, grabbing his stomach. “Ugh—sorry, I need the bathroom—” He rushed out without another word.

Branch crossed his arms. “We just woke up like this. We don’t remember anything. And for the record, Floyd’s fine.”

Boom raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And you seriously expect me to believe countryside cousins was your best cover story?”

Branch’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t mine.”

Boom laughed under his breath, then softened a little. “You know we’ve all known each other forever, right? If you had mystery cousins, Kismet would've known.”

A second later, a blood-curdling scream echoed from the bathroom.

“I'M DYING!” Floyd wailed. “I'M GOING TO BLEED TO DEATH IN A BATHROOM! TELL BRUCIE AND JOHNNY I LOVE THEM!”

Boom, Branch, and Clay bolted from the kitchen and skidded to a stop outside the bathroom, nearly crashing into the door.

“Floyd!” Clay cried, pressing his ear to the door. “Are you okay, little bro?”

“NO, I'M NOT OKAY! THERE'S BLOOD—REAL BLOOD!”

Branch and Clay exchanged a panicked glance, both turning a shade paler.

“Do you think it’s… from the transformation?” Branch whispered. “Like a side effect of the gender swap? Internal bleeding?”

“What if something’s falling out?” Clay asked, grimacing. “Like... a kidney?”

Boom stepped up behind them, calm and already tired. He raised a hand. “Everyone chill.” He leaned slightly toward the door. “Floyd, dearest, you said your stomach’s been hurting since this morning, right?”

“Yes! Like awful cramps—and now this! I’M GOING TO DIE YOUNG AND CONFUSED!”

“Boom, what’s going on?” Clay asked, voice cracking.

“Is he hemorrhaging?” Branch added, eyes wide.

Boom gave them both a slow, exasperated look. “He’s not dying. Floyd’s just menstruating.”

There was a stunned silence. Then, from inside the bathroom, a trembling voice: “What... did you just say?”

“Menstruating,” Boom repeated calmly. “You got your first period, dearest. Welcome to womanhood.”

Branch blinked. “Menstrua-what now?”

“Menstru-huh?” Clay echoed.

Boom stared at them. “...Tell me you’ve never had a girlfriend without telling me.” He clutched his head. “Okay, who gave you the worst sex ed in history?”

Branch huffed. “We had Grandma. But she avoided all the ‘icky’ topics. She called it ‘private lady matters’ and shooed us away with a broom.”

Boom groaned, leaned against the wall and started explaining with mock drama. “Okay, science time. Once a month, a uterus prepares a nice cushy lining in case there’s a baby. No baby? Body hits eject. Blood and tissue exit stage... well, down there.”

“WHAT KIND OF BIOLOGICAL NIGHTMARE IS THAT?!” Branch shouted, horrified.

“Wait—every month?!” Clay looked like he might faint.

“Every month,” Boom nodded. “Sometimes with cramps which is the ‘stomachache’ that Floyd was suffering; sometimes without them. Sometimes you just cry over dog food commercials and wonder why life hates you.”

Clay slowly turned to Branch. “So... does that mean we’re going to—?”

Branch took a step back, hands up. “Absolutely not. I refuse. I reject this reality.”

Boom snorted. “It’s not a choice, you idiot. It’s biology.”

From behind the door, Floyd let out a shaky sigh. “So… I’m not dying?”

“No,” Boom replied, voice softening. “But you’ll need pads, painkillers, a heating pad, and some chocolate. Maybe a rom-com, though that part’s optional.”

Clay blinked, trying to process. “Pads? Where do we even get those?”

Boom gave him a look like he’d just claimed the sky was orange. “At literally any supermarket. And you’ll need to go yourselves—you’ll need clothes too, since I’m guessing Floyd just ruined what he was wearing.”

“Us?” Branch recoiled. “Go buy that stuff? No! Never!”

“What if someone recognizes us?” Clay added, suddenly anxious.

“Nobody’s going to recognize you,” Boom said, already heading back to the living room. “Now go change your pajamas while I make you a list. Pads, painkillers, chocolate… maybe some cinnamon tea if they have it.”

“This is humiliating,” Branch muttered under his breath, getting downstairs with regular clothes.

“Then you’d better start appreciating women more,” Boom said with a teasing grin. “Now move it. A period waits for no one, and Floyd won’t last another hour like this.”

Clay and Branch exchanged a long, tortured glance. Pale and resigned, they trudged toward the front door like soldiers heading to the front lines—completely unarmed.

Boom blew them an exaggerated air kiss as they left. “Good luck, ladies! And don’t forget the chocolate. For your own sake.”

The door clicked shut behind them.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked open just a crack. Floyd’s tear-streaked face peeked out, eyes glassy and clutching a roll of toilet paper like a lifeline. His expression was a mix of trauma and sheer embarrassment.

Boom spotted him instantly and softened. “Hey,” he said, gently stepping closer. “You’re not going anywhere. Those two can survive without you for a bit… hopefully.”

Floyd gave a small, shaky nod and slowly shuffled out, letting Boom guide him to the sofa. He collapsed into the cushions after Boom strategically placed a towel beneath him, curling up and hugging a pillow to his chest like it might keep the rest of the world out.

Boom disappeared into the kitchen and returned minutes later with a warm compress, a mug of chamomile tea, and a soft blanket draped over one arm.

“Not exactly hospital-grade care,” he said, settling beside Floyd and tucking the blanket around him, “but it helps. Lean back, feet on my lap.”

Floyd obeyed with a wince. “This is awful.”

“Yep,” Boom agreed, blunt but not unkind. “But it passes. You’ll learn to listen to your body... even if it’s technically not yours right now.”

Floyd hesitated, eyes shimmering with quiet panic. “Boom... what if we never change back?”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Boom looked at her—really looked—and his voice softened as he replied.

“Then we deal with it. Like everything else life’s thrown at us. Together. But that’s not today’s problem. Today’s about getting you through this with pads, cuddles, and irresponsible amounts of chocolate.”

Floyd let out a breathless laugh, small and cracked, but real. “Thanks for staying... through this whole mess my brothers and I are in.”

Boom offered a one-shouldered shrug, his smile gentler now. “Always. Though you do owe me a movie and potato chips when you’re not bleeding out.”

Floyd managed a smile that actually reached his eyes. “Deal.”

Through the window, they spotted Clay and Branch in the distance, dragging their feet like prisoners on a death march.

Boom smirked. “They’d better come back with sanitary pads and not those little ones for makeup.”

Floyd snorted and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, the tension in his body finally beginning to melt. He leaned into the pillow, warmth and exhaustion making his eyelids heavier. For now, he wasn’t alone. And somehow, that made all the difference.

Chapter Text

Branch and Clay entered the supermarket with furrowed brows. Boom had been right—no one had recognized them so far. Then again, who would? Not with their newly acquired curves, hips, and lashes that could fan a small campfire.

“We’re safe… for now,” Clay murmured, scanning the shopping list like it was a bad omen. “What’s first?”

“Clothes,” Branch answered without hesitation. “Something easy before we venture into the murky territory of… mysterious feminine products.”

They marched toward the clothing section like soldiers heading for a hopeless siege. Around them, racks exploded with rainbows of dresses, skirts, floral blouses, and jeans tight enough to stop circulation. The mannequins stared down at them with plastic smirks, as if in on the joke.

Branch halted at a rack, frowning. “Who decides this is comfortable? Who thought sequins on pajamas was a good idea?”

Clay held up a crop top between two fingers. “And this? Is it a bra… or a bird trap?”

Branch avoided answering and instead pointed toward the most intimidating aisle of all—the bra section.

“I think we’re going to need… some of those.”

They approached like explorers nearing a dangerous animal. Before them rose an endless wall of lace, no lace, wired, sports, padded, non-padded… some probably with Bluetooth.

“They come in letters and numbers,” Clay muttered, turning a bra over like he expected to find an instruction manual. “How are we supposed to know our size? And how many do we need? One for every day of the week like underwear?”

“Seven each,” Branch agreed with grave authority. “We don’t know how long this’ll last. Floyd, you, and I probably wear the same size, but John and Bruce…”

They both fell silent. Clay finally broke it with brutal honesty.

“Yeah… their female versions have more… front storage capacity.”

“Front storage?” Branch echoed, already smirking.

“What? I’m improvising here!” Clay said defensively. “Let’s just grab three sizes for them, cover all bases.”

Branch nodded and reached for a wired bra—only for Clay to slap his hand away.

“No. Absolutely not. Have you seen that wire? That’s not support, that’s concealed weaponry. I’m not risking impalement by underwear.”

Branch burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, drawing an irritated glare from a passing old lady.

“You’re right,” he said, still chuckling. “Look—sports bras. Sizes we actually understand, and no hidden daggers.”

“Finally,” Clay sighed, tossing several into the cart. “Step one: survive bra shopping. Step two: burn the memory forever.”

Once the bra crisis was over, Branch scanned the rest of the aisle with dread.

“Well… now for the inevitable. Underwear.”

Clay’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t we just do that?”

“No. I mean the other underwear. You know… panties, boxers, that kind of stuff.”

Clay’s expression shifted to pure horror as he took in the display ahead of them. “Why is there lace on everything? And—what is that?!” He pointed at a neon thong dangling from its hanger like an ominous warning. “Does that even cover anything, or is it a Christmas ornament?”

Branch squinted at it. “We are definitely not ready for that level of… ventilation.”

They rummaged through the racks until Clay triumphantly held up a pack of boyshort-style panties.

“Look! These actually cover something!”

“Perfect,” Branch said with relief. “Neutral colors, though. I refuse to make eye contact with myself in the mirror while wearing unicorn print.”

As they sorted sizes, Clay froze at a pair with Hot Stuff written in glitter across the back.

“What kind of confidence does it take to wear this?”

“The kind we clearly don’t have,” Branch said, shoving it back onto the shelf like it might burn him.

With the cart now stocked with bras and non-traumatic underwear, they ventured into the casual clothing section—only to stop dead.

“This looks like a spring runway,” Clay muttered. “How are we supposed to find anything without ruffles, sequins, or… strategic holes?”

They scanned the racks until Branch spotted salvation: a small, modest corner of jeans, hoodies, plain T-shirts, and simple blouses.

“Here!” he declared, as if he’d discovered water in the desert. He hugged a plain green tee to his chest. “Bless you, gods of cotton and polyester.”

They set to work. Branch loaded the cart with dark jeans, basic tees, and neutral sweaters. Clay, however, gravitated toward a knitted vest with pink-and-white diamond patterns.

Branch stared.

“What?” Clay said defensively. “It’s comfy… it’s cute… and it has pockets.”

Branch rolled his eyes but kept tossing in clothes for their brothers-now-sisters: black T-shirts, casual dresses, and shorts for Floyd; stretchy athletic sets for Bruce; and oversized I’m avoiding humanity today outfits for John Dory.

“Alright, now we just have to survive the feminine products aisle,” Branch muttered, placing the last item in the cart with the solemnity of someone marching toward their doom.

“But first—feminine-scented deodorant!” Clay announced, pointing skyward like he’d just solved world hunger.

Branch’s eyes lit up at the temporary reprieve. “Good call. We should also grab those… cramp pills.”

Clay lifted his chin in mock pride. “Just so we’re clear, this isn’t me avoiding the pads aisle. I don’t evade. I… tactically strategize.”

“Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Hey, self-care is important! And a fruity deodorant could change my life.”

“While we’re at it,” Branch said dryly, “let’s grab some papaya or passionfruit shampoo—whatever says, ‘I’m a confident woman with silky hair.’”

“Absolutely, Betty!”

Branch froze mid-step. “No. Don’t call me Betty. I’m Branch. And I will stay Branch—sports bra, lace panties, whatever it takes.”

Clay doubled over laughing, earning them side-eye from two shoppers. “Y’know,” he wheezed, “it was exactly that reaction to a name that made Boom start suspecting us.”

“Don’t care,” Branch said flatly. “Not being Betty. End of discussion.”

“Speaking of Boom… you and him—”

“Nope. Not happening. Boom’s like a brother. All of Kismet is. That so-called ‘flirting’ was pure provocation. The idiot lives to push my buttons. And for the record, I’m straight.”

Clay raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, technically, while you’re in this body, you’re a woman attracted to women… which makes you a temporary lesbian. Congratulations.”

Branch stared at him for a long beat before exhaling in defeat. “I need that deodorant more than ever.”

They started tossing products into the cart without looking: deodorants named Moon Dreams, shampoos labeled Berry Essence, and even a conditioner that promised to activate your inner glow.

But eventually, there was no more stalling. They stood rooted in place, eyes locked on a sign that loomed above them like a bad omen: Feminine Hygiene.

“It can’t be that bad, right?” Clay asked, his voice carrying all the conviction of a man about to be executed.

Branch gripped the cart handle like a shield. “Let’s go. How complicated can buying pads really be?”

They inched forward in slow, deliberate steps, as if the linoleum might collapse under the weight of what awaited them. The aisle stretched before them—brightly lit, oppressively pink, and lined with an overwhelming wall of mysterious products. Both took deep breaths like divers about to plunge into dangerous waters.

“Okay…” Branch whispered. “Quick and precise. We grab what we need and get out. No eye contact. No hesitation. No sudden movements.”

“And what exactly do we need?” Clay murmured, his eyes darting over shelves stacked with packages labeled ultra thin, overnight, with wings, without wings. “Why are there so many kinds?” His voice dropped into horrified awe. “Is this a psychological test? Some kind of… Ravenclaw riddle?”

Branch squinted at the options. “If it has wings… does it fly? Or is it windproof?”

Clay picked up a brightly colored pack. “This one says Super Night Extra Plus Maxi Wing. Sounds like a video game special attack.” He gingerly lifted a box of tampons. “And these? They look… suspicious. What are we supposed to do with them? Throw them like darts?”

Branch snatched the box away instantly. “No, no, no! Those go… there.” He made a vague, awkward hand gesture toward his own hips.

“There?!” Clay’s eyes went wide. “Who invented this? A psychopath?”

“Shh!” Branch hissed, glancing around. “We’re sticking with pads. At least they have instructional diagrams. That’s comforting.”

“So no tampons, then?”

“Today’s version of me isn’t ready for that conversation.”

They stood frozen, each holding a different package like they were bidding on cursed relics.

“Does ‘Extra Overnight Protection’ work during the day too?” Clay asked, squinting at the label.

“And what even is ‘Moderate Flow’?” Branch countered. “Moderate according to who? Is there an international standard? A judging panel? A… Flow Olympics?”

Clay choked back a laugh. “Yeah—gold, silver, bronze. ‘And in first place, representing Team Heavy, it’s—’”

“Team Heavy?” a voice echoed, amused.

They both froze. Slowly, they turned to see two girls standing a few feet away, clearly having been there long enough to catch way too much of their conversation.

One had magenta hair in a high ponytail, a sky-blue dress that shimmered with every movement, and sparkling eyes that made it hard to look away. The other sported messy blonde hair, white athletic wear, and a laid-back posture—though her sharp gaze suggested she didn’t miss a thing.

“You two okay?” the blonde asked.

“Yes! Totally fine, yes…” Clay said quickly, shoving a box behind his back like it was contraband.

“First time buying… those?” the blonde added, smirking.

Branch sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

The magenta-haired girl giggled—a sound so light and genuine it knocked the edge off Branch’s grumpiness. “Just a little. Okay, maybe a lot. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.”

“Were you using a device, by any chance?” the blonde asked, tilting her head.

“Yes! Exactly that!” Clay latched onto the lifeline instantly—though it was painfully clear he had no idea what “device” meant.

Both girls nodded like this explained everything.

“That makes sense,” the magenta-haired one said. “With the device, you skip most of this monthly torture. I’m Poppy, and this is my sister, Viva.” She extended her hand.

Branch shook it, the first genuine smile tugging at his lips since they’d entered the aisle. “Branch. And this is Clara.”

Poppy’s eyes lit up. “Branch?! No way! Like the youngest member of BroZone?”

Branch arched a brow. “You’re a fan?”

“His number one fan,” Poppy declared—only for Viva to snort.

“Understatement. She’s got posters, limited-edition merch, and a custom mug with cartoon Branch.”

“It’s stylized artwork,” Poppy corrected quickly, her cheeks tinting pink.

While they bantered, Viva casually plucked a pack of overnight pads off the shelf and dropped it in their cart. “Start with these. Better to be overprepared.”

“Thanks, Viva,” Clay said, genuine relief in his tone.

“No problem… Clara,” Viva added with a sly grin before turning back to the shelves.

Poppy, however, stayed locked on Branch. Her hands landed on her shoulders like they were already old friends. “So… you like BroZone?”

Branch swallowed hard, caught between her enthusiasm and the heat creeping up his neck. “A little, yeah. Definitely not as much as you.”

“That’s impossible,” she laughed, giving her arm a playful smack. “But hey, if you ever want to gush about music or fangirl shamelessly, I’m your girl.”

Branch nodded mutely, still processing the fact that this conversation was happening at all.

Clay leaned in, whispering just loud enough for Branch to hear, “You okay? Or should I fake a medical emergency to get you out of this?”

Branch gave him an elbow to the ribs, a resigned smile tugging at his lips.

Viva clapped her hands once. “How about we hit the snack aisle? This place has the universe’s best spicy chips.”

“Snacks?” Clay blinked—then gasped. “Oh god! The chocolates!”

Branch facepalmed. “Boom will murder us if we forget Flo’s chocolates.”

“Don’t forget the fifteen-minute passive-aggressive lecture as punishment,” Clay added.

“Boom?” Poppy asked, curious. “Like the member of Kismet?”

Branch offered a tired smirk. “Yeah, what a coincidence, right? Who knew our moms would accidentally name us after famous singers?”

“Fifteen-minute passive-aggressive lectures?” Viva chuckled. “Sounds like me when someone eats my secret fridge snacks.”

“Careful,” Clay said in mock warning. “If Boom hears you, he might crown you his spiritual successor.”

“So, we going?” Poppy asked, already looping her arm through Branch’s. “I need triple-chocolate cookies with chocolate drizzle.”

Branch stiffened, then sighed in surrender. “Only if you promise no more pad shopping today. I’ve reached my limit.”

“Deal!” Poppy beamed. “Though if you want stain-prevention tips for white sheets, I’m your expert.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Branch muttered, fighting a smile.

Clay and Viva followed a few steps behind—Viva blindly tossing bags of chips into the cart while Clay methodically compared chocolate bars.

“Is Flo more into dark chocolate or caramel-filled?” Viva asked.

“If it has sugar, she wants it. If it has sugar and melts, she needs it,” Clay replied solemnly.

“She likes the ones with pink wrappers,” Branch called from up front. “Says they match her soul.”

“How pink are we talking?” Poppy asked. “Baby pink, hot pink, or ‘I’m a misunderstood diva’ pink?”

Branch laughed, shaking his head. “Definitely the third one.”

Chapter Text

After a chaotic but strategic sweep of the snack aisle, the four of them rolled down toward the checkout like a merry little caravan. Branch and Clay’s cart looked less like a menstruation emergency and more like a slumber party gone rogue—overflowing with chips, chocolates, cookies, and enough sugar to cause a blackout.

Branch eyed the mountain of junk food. “I think we’ve officially crossed the line into irresponsible shopping.”

Clay held up a bag of gummy bears with both hands like it was a sacred offering. “Do we need these too? Or are we pushing it?”

“Add them,” Branch said while Viva was tossing in a final bag of hot chips with a casual basketball arc into their cart. “Flo made it very clear she’s on emotional thin ice. If we show up without gummies, she might start crying—and then throw things.”

They started toward the registers, snacks rattling in the cart.

“So…” Poppy slowed her steps just enough to glance over at Branch, her tone breezy. “Are we gonna see each other again?”

Branch blinked, caught off guard. “You mean... outside of panic-buying pads and tampons?”

“Exactly.” Poppy gave a small grin. “Turns out you don’t always need a crisis to make cool new friends.”

Branch glanced at Clay, who gave her a sly elbow nudge and raised his eyebrows like go on, say yes.

A faint blush crept onto Branch’s cheeks, but he managed a smile. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Great.” Poppy scribbled something quickly on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Text me sometime. Especially if you ever need backup in a ‘forbidden’ aisle again.”

“Or if you want a crash course in surviving hormonal mayhem,” Viva added, winking.

With that, the girls headed off to their register. Clay and Branch stood there a beat longer, watching them go.

Clay let out a low whistle. “I feel like I deserve a medal for surviving this. Do they sell emotional support trophies in the toy aisle?”

Branch stared at the cart like it might come alive. “What if the curse only breaks when we’ve mastered the entire feminine hygiene section?”

Clay groaned. “Then I hope a magical fairy shows up with a detailed tutorial… or at least a PowerPoint presentation.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that comes after surviving something mildly traumatic—but weirdly bonding.

Clay exhaled deeply. “Well... the worst is over. Right?”

Branch narrowed his eyes like he didn’t trust the universe. “Don’t jinx it.”

Then Clay’s face lit up with a teasing grin. “Also—I saw that look you gave Poppy. It’s official: my sister’s a lesbian now.”

Branch rolled his eyes and shoved the cart forward, maybe a little too hard. “Shut up, Clay. Boom's probably tracking us. We need to hurry.”

As they finally headed to pay, their laughter trailed behind them, blending with the low hum of the store. The curse was still unbroken, their bodies still unfamiliar, and the rulebook still missing—but now, at least, they weren’t going it alone. They have two cute allies to help them out.

******************************

John and Bruce let out a synchronized sigh as they stepped into the gym. Their oversized hoodies hung loosely over their cursed new bodies, sleeves bunched at the wrists, hoods half-up like makeshift armor. Despite the extra fabric, they still felt exposed—as if every man in the building had suddenly developed radar for confused women in ill-fitting clothes.

“I swear, every guy in here can smell the estrogen,” John muttered, adjusting his hoodie’s hem like it might make him invisible.

“Relax,” Bruce replied, mirroring the tug. “We’re here to blend in and survive. How about we start with cardio? Something easy.”

John nodded. “Treadmills. Easy. Safe. Let’s go.”  

But a few minutes later, as the treadmills picked up speed and jogging turned into a light run, both of them hit the emergency stop button at nearly the same time, clutching their chests and grimacing in pain.

“Sweet mother of—!” Bruce gasped, both hands planted firmly over his chest. “Why didn’t anyone warn us these things came with built-in wrecking balls?!”

John staggered off the treadmill. “They don’t bounce. They attack. With vengeance.”

“Now I understand the sacred power of the sports bra,” Bruce panted. He eyed a nearby runner who looked like a gazelle in leggings. “Look at her. Effortless. She’s probably wearing some next-gen NASA bra. We should have listened to Floyd,” he muttered. “But nooo, we had to make a dramatic exit from the house without letting him dress us like Barbie dolls.”

“Well, too late now. We’re improvising. Let’s move to weights—we still need to train. Revenge waits for no one.”

“Revenge against who? The moon? Fate? Gonna suplex a star next?” Bruce asked, gesturing vaguely at the sky.

“Less sarcasm. More sweat,” John growled, stomping toward the bench press.

“You know, I’m starting to worry about your mental stability.” Bruce followed, slower. “John-hanna. Johanna,” he called, arching a brow at the weight his brother was loading. “Don’t you think that’s... a bit much for a body that now weighs, I don’t know, the same as a well-fed cat?”

“I’ve lifted more,” John said with a dismissive wave. “This is baby weight.”

“Yeah, in your man-body. This one’s got spaghetti arms and probably a lower back made of hopes and wishes.”

“Please,” John huffed, lying back and grabbing the bar. “Watch and learn.”

She inhaled, counted dramatically in her head… and pushed.

Nothing.

She tried again. The bar gave a slight tremble—just enough to look embarrassing.

Bruce slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes gleaming. “Oh my god. Did it just vibrate instead of lifting?”

“It’s unbalanced! The plates are uneven!” John protested, still holding the bar like it betrayed him.

Bruce doubled over with laughter. “The only thing off balance here is your ego.”

John sat up. “Fine. Slight reduction. For technique.”

“Right, right. All about technique.” Bruce grinned. “What’s next on your plan? Yoga? Pilates?”

John shot her a deadly glare. “Laugh all you want. When I survive this, I’m nuking whatever cosmic glitch did this.”

Bruce gave her a gentle pat. “Whatever gets you through the day, JD.”

John pouted. “I look like an idiot, don’t I?”

Bruce tilted his head and smiled sympathetically. “You look like a very determined idiot—but you're my idiot. And honestly? It's kind of inspiring.”

John opened his mouth to retort—then paused, frowning. “Ugh. My boobs are sweating. That’s disgusting.”

Bruce cackled. “Alright, that’s it. We’re done.” He tossed a towel at John, his voice equal parts exasperation, amusement, and pity. “We're going home. You’ve suffered enough humiliation for one day.”  

John caught the towel, wiping the sweat from his face with a bitter laugh. “Yeah, thanks for the recap,” he muttered, following Bruce out of the gym.  

Once outside, Bruce paused on the sidewalk. “I need to stop by the store for dinner stuff. You coming?”

John shook his head. “Nah. I’ll head back to the house. Maybe the guys figured something out—anything—about whatever the hell this is.”

Bruce gave him a long look. “Alright. But be careful. And text me when you get there.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You know I’m the older brother, right?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Bye, JD.”

He turned toward the market while John huffed and tugged his hood lower over his face. The sweatshirt still swallowed him whole, swinging awkwardly around his thighs as he walked. He tried to blend in, eyes down, but the streets had other plans.

A whistle cut through the air.

“Hey, gorgeous! Need some company?”

John’s jaw tightened. He kept walking.

“How about a smile, mamacita? Don’t cost a thing.”

John muttered under his breath, “Mamacita. Jesus Christ…”

“Don’t be like that, baby. I don’t bite,” another voice added, slick and amused. “Unless you want me to.”

John stopped cold. His blood simmered. He turned, ready to verbally torch them—

But they were already too close.

“Relax,” one said, reaching out to touch her arm. “We’re just being friendly.”

John yanked her arm back. “Friendly is keeping your hands to yourself and your mouth shut, jackass!”

“Ooh, feisty.” The other guy grinned. “Bet you’d be fun with the right kind of pressure.”

John’s eyes darkened. “Touch me again, and I’ll introduce you to a pressure point you’ll never forget.”

A tense beat passed. Then—

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” came a low, steady voice. “Pretty sure the lady said no.”

All three turned. A tall redhead in a cowboy hat stood a few steps away, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed. His calm was unsettling. Not passive—measured. The kind of calm that could flip into action in half a second.

“And who the hell are you?” one of the harassers demanded.

“Someone with manners. Unlike you two.”

He stepped forward. Not fast. Not aggressive. But the shift in the air was immediate.

The men exchanged a glance.

“Whatever. She’s not worth it,” one muttered. “Just some crazy bitch.”

They backed off and disappeared down the street.

John scowled, watching the two men retreat. His heart was still pounding, adrenaline wearing off like a sugar crash. He turned to the cowboy.

“Thanks.” 

The cowboy offered a faint smile and extended a hand. “Hickory.”

John eyed it, then shook. “John. …Jo. Johanna.”

Hickory’s brow lifted, amused. “You sure?”

John glared. “You saying I don’t know my own name?”

“Not saying anything, darlin’. Just seemed like it caught you off guard.”

She crossed her arms, clearly uncomfortable. “I had it under control.”

“Sure did. But there’s no shame in backup. Even legends use sidekicks.”

John snorted. “You calling yourself a sidekick?”

“I’m just glad I got here before someone needed stitches,” he said, still calm, still unreadable.

“…Yeah. Well. Thanks,” John mumbled.

“You want me to walk you home?” Hickory asked calmly, like it was the most obvious next step in the world.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Not a babysitter. Just a guy who doesn’t want more brainless men ruining your day.”

John exhaled, somewhere between tired and reluctant. “Fine… but only as far as I say. And don’t talk to me.”

Hickory gave a lazy shrug. “Whatever you say, Johanna.”

They walked in silence for a few blocks, the city noise dimming into the background. John’s hands were stuffed in her hoodie pocket, shoulders hunched, eyes forward—projecting a clear ‘don’t even try to bond with me’ vibe. Hickory ambled beside her with that same calm, easy stride, as if walking a pissed-off stranger home was just a regular, everyday activity.

After a long pause, John couldn’t help himself. “Are you always this... chivalrous with random women on the street?”

Hickory chuckled under his breath. “Only the ones who look like they could turn a screwdriver into a lethal weapon. You’ve got that vibe.”

“How romantic.”

“Hey, everyone’s got their type.”

John shook his head, suppressing a smirk. “So what, you rescue damsels for sport?”

“Only when I’m not saving kittens or breaking wild mustangs with my bare hands.”

“Seriously?”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

John snorted despite himself. The guy was ridiculous, but not annoying.

“So what do you do?” Hickory asked, casually. “When you’re not issuing verbal beatdowns.”

John hesitated, then pulled a vague answer from thin air. “I’m on... sabbatical. Soul-searching. Introspective stuff.”

“Let me guess,” Hickory said. “Your inner peace lives at the gym?”

“Long story.”

“I like long stories.”

“I’m not a memoir.”

Hickory grinned. “Nah, you’re more like a diary with one of those tiny locks. Definitely hiding something spicy.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this nosy?”

“Only when I’m curious.”

They shared a soft laugh. Not mocking—almost... familiar.

Eventually, they reached the entrance to a well-kept private neighborhood. John stopped.

“I can take it from here.”

Hickory nodded. “Pleasure meeting you, Johanna. You ever decide to yell at creeps again, add some flair. Try, ‘My heels are registered weapons!’”

John snorted—then laughed for real, catching himself too late and clapping a hand over his mouth. “You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you kindly. It’s the only thing I’ve got a PhD in.”

They exchanged a quick nod. Hickory turned and strolled off, that same unbothered gait carrying him away as if he hadn’t just intervened in a moment that rattled John more than he’d admit.

John watched him go, then turned and walked into the neighborhood. Still smiling.

“Perfect,” he thought. “I get rescued by a cowboy who quotes memes, and I like him. Just what I needed—gratitude for a man who looks like he wandered out of a spaghetti western. What’s next, he lets me borrow his hat and tells me to call him ‘Hick’?”

He rolled his eyes at himself, but the smile that lingered on his lips was real. For the first time that day, the weight of his borrowed body didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

As John walked through the quiet streets, his steps slowed.

“Okay, fine. When I get my body back, I will never complain about waiting for girls to change clothes again. And if anyone says women exaggerate street harassment? I’ll punch them. Hard.”

The neighborhood was quiet. Safe. But at that moment, he understood—really understood—why so many women never walked with both earbuds in; why keys were held between fingers like weapons; why glancing over their shoulders was second nature to them.

It wiped away part of his smile. But not all of it.

Because of all the confusion, the discomfort, the alien weight of soft curves and voices that sounded wrong—there was one unexpected comfort: John wasn’t alone. He had his brothers.

And maybe... just maybe...

He met a cowboy he wouldn’t mind running into again.

Chapter Text

Boom gently brushed the back of his fingers along Floyd’s cheek as she slept on the couch. A small, unguarded smile tugged at his lips. Even like this—as a girl, with slightly messy hair and a blanket half-falling off—she was, to him, the most beautiful person in the universe. He watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing, the faint part of her lips, the way a loose strand of hair clung stubbornly to her forehead. Carefully, he tucked it away, mindful not to wake her. She’d been grumbling about cramps earlier, and Boom just wanted her to rest.

A soft creak of the door shattered the quiet. Boom froze mid-caress, instantly shifting into “nothing-to-see-here” mode, eyes glued to his phone like he’d been texting all along.

“Wow, took you long enough,” he said without looking up.

“Boom? You’re still here?”

Boom lifted his gaze to find the eldest of the brothers—now sisters—Valtren standing in the doorway.

“Back so soon, Johnny? Where’s Bruce?”

John huffed, kicking the door shut with his foot. “Of course they told you. Where are Branch and Clay?”

“They went shopping—”

The rest of the sentence was swallowed by the door swinging open again. This time, Branch and Clay appeared, both loaded down with bags.

“I sent you for pads, not to loot the entire store. What even is all this?” Boom asked.

“Clothes and snacks. Lots of snacks. Preventive measure against complaints,” Branch said proudly, hoisting a bag like a prize.

John narrowed his eyes, curiosity piqued. “Any chance you grabbed sports bras? Bruce and I need them if we’re going to keep working out.”

Clay set the bags down with a thud. “Well, they were the only normal-sized ones that we could find, so... yeah. But… why do you need bras for working out?”

John stared at her like she’d just asked why water was wet. “Because they bounce. And it hurts. Duh.”

“They bounce?!” Branch’s face twisted in horror. “Bleeding wasn’t bad enough? Now we have to deal with bouncing too?”

“Bleeding?” John froze. “What are you talking about?”

Boom clapped his hands sharply, cutting through the conversation. “Pads. Now. Floyd’s going to need them—and the painkillers.”

He shifted Floyd carefully, trying to rouse her without startling her. She whimpered softly, brows knitting.

“Shhh,” Boom whispered, brushing her hair back again. “Just a second, dearest. They brought you something to help.”

John grimaced. “Floyd’s… on his period? I didn’t think we’d get everything women deal with. I thought it was just a body swap.”

“You even know what menstruation is?” Branch asked, one brow raised.

“Of course! Bruce does too. You guys don’t?”

“No! Boom had to explain it to us!” Clay said, wide-eyed. “How do you know?”

John shrugged. “Bruce has been around girls most of his life, and I’ve… dated a few. You learn things. Especially when your girlfriend yells from the bathroom that she’s out of pads and you’re the only one home.”

“Well, buckle up,” Branch muttered, fishing out a bag of chocolates. “No clue how long this’ll last.”

“Oh, we also got ice cream,” Clay added, holding up a liter of vanilla. “And cookies. Now all we need is Floyd’s pick for a crying movie. Boom says it’s part of the ritual.”

Boom’s lips curved into a knowing smirk as Floyd began to stir. “Welcome to the female experience, boys.”

John crossed his arms, tilting his head back toward the ceiling with a sigh. “This is gonna be… interesting.”

Floyd pushed himself upright with a soft whimper, eyes blinking open in a haze. “What time is it…?” he murmured, one hand pressed to his stomach.

“A little late,” Boom whispered with a gentle smile. “But you slept well—that’s what matters. Your brothers brought the pills and the pads.”

Floyd nodded lazily, taking the bag Clay handed her. Moving slowly, one hand on her abdomen and the other gripping the bundle of spare clothes and pads, she shuffled toward the bathroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut, John crossed her arms and fixed the others with a no-nonsense glare.

“So? Has anyone found a damn solution to our problem yet?”

The air tightened. Boom rubbed the bridge of his nose before answering. “Not exactly… but when Floyd and I talked earlier, we realized something weird—none of you remember going to the carnival. After that, nothing. If this is magic or something like it, the most logical move is to go back to the place you can’t remember visiting.”

Branch frowned, tossing the towel Boom had placed on the couch into a corner before sitting down.

“You want us to go to the carnival?”

“Tomorrow,” Boom confirmed. “Maybe we’ll find someone who knows something—or it’ll jog your memories. Right now, it’s our only lead.”

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Floyd eyed the sanitary pad with suspicion. “You can flush this… right? It’s like thick paper. Paper with wings. Probably biodegradable…”

She dropped it into the toilet and flushed without a second thought. The pad vanished with a suspicious gurgle, but since the plumbing didn’t explode, she shrugged, washed her hands, and strolled back out.

“What are you talking about?” Floyd asked, drying his hands on a towel.

“The carnival,” Boom said. “We’re going tomorrow. Hopefully for answers.”

“Great,” Floyd muttered, still half-asleep and sore.

Clay groaned. “What else could go wrong?”

John shot her a look sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t. Tempt. Fate.”

“Exactly,” Boom agreed, standing. “Let’s all chill. Floyd picks a movie while we eat ice cream and wait for Bruce to get back.”

“Where is Bruce, anyway?” Clay asked, frowning.

“Out grabbing a few things for dinner,” John replied with a shrug. “Said he wouldn’t take long… but knowing him, he probably got lost in the kitchen aisle staring at frying pans.”

“Speaking of shopping…” Boom’s eyes narrowed in mock suspicion at Branch and Clay. “Was buying pads too traumatic for you two?”

Branch huffed. “You sent us in blind! You didn’t say there were types, sizes… wings! Thank goodness two kind souls took pity on us.”

“Yeah—Branch’s future girlfriend and her sister,” Clay added with a wicked grin.

“Shut it, Clay! Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at Viva,” Branch shot back, crossing his arms.

Floyd, now curled up with a blanket and a box of chocolates, perked up. “Oh, now this sounds interesting. Forget the movie, I want details.”

“No!” both brothers yelped in perfect unison, practically panicked.

The room erupted in laughter.

“Alright,” Boom said, reaching for the remote, “if Floyd doesn’t choose, I’m putting on one of those sappy romances you all hate.”

“Don’t you dare!” Floyd snatched it from his hand. “I’m the one bleeding here, so I’m in charge. When you’re popping painkillers and inhaling chocolate to keep from committing murder, then we’ll talk.”

“Fair,” Boom conceded with a grin.

Floyd began scrolling through the catalog while everyone settled in with bowls of ice cream and pillows scattered across the couch.

For a fleeting moment, the room felt… normal. Almost peaceful. If you ignored the fact that every single BroZone member was now a woman.

******************************

Bruce, still awkward in his unfamiliar body, clumsily navigated the cart down the condiment aisle. Her hair had fallen into her face three times already, and every time she brushed it away, her hands felt strange—like they belonged to someone else.

The cart was half-full: pasta ingredients, rustic bread, a block of parmesan, cherry tomatoes. Cooking was one of the few things that still made sense.

She slowed when she noticed a tall woman studying the shelves. The stranger held two jars, one eyebrow arched in intense concentration, as if weighing the fate of nations. Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you picking a sauce… or negotiating a peace treaty?”

The woman turned, surprise flickering into amusement. Her eyes held a warm spark, and her laugh—light but genuine—slipped under Bruce’s skin like sunlight through clouds.

“Close enough,” she said, lifting the jars. “Chipotle garlic or honey mustard. Help me out?”

Bruce took them, tilting each toward the light like a jeweler inspecting gems. “The chipotle has character. The honey mustard…” He shrugged. “That’s the culinary equivalent of, ‘I like your personality.’”

The woman laughed again, richer this time. “Didn’t know condiments came with personality assessments.”

“They do when analyzed by someone who takes cooking seriously,” Bruce said, handing the chipotle back with certainty.

“So… chef or just very passionate?”

“Passionate, although…” Bruce admitted, though his voice softened. “Today it’s been hard to remember what I even am.”

The woman’s brow furrowed—not in judgment, but in curiosity. “And yet you still made me laugh in a supermarket aisle? That’s impressive. I’m Brandy.”

Bruce nodded toward the bakery section. “Then prepare to be impressed again. I’m Brianna, and I can pick the perfect bread for that sauce.”

Brandy grinned and followed without hesitation. “Alright. Show me.”

At the bread display, Bruce selected a rustic loaf with a crisp crust, presenting it like he’d unearthed a rare treasure. “Perfect for spreading whatever you choose—or for impressing whoever you’re cooking for.”

Brandy tilted her head, eyes glinting. “What if it’s not about impressing anyone? What if I’m just a woman who deserves a nice meal tonight?”

“Then you pair rustic bread with chipotle, put on soft music, and enjoy it like royalty,” Bruce replied.

Brandy placed the bread gently into her cart, then met Bruce’s gaze directly. “You’d be surprised how long I’ve wanted someone to say that to me.”

Bruce looked away, caught off guard. It had been a long time since he’d felt this kind of connection—and never between the ketchup and olive oil.

“Want me to recommend a wine to go with it?” he asked.

“I’d love that,” Brandy said, a smile curling with equal parts warmth and mischief. “But if I stay, I’ll end up buying the whole store. You know what? Hand me your phone.”

Bruce blinked, but passed it over.

Brandy typed something in, then returned it. “Now you can recommend wine, bread… whatever you like.”

Bruce’s fingers tightened slightly around the phone. “Deal.”

Brandy winked and walked away, and Bruce found himself watching her until she disappeared behind the next aisle.

Shaking his head, he glanced at his shopping list. His brothers were probably creating chaos without him. Sighing, Bruce tucked the phone away—still feeling the weight of the new number—and pushed the cart toward checkout.

“Okay. Focus.”

After paying, he hopped into a taxi. The ride home was quick, but his thoughts replayed Brandy’s laugh on a loop. At one point, he almost pulled out his phone to check if the number was real.

Then Bruce opened the front door—and the entire mood shifted.

Dim lights. The scent of popcorn, ice cream… and tragedy.

On the couch, his brothers were lined up like mourners at an emotional funeral. Floyd clutched a pillow as if it were keeping her from collapsing. Clay was armed with a shredded tissue. John Dory tried to play it cool, but a single tear clung stubbornly to her chin. Branch had retreated into a tight ball, knees hugged to her chest like a fortress.

“What happened? Did someone die?” Bruce kicked the door shut with his heel, grocery bags digging into his fingers as he hurried to the kitchen.

No one answered.

On the TV, Louisa sat alone in a Parisian café, reading a letter through blurred tears. Will’s face appeared in flashes—half memories, half empty chairs. The music swelled in slow, aching strings. It was the kind of score designed to wreck people.

Bruce lowered his voice, wary. “What… movie is this?”

“Me Before You...” Floyd whispered hoarsely, his face blotchy. “I thought it was a romantic comedy… and it destroyed my soul.”

Boom sniffled, wiping his sleeve across his face like it was windshield wipers. “Never trust a movie with Emilia Clarke smiling on the poster.”

Bruce set the bags down and stared. “I just went out for pasta and tomatoes.”

“It’s not my fault Floyd has movie-picking rights!” Branch blurted defensively, though he didn’t take his eyes off the screen.

“The reviews said it was sweet! Hopeful!” Floyd whimpered. “I didn’t know it would make me question my entire existence!”

John muttered darkly, “This is what I get for letting you guys choose.”

On-screen, Louisa let out a small, broken laugh as Will’s letter reached its final line: Live well. Just live.

The music swelled again—and like a synchronized tragedy, the entire couch dissolved into fresh sobs.

Bruce looked around at the teary wreckage. “I left the supermarket with a stupid grin because of a woman… and I come back to this. An emotional funeral without a coffin.”

Boom’s voice was still trembling. “You… met someone?”

Bruce’s mouth tugged into a small, private smile. “Maybe. Her name’s Brandy. She was… refreshing. Pretty. Gave me her number.”

Every head swiveled toward her in slow motion, streaked with tears.

“Then why aren’t you with Brandy right now?” Clay demanded, somehow sounding personally wronged.

Bruce raised his hands. “Because I’m currently not in my actual physical form, and also… someone has to make sure you all don’t burn the house down.”

Floyd sniffed loudly. “Brandy would probably like you even in this form.”

Bruce rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks warm anyway. Leaving them to their grief, she retreated to the kitchen. She tied on an apron, pulling her hair back with a spare elastic. Her hands unpacked groceries on autopilot—tomatoes here, pasta there—but her mind stayed somewhere else.

On a laugh.

On the way Brandy had held her gaze like it meant something.

On the strange, instant comfort of talking to her.

Bruce smiled to himself as he set water to boil and began chopping onions. From the living room, faint sniffles and muffled nose-blows drifted in with the end credits. He didn’t interrupt. Let the movie wring out whatever emotional chaos they still had in them.

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Floyd let out a soul-deep sigh. Emotionally wrecked by the movie, physically and hormonally wrecked by his period, all he wanted was to eat dinner, shower, change, and vanish under a blanket until the end of time.

She tossed another sanitary pad into the toilet and hit flush.

Nothing happened.

The water swirled. Then… began to rise.

Higher.

Higher.

“No… no no no no NO—” Floyd’s voice pitched upward as the water threatened the rim.

A deep, ominous gurgle echoed from the pipes. Something groaned inside the walls. Then—

GLUG! PLOP! SPLASH!

“HEEEEELP! THE TOILET’S EXPLODING!”

In the kitchen, Bruce froze mid-chop, knife in the air. “…What?”

From the couch came rustling and startled voices.

“Was that Floyd?” Clay asked, already standing.

A moment later Floyd stumbled into the living room—hair wild, pale as chalk, hands on his head. “The bathroom! Water’s coming out!! Everywhere!! Like a fountain from hell!!”

Clay bolted upright. “What did you do?!”

“I don’t know! I just flushed one of those pad things! It looked like paper! Aren’t you supposed to flush them?!”

The room went dead silent.

Boom’s voice dropped into horrified disbelief. “You didn’t know you can’t flush those?”

“How was I supposed to know?! Nobody told me!! I thought it dissolved like toilet paper!!”

John covered his face with both hands. “Oh, Floyd…”

“The water’s still rising!” Floyd wailed. “IT’S COMING UP THROUGH THE SINK NOW!!”

From the kitchen, Bruce bit his lip, trying—and failing—not to laugh. This was absurd. The mysterious Brandy from the supermarket could definitely wait, because in this house, not even romance could survive an angry toilet.

Chapter Text

John stood up with a long sigh. “Bitty, go get my toolbox.”

Branch nodded and dashed off. A moment later, she returned, panting and dragging the thing along the floor like it was trying to escape.

“Was it always this heavy?” Branch complained, letting it drop with a thud that rattled the floorboards.

Clay raised an eyebrow from his safe spot by the wall. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just… call a professional?”

“You doubting my skills?” John huffed, crossing his arms.

Clay lifted both hands in surrender. “Only about ninety percent.”

Boom, lounging on the couch, chimed in. “Come on, JD. You’re famous, rich, and your bones are basically vintage now. Why risk it?”

“Because before fame, when money was tight, I fixed everything at home,” John said with a defiant sniff. “This is nothing.”

She grabbed the handle… and managed to lift it a few inches before letting out a groan.

“Was it always this heavy?” John muttered again, glaring at her arms like they’d betrayed her.

Floyd peeked over, concerned. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just… gravity’s picking on me today,” John grumbled, lugging the box toward the bathroom.

Branch tried to help, but between the two of them, they moved it across the floor with all the grace of two criminals hauling a body.

“Maybe a plumber’s number wouldn’t hurt,” Bruce whispered to Boom with a smirk.

“I heard that!” John barked. “And the day I call a plumber for a stubborn pipe is the day this house sinks into the ocean!”

They reached the bathroom—only to be greeted by the ominous sight of the toilet bubbling, pink foam oozing over the rim like it was preparing an attack.

“What the hell did you guys flush?!” John exclaimed, prying off the tank lid with effort. Her slimmer, swapped body wasn’t helping—arms trembling, hands shaking. “This is more than just sanitary pads!”

Floyd hesitated, then blurted, “Don’t ask how, but… I dropped a bar of soap. I didn’t want to fish it out! But soap dissolves in water, right?”

“The body swap wasn’t enough for you—you wanna flood the house too?!” John snapped.

“I’m sorry!” Floyd squeaked.

“Don’t yell at her! She’s sensitive!” Boom shot back.

“I can’t tell! I’m too busy fixing the mess she made!” John growled. “Branch, hand me the wrench.”

Branch rummaged through the box. “What does it look like?”

“The one that looks like a crocodile’s mouth.”

“This one?”

“Yeah, gimme—”

Branch leaned in but slipped on a drop of soapy water, crashing into John. They both shrieked as they toppled like dominoes. The toilet gurgled again, as if laughing.

“I’m fine! Totally fine!” Branch said from the soaked floor, dignity gone. “But JD, that was the universe telling us to call a plumber.”

“No! I can fix this!” John insisted, gripping the bolts.

She tried once, twice, three times… nothing.

“Come on! Move, you useless hunk of plastic!”

Without Branch or John noticing, Boom ended the call with a triumphant little hum. “The plumber’s on his way. Well... kind of. His brother's covering for him, but the important thing is that help is on the way.”

“It wasn’t me! It was the pads! The pads are to blame!” Floyd yelped.

Boom snorted as he got to his feet. “Just another day with BroZone. All we’re missing is the coffee maker exploding—and at this rate, you could sell this as a reality show.”

Clay peeked into the bathroom, a towel slung over her shoulder like it might protect her from demonic plumbing.

“Still foaming?”

“Yes,” Branch grumbled, soaked to the bone, hair plastered flat like she’d lost a fistfight with a washing machine. “If it bubbles again, I’m pouring holy water in it.”

From the kitchen, Bruce called, “What if we just let it explode and claim insurance?”

“Do we even have insurance?” Floyd asked.

“No,” Clay answered. “But we should get some… after the next disaster.”

The whole house seemed to hold its breath. The toilet gurgled softly, as if enjoying the drama.

John sat on the floor, beaten by physics and her smaller, swapped body. She glared at her hands.

“When I’m a man again, I’m tearing this bathroom apart with my bare hands.”

Branch arched an eyebrow. “And for now?”

“I’ll… keep trying to fix it.”

As if the universe decided to throw her a bone, the doorbell rang.

“That must be the plumber,” Boom said, strolling to the door.

“That was fast,” Bruce remarked. “Did you tell him it was an emergency?”

“I said, ‘Please save our bathroom before it swallows us alive.’ That’s clear enough, right?”

Floyd poked his head out of the kitchen, chewing an apple. “Is he bringing tools… or an exorcist?”

Boom opened the door with a flourish. Standing there was a tall, red-haired young man with an easy smile.

“You called for me?”

“Are you the plumber?”

“Technically, that’s my brother. But today, you’re stuck with me. Where’s the disaster?”

“Follow me.”

Hickory stepped inside, scanning the chaos with mild confusion. When he reached the bathroom, he stopped cold.

There she was—the same girl he’d bumped into earlier—face flushed, arms trembling as she wrestled a stubborn wrench. Her shirt clung to her, hair plastered to her cheeks, pride and frustration battling for dominance in her expression.

“Uh… everything okay in here?” Hickory asked from the doorway.

John looked up, tool still in hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was called to check the bathroom.”

“By who?”

Boom’s grin appeared behind him. “That’d be me.”

“Boom! I told you we didn’t need help! I almost had this under control!”

Right on cue, the toilet let out a violent bubble, splashing her in the face.

Hickory’s eyebrows went up. “Uh-huh. I can tell.”

From the hallway, Branch—still dripping—laughed. “Give him a chance, JD. The guy actually looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

John sighed and set the wrench down. “Fine.”

Hickory stepped calmly into the bathroom, crouched in front of the toilet, and gave it a quick, assessing look. Then he glanced up at John.

“You try the wrench?”

“Obviously.”

“You tap the bolts?”

“I tapped everything that could be tapped without breaking it.”

“Check the siphon?”

John frowned. “What’s a siphon?”

Hickory’s mouth curved into a smirk. Without a word, he pulled a compact flashlight from his tool belt and clicked it on with a little flourish—like he was on a stage.

“Leave it to me.”

John folded his arms, chin lifting. “I’ll supervise.”

“Sure you will.”

As Hickory got to work, John lingered in the corner, arms crossed, eyes tracking every movement. He wasn’t just working—he was performing. Rolling his sleeves just enough to flex his forearms, flipping the wrench in his hand before lining it up perfectly, and leaning low to get a better angle with a smooth, practiced shift.

“Don’t think I couldn’t have figured it out,” John muttered. “I just needed… a few more minutes.”

Hickory glanced up with a faint grin. “Right. Maybe a few hours.”

From the doorway, Branch and Boom tried—and failed—to hide their snickers.

“For your information, I once fixed the water heater with a broken wrench and a paperclip,” John shot back. “This was child’s play. I was just… having technical difficulties.”

“Oh, there were definitely difficulties,” Hickory said, tilting his head toward the pink puddle on the floor. “Explosive ones, I’d say.”

John huffed, ready with another defense—then stopped when he caught Hickory's expression. Calm. Confident. Maybe even a little… smug? No. Probably just his mind—now locked in a female body that was making him see things.

“So, what, you rescue damsels and fix their bathrooms too?”

“Plumbing’s more my brother’s thing,” Hickory said, casually spinning the wrench in his palm before tightening a valve. “I’m just filling in. But I don’t regret taking this particular job today.”

John narrowed his eyes. “You always talk like this when the bathroom’s about to eat everyone alive?”

“Only when I’ve got an audience,” Hickory replied, flashing the faintest wink before smoothly swapping tools without even looking down.

John felt his face warm. “Are you flirting or making fun of me?” he muttered, more to himself than to the plumber.

“Why not both?” Hickory shrugged, giving the bolt one last decisive twist.

Boom made a surprised noise, clearly waiting for John to snap back. But she didn’t—just exchanged a long, loaded glance with the man crouched at the base of the toilet.

The moment broke when Floyd appeared, holding a plastic bucket like a peace offering. “Will this help?”

“OUT!” John and Branch barked in unison.

Floyd recoiled. “Geez. I was just trying to help.”

Hickory chuckled quietly and stood, wiping his hands with slow precision. “Done. Try flushing.”

John stepped up with wounded pride, hesitated, then pushed the handle. The toilet swallowed everything—no bubbles, no foam, no sinister gurgles. Just silence.

“Holy…” Branch murmured.

“It’s alive! I mean—dead! I mean—fixed!” Boom declared, throwing his arms up like they’d just survived an epic siege.

As Hickory gathered his tools, John stood with her arms crossed, jaw tight… and cheeks just a little too pink to pass off as heat from the bathroom steam. Hickory, catching the look, gave her a knowing smile before crouching to tuck the wrench into his toolbox.

From the hallway, Clay peeked in. “Uh… is anyone else seeing what I’m seeing?”

“What—how John’s melting like microwaved jelly?” Bruce said with a sideways grin.

“That, and how the plumber’s just as smitten with JD,” Clay added, half-amused, half-surprised.

Floyd squinted, nodding slowly. “This is exactly like those cheesy novels where the cold, proud CEO falls for the rugged guy who fixes her life… and plumbing.”

“No way,” Clay whispered back. “Is this actually happening?”

“Look at John’s face,” Bruce said, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. “He doesn’t know whether to thank him or throw a wrench at him.”

Floyd snorted quietly. “Since when does a broken toilet create romantic tension?”

Inside, John turned her head just as Hickory looked up, calm and smiling, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Thanks,” Branch said, breaking the moment. “You saved us.”

“On the contrary—thank you,” Hickory replied, gaze flicking boldly to John. “You made my day more interesting. Though… it seems someone else wanted to be the heroine of this story.”

John narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need saving.”

“I know,” Hickory said, leaning in slightly as he lifted his toolbox. “But… I enjoyed helping you anyway.”

John froze for half a second before scoffing and looking away. “Idiot.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Hickory,’” he said with a mischievous grin, strolling out of the bathroom.

The moment his figure disappeared, Branch and Boom exploded.

“You’re so gonna ask him out, right?” Boom teased, elbowing John.

“No!” John snapped, glaring.

“Please. You were more obvious than Boom drooling over Floyd,” Branch added, arms crossed in mock judgment.

Boom’s head whipped around. “Excuse me? I don’t drool over your brother.”

“Oh, Boom, you’re painfully obvious,” Branch shot back with a smirk.

“Both of you shut up!” John growled, crossing his arms tighter, his blush deepening.

“So we all agree you should ask him out,” Boom sing-songed.

“I never said that—” John started, but Boom had already vanished like he’d been fired out of a cannon.

“Hey, Hickory!” Boom called, rushing to the living room. “Before you leave—wanna come to the carnival with us tomorrow?”

From the hallway, John and Branch rushed in—too late. They froze mid-step, expressions stuck somewhere between horror and disbelief.

Hickory turned slowly, eyebrow arched, that infuriating half-smirk back in place. “That depends…” he said evenly. “Does Lady Johanna want me to come?”

The room went still. Every gaze zeroed in on John Dory.

John glanced at his brothers. At Boom—whose grin said I am loving this. Then back at Hickory. John's arms crossed tighter, as if he could squeeze the heat from his cheeks back into hiding.

“I guess… why not?” he said, aiming for indifferent but overshooting into almost sulky. “Just don’t try playing Prince Charming with my sisters, or I can’t promise they’ll behave.”

“Hey!” Floyd gasped. “I behave like a proper lady!”

“A lady who picks movies to make us cry,” Clay muttered, earning a sharp elbow.

Hickory chuckled, gaze never leaving John. “Don’t worry. The whole ‘prince rescues the damsel’ act is just for you and me.” He gave a mock bow. “Should I meet you there, or—”

“No!” Boom cut in. “We’ll wait for you here. At seven. Sharp as a fairy godmother’s wand.”

John’s glare could’ve cracked tile. “Yeah,” he added, forcing casual. “Be late and we leave without you. No mercy.”

“I love a challenge,” Hickory said with a final, knowing smile. “See you tomorrow.”

He left, closing the door behind him—and leaving a charged quiet in his wake.

Floyd broke first, letting out a squeal that could shatter glass. “THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT’S HAPPENED TO ME ALL WEEK!”

“Better than almost flooding the house?” Branch asked dryly.

“Way better! This has drama, spark, tension!” Floyd spun in place like a ballerina in a soap opera.

John groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Can we pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Not in a million years,” the others chorused, grinning like cats with cream.

John flopped onto the couch, face buried in a pillow.

“Since John invited his red-haired knight,” Bruce said with a sly look, “can I invite that cute redhead from the supermarket?”

“That’s brilliant!” Floyd gasped. “And while we’re at it—Branch, Clay, invite your angelic allies. What were their names?”

“Viva and Poppy,” Clay replied.

“Yes! Tomorrow can officially be a fun investigation!” Floyd announced.

Branch crossed his arms. “Not sure ‘fun’ is the word I’d use.”

“Sure, sure,” Boom said knowingly. “Keep pretending you’re not already smiling.”

“I’m not smiling,” Branch said without looking up from his phone—wearing the faintest grin.

Bruce was already typing to Brandy.

Clay shook his head, smiling. “It’s gonna be chaos coordinating this many people.”

“Yeah,” John mumbled into the pillow. “A complete nightmare.”

“But a fairytale nightmare,” Floyd said in his best telenovela voice.

John launched a pillow at her. Floyd caught it midair, the room bursting into laughter—like they’d never woken up as girls, never fought with a foaming toilet. Just brothers and Boom, wrapped in one perfect, ridiculous moment.

Chapter Text

The morning painted the perfect backdrop for a beautiful day—sunlight streamed warmly through the curtains, birdsong trilled in the distance, and a soft breeze drifted lazily through the open windows.

Inside BroZone’s house, however, the atmosphere was anything but serene. One by one, the band members stirred, each greeted by the same unwanted reminder: the strange and uncomfortable reality of their new female bodies.

Branch was the first to open her eyes. The moment she felt the heavy, knotted weight of her hair against the pillow, she groaned and yanked the blanket over her head. Bruce woke next, clinging to the faint hope that it had all been some bizarre dream—until the sight of her delicate, manicured hands made her freeze… and then unleash a frustrated scream that rattled the walls. Clay didn’t even bother to check. She just pulled the covers tighter and mumbled something unintelligible, as though if she stayed still enough, reality might give up and leave her alone.

Soon, the air was thick with complaints—irritated mutters from one room, dramatic outbursts from another, and the occasional loud thud of someone dropping something they weren’t used to holding with smaller hands.

Yet, beneath the morning chaos, a small spark of anticipation lingered. That night, they’d go to the carnival. Maybe—just maybe—they’d find a clue, a lead, anything to end this nightmare. 

******

Hours later, the house had calmed, and most of them were gathered in the dining room, enjoying a surprisingly peaceful lunch. Between bites and sips, plans for the evening were tossed across the table, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional side-eye when someone’s “idea” sounded suspiciously reckless.

The only empty chair belonged to John Dory.

She finally appeared mid-conversation, walking in with her eyes glued to her phone and a smile that was just a little too smug for the situation.

“So you finally grace us with your presence, John Dory,” Clay drawled, tilting his head and taking a slow sip from his glass.

John looked up, one brow arched, the smile on his lips curling into something more playfully arrogant. “Did you miss me that much?” he asked, his voice dripping with false modesty.

“Don’t flatter yourself, diva,” Branch muttered without looking up from his plate, stabbing a piece of food with unnecessary force. “But your ideas wouldn’t hurt for planning tonight.”

“I’ll tell you exactly what our dear Johnny’s doing tonight, my esteemed Branch,” Boom cut in, leaning back in his chair with a sly grin. He shot John a conspiratorial glance. “He’s going to enjoy the evening with his favorite redhead… and we’ll let him, because clearly, we’re capable of finding answers without Johnny.”

The table erupted—snickers, exaggerated “oooohs,” and a few dramatic gasps for effect.

John didn’t blink. If anything, her smile deepened, and she met each gaze with slow, deliberate confidence. One by one, the laughter faltered, leaving behind a curious silence thick with suspicion.

“What are you hiding?” Bruce asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning back in his chair like he was bracing for trouble.

“Me? Nothing,” John replied with mock innocence, pressing his phone to his chest as if it were a precious treasure. “I’m just… excited. Tonight, we might actually find something to get us back to normal.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you’ve been locked in your room all day?” Floyd asked, one brow arched so high it could’ve floated off his face.

“Partly, yes.” John’s gaze flicked deliberately to each of them, his grin twitching like he was fighting the urge to give himself away.

Bruce’s patience snapped. He crossed his arms with a sharp thunk. “John Dory Valtren… spit it out already. What are you scheming?”

John chuckled under his breath, savoring the moment. “Last night, while you were all asleep—and I was trying not to lose my mind over this weird body—I had a thought. If Boom and Floyd get to turn our mission for answers into some kind of cute little friend outing…” He leaned back with exaggerated nonchalance. “…then I get to invite someone too.”

Boom’s head snapped up. “What are you talking about? You’re supposed to be with your redhead!”

“Exactly! You have to have your fairytale moment, remember?” Floyd added, crossing his arms like a wronged soap opera character.

“That’s what you want,” John countered smoothly. “But I’m not just going to sit here and let you two play Cupid with someone I’m not even interested in.” His grin sharpened, promising mischief. “So I decided to ruin your little matchmaking plan… and made a call. Told the whole truth to someone I trust.”

The room froze.

“Perfect!” Branch snapped, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Why not post it on social media while you’re at it? Let’s see how fast people decide we’re deranged superfans holding the real BroZone hostage.”

“Easy there, Bitty,” John said, his voice smooth, unbothered. “It’s someone trustworthy. I promise.”

“Who did you talk to, John Dory?” Bruce pressed, his tone edging toward dangerous.

John’s eyes sparkled like he’d been waiting for that line all day. “You wanted me to spend the night with a redhead, right? Well… hate to disappoint, but it’s not the one you were hoping for.” He shrugged like the reveal was no big deal.

“Johnny, you’re ruining the mental fanfic I’ve been writing about you and Hickory!” Boom clutched his chest dramatically, sinking back in his chair like he’d been mortally wounded.

Clay leaned forward, impatience cutting through his demeanor. “As much as I love a riddle, now’s not the time. Who. Did. You. Invite?”

Branch narrowed his eyes, muttering, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before John could answer, a firm knock knock knock at the door broke through the tension.

JD’s smirk deepened. “You want answers? There they are. Go on, Bitty—open it.”

Branch pushed his chair back slowly, muttering under his breath, “Trust me… I already know who it is.”

Despite the chorus of sighs and muttered complaints behind her, Branch didn’t speed up. She strolled to the door with a forced calm, her jaw tight. 

The moment she opened it, a pair of violet eyes swept her from head to toe without an ounce of shame. Then came a slow, mocking whistle.

“Well, well, look at you,” the newcomer said, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe like he owned the place. “Hotter than Johnny, I’d say. Being a girl really suits you, Branch. Honestly, if we hadn’t grown up together and I didn’t see you as a sister…”—he smirked, dragging out the pause—“…I’d be first in line to ask you out.”

Branch’s expression didn’t even twitch. “Ew. No. Just come in and shut up. And don’t even think about flirting with my brothers.”

He stepped inside at an infuriatingly slow pace, hands in his pockets. “Why? Afraid they’ll like me more than you?”

Branch gave him a look that could have burned through steel.

“Relax, sweetie,” he said, giving her a mock pat on the head as he passed. “You’ll always be my number one girl. I promise.”

Branch swatted his hand away. “Keep talking and I swear I’ll knock you out. Ask Boom how close I got last time—Clay’s the only reason he still has teeth. And stop calling me sweetie.”

He chuckled, turning to walk backwards so he could keep looking at her. “You know I’m only teasing… sweetie.” His grin widened. “But now that you look like an adorable, grumpy puffball, I can’t help myself. You’re just so teasable… and, let’s be honest, kissable.”

Branch crossed his arms, smirk razor-sharp. “Not my type. Currently, I’m a lesbian. This thing between us would never work.”

“I know,” he said with mock sincerity, putting a hand over his heart. “I don’t support incest, little sis. Lesbian or not, our tragic love story never had a chance. Shakespeare would’ve cried.”

Branch rolled his eyes, but the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re fun to bother. It’s balance,” he said with a wink, following her toward the dining room.

When they entered, everyone except Boom and John did a double take.

“Ready to join us at the carnival tonight?” John asked, smirking as though this were part of a master plan.

“Of course! We’re going to fix this feminine crisis and get BroZone back to normal,” the newcomer replied cheerfully. “And by the way, I need to meet this Poppy girl before giving my blessing, Branch. You know, big brother duties.”

“Ablaze! You’re only six years older. And I’m not dating her—she’s just a friend. I literally met her yesterday.”

Ablaze arched his brows in exaggerated disbelief. “‘Just a friend’? Sure, sweetie. Whatever you say.”

“It’s the truth!”

“Uh-huh…” Ablaze drawled as he slid into a seat. “Still want to see her with my own eyes. You can never be too careful with my grumpy little sister’s heart.”

Boom leaned toward Floyd, whispering behind his hand, “This is going to be good.”

Floyd’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “Definitely.”

******

Later, after Boom had strong-armed everyone into “decent” clothes, they trickled into the living room to wait for Hickory.

Branch sat tucked into the far end of the couch, Boom on one side, Ablaze on the other, both whispering like conspirators.

“So…” Ablaze said at last, glancing at the group. “We’re waiting for a redheaded cowboy you think is perfect for Johnny?”

“Exactly! And I’m not letting you ruin the date I’ve worked so hard on,” Boom said, arms crossed, lips pursed like a determined matchmaker.

“But… John says he’s not interested in Hickory,” Ablaze pointed out, tilting his head.

“He’s lying,” Boom replied instantly. “The chemistry is obvious. You’ll see. You could slice the tension between those two with a butter knife.”

“Boom’s right,” Branch said, leaning in with a sly smile. “Almost as obvious as his feelings for Floyd.”

Boom froze, then went crimson to the tips of his ears. “I don’t—! I don’t know what you’re talking about, Branch Valtren! I am not in love with Floyd,” he stammered, looking away.

Branch raised an eyebrow. “I never said you were in love with him. I said your feelings were obvious. You brought up the L-word.”

Ablaze burst into laughter. “This is better than cable. I’m staying for the season finale.”

“Whatever…” Boom muttered, still flustered. “Point is, you, Ablaze, don’t mess with JD and Hickory. Ignore whatever John told you—watch them yourself. You’ll see what I mean.”

“Actually,” Branch said with calculated casualness, “you could hang out with me and Poppy. Then you’ll see there’s nothing there. We’re just friends.”

Ablaze narrowed his eyes, then broke into a wide grin. “Perfect. I want to see that for myself.”

Right then, the doorbell rang. Every head swiveled toward John, who let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I want you all to know,” he said, standing, “that I hate each and every one of you.”

“And we love you!” Boom sang, wiggling his fingers in a fluttery wave.

JD rolled her eyes, opened the door, and there stood Hickory—cowboy hat tipped, smile easy, posture relaxed, unaware he was the center of attention.

“Am I too early… or too late to ruin your plans?” he asked in his usual mellow tone.

John stared at him for a few beats before stepping outside. “We were about to leave without you, cowboy. Let’s go. And if anyone says the word ‘date,’ they’re sleeping outside tonight.”

Boom smothered a laugh. “She didn’t deny it was a date. She just doesn’t want us saying it.”

Ablaze laughed out loud, and Branch—though trying hard to hide it—let the corner of her mouth twitch upward.

******************************

The carnival night bloomed in a riot of color—strings of lights swaying overhead, the air buzzing with music and the layered scents of cotton candy, buttery popcorn, and fried dough. Laughter rippled from the rides, blending with the faint squeal of a distant roller coaster. The group moved toward the ticket booth, some bouncing with excitement.

After paying and stepping beneath the glowing arch at the main entrance, Branch, Clay, and Bruce instinctively began scanning the crowd.

“Brandy!” Bruce called, raising a hand in greeting. He glanced at his brothers. “Meet back here in an hour?”

“Sure,” Branch said, already distracted by the colorful swirl of strangers. “And if you find anything, text the group.”

“Got it.” Bruce’s mouth curved faintly before he turned toward the redhead weaving through the crowd toward him. Her hair caught the carnival lights like copper spun into fire, and the easy smile she wore seemed to match the energy in the air.

“Brianna,” Brandy greeted with a hint of amusement, her brows lifting. “I have to admit—you caught me off guard with that last-minute invitation.”

Bruce tilted his head, the corner of his mouth quirking. “I know. My sisters decided tonight should be some kind of romantic couples’ outing, and I wasn’t exactly keen on being the awkward third wheel. Figured maybe you’d save me from a tragic evening of third-wheeling.”

“Mm.” Brandy’s lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk. “I like the idea of being your rescuer.” She glanced toward a stand where clouds of pink and blue spun lazily on sticks. “And I’m in the mood for something sweet. Cotton candy to start?”

Bruce stepped a little closer to hear her over the music. “Sounds perfect.”

Their eyes met for a slightly extended moment, creating a subtle, unspoken connection between them.

Chapter Text

In the distance, BroZone strolled along the carnival’s main promenade, the warm glow of lights and the hum of music wrapping around them.

“Think it’s her?” Floyd asked, eyes locked on the couple ahead. “The one for our sister?”

“You mean, someone actually capable of making Brianna retire from her endless dating tour?” Clay replied with a smirk. “I’m just shocked she’s not already bolting.”

“If that redhead can keep us from seeing a different stranger in the kitchen every morning, I’m on her side,” Branch muttered, arms crossed—though the small, traitorous smile on her face didn’t go unnoticed.

John gave a low chuckle. “Stop talking about Bri when she’s not here to defend herself. Though… Brandy does look like she could keep her in line.”

“Keep her in line?” Clay teased. “Please. That girl could make Brianna fall in love without even trying.”

Before the conversation could go further, a sharp squeal sliced through the carnival noise.

“Branch!”

A whirlwind of pink hair launched at her, knocking them both to the ground in a laughing heap. The rest of the group froze, startled.

“Poppy!” Viva hurried over, half-scolding. “Be careful! You’re going to crush her.”

“Hello to you too,” Branch groaned from the pavement.

“Sorry! I got excited,” Poppy said, cheeks flushed as she scrambled up and offered Branch her hand. “I’m just so happy to see you again!”

Boom raised a brow at the display. “So… that’s Poppy?”

“Looks like it,” Ablaze murmured conspiratorially. “And if she’s gonna be Branch’s girlfriend, we better keep her away from Hype. Those two together? We’d all lose our minds.”

Branch dusted herself off before starting the introductions. Poppy greeted everyone with her trademark sunshine smile—until her eyes landed on Boom and Ablaze.

Her jaw dropped. Her hands trembled. Her grin grew so wide it looked painful. Just as she inhaled for what was clearly going to be a deafening squeal, Branch lunged forward and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Nope. No, no, no. Poppy, please. If you scream, we’re going to have a stampede of fans. These guys just want to enjoy the carnival like regular people.”

“Yes, please,” Ablaze said in mock desperation. “We promise photos, autographs, arm tattoos if you want… just don’t ruin our night.”

Poppy nodded frantically, eyes sparkling, and Branch let her go.

“Are they famous?” Hickory asked, brow furrowing.

Poppy looked at him as if he’d just confessed to never hearing of oxygen. “Famous? They’re members of Kismet! What’s next—you don’t know about BroZone either?”

Hickory shrugged. “I’m more into country… and yodeling.”

Poppy clutched her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. “Do you live under a rock? They’re pop legends!”

“I dunno,” Hickory said, smirking. “Yodeling has its charm.”

“You’re missing out on pure art,” Poppy muttered before turning back to Boom and Ablaze. “Don’t worry—I won’t cause a scene. I love your music. Huge fan—not quite as much as BroZone, but still, huge fan.” Then she spun toward Branch with an accusatory sparkle in her eyes. “And you didn’t tell me you were friends with superstars?”

Branch gave a playful shrug. “Wanted to surprise you?”

Poppy lit up like she’d just unwrapped her favorite present. “I love surprises. But I also love carousels. Come on, let’s go!”

Branch gave a long-suffering but amused sigh. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”

“Hey! Don’t forget Blazie!” Boom called as the girls walked off.

John shot Ablaze a betrayed glare. “What? I thought you wanted to enjoy the carnival with me!”

He smirked. “And I thought you were grown enough not to need a babysitter. Besides…” He started after Branch and Poppy, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “Someone's gotta keep an eye on my favorite raven-haired girl and her friend. Wouldn’t want the female version of Hype setting the carousel on fire.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

Viva tightened her grip on Clay’s arm, flashing the rest of the group a mischievous grin. “Fair warning—I’m stealing your sister.”

“What?” Clay blinked, caught off guard.

“Yep, let’s go. I wanna try the ring toss. Maybe I’ll even win a prize for you.”

“For me? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

“We could make it a bet,” Viva teased, already tugging her forward. “Whoever wins the most stuffed animals for the other gets to pick the next game.” She gave Clay a playful wink before lacing her fingers with hers.

Floyd chuckled as they disappeared into the crowd. “It’s weird seeing Clara without her usual arguing. I like Viva.”

“Same,” Boom agreed. “But hey, JD—Floyd and I are gonna have fun too. Catch you later!”

Once the couples drifted away, John Dory found himself alone with Hickory. The air shifted—still charged, but with a different tension altogether.

Hickory’s lips curved in a sly smile. “So… should I be worried about this ‘Blazie’? Because if we’re competing, I should warn you—I don’t lose often.”

John crossed his arms, feigning indifference. “Who said you had any competition?”

“Sounds like you’ve already accepted I’m the best option,” Hickory shot back, stepping closer. “Or are you just running? Doesn’t suit you, hero. Heroes don’t run… though maybe ‘mousie’ fits better.” His voice dipped on the last word, teasing and deliberate.

John closed the distance until they were only inches apart. “I don’t run from anyone, cowboy. If you say you’re that good—prove it.”

“I love a challenge,” Hickory murmured, gaze locked on hers. “How do you want me to?”

A slow smile spread across John’s face. “Mechanical bull. I wanna see if that hat you’re so proud of is more than decoration.”

Hickory’s brows rose, amused. “Deal. But if I last longer, you owe me a date. Just you and me. No friends, no sisters.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long, heated beat. Then John gave the faintest nod. “Deal.”

Satisfied, Hickory headed toward the game area with an easy swagger. John followed, rolling her eyes—though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

The mechanical bull was surrounded by a lively crowd, neon lights flickering overhead. The latest rider was tossed unceremoniously onto the mat, greeted by a roar of laughter.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Hickory asked, adjusting his hat with mock sympathy. “Wouldn’t want you flying off before five seconds and claiming I didn’t warn you.”

“Oh, please.” John folded his arms, smirking. “I’ve tamed wilder things than a mechanical bull… like my patience with you.”

Hickory laughed. “Touché. But don’t worry, mousie—when I win, I’ll take you somewhere nice to nurse that bruised ego.”

“I bet you won’t even last ten seconds.” John shot a glance at the operator. “Make it hard. Don’t let him think I want him to show off.”

“So invested in seeing me shine?” Hickory teased, swinging onto the bull with ease. “Or do you just like watching me ride?”

John bit back a laugh, leaning on the railing. “You can’t deny you love an audience.”

“Only if you’re the one watching.”

The operator flipped the switch, and the bull jerked to life. Hickory settled in, one hand gripping the leather harness, the other raised high, his movements fluid and controlled. The crowd whooped and whistled, some snapping pictures. His hat stayed perfectly in place as his hips and shoulders flowed with the bull’s rhythm—showing off without even trying.

John stood nearby, arms crossed, eyebrow arched. But the spark in her eyes betrayed her: for all her teasing, she couldn’t deny he looked good up there. When the timer ticked past fifteen seconds, she let out a low whistle—reluctantly impressed.

Finally, the bull bucked hard, and Hickory let himself fall with theatrical flair, landing flat on his back with a grin. His hat didn’t budge.

“How long was that?” he asked, brushing himself off and sauntering toward her.

“Twenty-one seconds,” John said, giving him a slow once-over. “Not bad… for someone who never shuts up.”

“That means it’s your turn now, mousie.” He smirked, then set his cowboy hat on her head, tipping the brim down over her eyes. “Or are you gonna run after seeing the bar I just set?”

John tilted his chin, the hat shadowing his grin. “I’m not running. And I don’t need luck.”

“Let’s see if you can survive twenty-one seconds,” Hickory teased, stepping aside, arms folded, watching her climb onto the bull with ease.

The machine started, and John’s body adjusted instantly, her posture confident, movements in sync with the mechanical rhythm. Hickory watched with a proud grin—and maybe just a little more than admiration in his eyes.

She squeezed her thighs around the seat, lowering her center of gravity. For a moment, she thought she had it handled.

Then the operator smirked and cranked the intensity.

“Are you serious?!” John yelped as the bull gave a vicious, twisting lurch—launching her into the air.

One heartbeat she was riding; the next, she was flat on the mat, staring up at the flickering carnival lights.

“Five seconds!” the operator called out, barely containing a laugh.

Hickory’s hat lay on the mat beside her head, like it had fallen just to mock her.

“Five seconds?!” John sat up, scowling. “Five? Damn female body—I could’ve doubled that before,” he thought.

Hickory strolled over, grinning wide enough to split his face. “Well… that was brief. But you look adorable when you fail.”

“Shut up.” John got to his feet, brushing himself off. “I wasn’t ready—you caught me off guard. I need another try.”

“Another?” His smirk deepened. “Are you asking for a rematch?”

“No. I’m demanding one.” John jabbed a finger toward the bull like it was his sworn enemy. Then he turned to the attendant. “Same level, no sabotage. And this time? I’m not falling… as fast.”

“Whatever you say, mousie,” Hickory said, signaling to the operator. “Give my cowgirl another shot.”

John swung back onto the bull, exhaling sharply like she could intimidate it into obedience.

“Firm stance, strong legs, low center of gravity…” he chanted under his breath—half pep talk, half desperate wish that his old male reflexes and strength would magically return.

The bull bucked and twisted. This time, John managed seven whole seconds before the mat claimed her again. The landing didn’t hurt—at least, not as much as her pride. She stayed flat on her back, covering her face with both hands, when familiar, unrestrained laughter drew closer.

“Seven seconds! You did it, mousie—you improved!” Hickory’s voice was warm with mischief as he leaned over her, offering his hand.

“Shut up,” she muttered, though she slipped her fingers into his and let him pull her to her feet.

“Want to keep trying?” His grin was pure trouble, though there was a softness in his eyes. “Fair warning… every failed attempt earns you another date.”

John narrowed his eyes, but the flush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” Hickory said, lowering his voice just enough to make it intimate, “are gorgeous when you’re frustrated.” He stepped in, close enough that the smell of leather and cologne drifted between them. “You know the best part about losing? I get to take you out for food right here at the carnival, cheer you up… then hit the game stalls and win you whatever stuffed animal you want. Consolation prize.”

She studied him for a long beat, searching for a crack in his confidence, until the corner of her mouth betrayed her with a smile.

“You’ll have to win the biggest prize if you want to see me happy.”

“Promise,” he said, his wink quick but genuine. “Now come on, mousie. Let’s get some food.”

And this time, when his fingers threaded through hers, John didn’t pull away.

Chapter Text

Boom and Floyd walked side by side, eyes scanning the carnival but never missing the swirl of lights, music, and laughter around them. They were supposed to be searching for clues, yes, but they allowed themselves to soak in the spectacle—and, perhaps unconsciously, each other’s company.

“Do you think the others are actually investigating,” Floyd asked, half-smiling as he glanced sideways at him, “or are they already too busy being lovesick?”

Boom chuckled, a low carefree sound. “Please. If they’ve found anything, it’s probably the bottom of a cotton candy bag. Which makes me extra grateful Johnny dragged Blazie here. Between the three of us, we might stand a chance.”

Floyd tilted his head, amused. “So where do we start, then?”

Boom turned to her with a grin that lit his face like one of the neon signs. “The roller coaster. Maybe the adrenaline will jog your memory.”

Floyd arched a brow. “The roller coaster? That’s your grand plan?”

“Yes! Come on. Worst case, we don’t find clues—but at least we’ll have a story worth telling.”

Before Floyd could protest, Boom caught her hand and tugged her forward. For an instant she froze, eyes dropping to their intertwined fingers. Warmth pulsed up her arm, sharper than she expected. Floyd told himself not to think about it—Boom was always like this, spontaneous, affectionate. Just friends. Nothing more.

And yet, the way their fingers seemed to fit so naturally… it didn’t feel casual at all.

“You okay, dearest?” Boom asked, noticing her sudden silence.

Floyd blinked, quickly forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Boom’s eyes lingered on her, curious, but he didn’t push. Instead, he gave her hand a firmer squeeze, as though to anchor her, before leading the way.

When they finally stopped in front of the towering coaster, Floyd let out a nervous laugh. “If I die here, I’m haunting you forever.”

“I’ll take that as a sign of trust,” Boom teased, his grin widening.

They climbed into the car and pulled the safety bar down. Without even realizing it, Boom shifted closer, his leg brushing against hers. Floyd swallowed hard, pretending her heartbeat wasn’t thundering for reasons that had nothing to do with gravity.

The chains clanked beneath them, pulling the car upward with steady, echoing clicks. Boom leaned toward the edge, eyes gleaming with childlike excitement as the wind swept through his hair.

“Did you know the first few seconds are the worst?” he asked, flashing her a conspiratorial smile.

“Is that meant to reassure me,” Floyd muttered, clutching the bar a little tighter, “or warn me?”

Boom laughed, his voice carrying over the clatter of gears. “A little of both.”

The car reached the summit. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze. The carnival spread below in a blur of lights and color, but Floyd barely saw it. Her eyes were on Boom—his hair tossed by the wind, his grin wide and unguarded, his eyes sparkling with childlike excitement... How could anyone not fall for him?

Then the drop came.

Boom screamed—loud, reckless, a mix of thrill and madness. Floyd clutched the bar, the force of the descent stealing her breath and shoving laughter out of her lungs. And through it all, somehow, impossibly, Boom was still holding her hand.

“You still alive?!” he shouted over the roar.

“Haven’t decided yet!” Floyd yelled back, but he was already laughing, already lost to the rush.

By the time the car screeched to a stop, they were both breathless, hair tousled, cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“See? Told you it was a good idea,” Boom said, finally releasing her hand—as though just realizing he’d been holding it the entire ride.

Floyd swallowed. Her palm still tingled with his warmth. She raked a hand through her hair, hiding the slight tremor in her fingers.

“Yeah… good idea. Nearly died, but fun.”

They stepped out, trying to walk in a straight line out of sheer pride, though Floyd’s legs were still wobbling.

“Anything?” Boom asked suddenly.

Floyd blinked. “Anything what?”

“Memories. A flash. A mystical vision?”

Floyd tilted his head, pretending to think, then shot him a sideways look. “Yeah. I remembered why I trust you way too much.”

“Why’s that?” Boom asked, curious.

He smiled faintly. “Because you don’t let go. Not even during the falls.”

Boom laughed lightly, missing the weight behind her words. “Guess I’ll have to keep holding your hand whenever we investigate.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Floyd replied, even as his chest ached at how easy it was to pretend this was only friendship.

“So you liked it?” he teased, nudging her side.

Floyd rolled his eyes, though the smile wouldn’t leave his lips. “Didn’t hate it. But if you make me ride another thing like that, I’m filing a formal complaint with Johnny.”

“Oh, formal? Like paperwork? Or just a dramatic scream?”

“Both. With fake tears for extra effect.”

Boom clutched his chest, laughing so hard he nearly doubled over. And then, without thinking, he reached for her hand again. This time he didn’t tug her anywhere. He just… held it.

Floyd froze, startled. He didn’t even seem to notice—his gaze stayed fixed ahead, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“The hand thing again?” he murmured.

Boom glanced down, finally realizing. “Oh. Sorry, didn’t even notice.” He pulled back, but not completely—his thumb lingered, brushing against her skin in a ghost of contact.

Floyd shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t say it bothered me.”

Silence followed, heavy yet oddly comforting.

Boom rubbed the back of his neck, his voice quieter. “It’s strange… with you, everything feels easy. Like… it’s okay to hold your hand and not have it be weird.”

Floyd kept his eyes forward, afraid to look at him. “Maybe it isn’t.”

“Maybe,” Boom echoed, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he wanted to take her hand again—or run from the thought before it consumed him.

Before either of them could say anything else, the faint jingle of bells made them turn. A booth ahead lit up in a flash of neon, its colors loud and inviting.

Boom tilted his head. “Think we’ll actually find a clue in there?”

Floyd shrugged, grateful for the distraction. “Only one way to know.”

“Then let’s risk it,” Boom said, giving her a sideways smile as they walked toward the booth.

Floyd followed, not sure if the tightness in her chest came from the mystery of the game… or the way Boom had looked at her just before he smiled.

The moment they stepped inside, the lights flickered. A hidden panel slid open with an unsettling creak. Above it, a glowing red sign read: Welcome to the House of Terror.

Floyd froze. “Did you… know this was here?”

Boom swallowed. “Not a clue. But if we back out now, we lose all our dignity—or at least the scraps we’ve got left.”

Floyd sighed, resigned. “Fine. But if a killer clown shows up, I’m sacrificing you.”

“How considerate!” Boom said, giving her a gentle push toward the doorway with a nervous laugh.

Inside, artificial fog curled around their ankles. Dim lights flickered overhead while distant screams and distorted laughter echoed through the halls. Shoulder to shoulder, they moved cautiously forward—until their hands brushed… then intertwined.

Floyd’s throat went dry. “Did you just do that on purpose?”

“Do what?”

“The hand thing.”

Boom glanced down, finally noticing their fingers laced together. He didn’t let go. “I don’t know. But if that killer clown does show up, I’m not letting you bolt without me.”

“So it’s purely tactical,” Floyd muttered, cheeks heating.

“Totally tactical.”

A dull thud made them whip around. From the ceiling, a mannequin in a noose swung straight at them. Both screamed, colliding into each other but never letting go of their hands.

“Boom! Stop using me as a human shield!”

“I was covering you!”

“Sure you were!”

Boom’s laughter mixed with Floyd’s indignant squeaks as they stumbled into the next room: a parlor of dusty mirrors and draped furniture. A doll in a rocking chair spun slowly on its own. Floyd let out a high-pitched squeak before coughing to cover it up.

Boom smirked. “What was that?”

“My soul escaping, thank you very much.”

He chuckled, and they pressed closer together as the tension mounted. Suddenly, a figure in ghostly robes lunged from the corner. Boom reacted instantly, wrapping an arm around Floyd’s shoulders and pulling her into his chest.

Floyd froze, his heartbeat hammering loud enough he was sure Boom could feel it.

“You okay?” Boom whispered, still holding her.

“Yeah… but I think my legs forgot how to work.”

Boom laughed softly, tightening his hold. “Then stay like this. I’ll carry you like a princess if I have to.”

Floyd’s cheek stayed against his chest, warmth flooding her even as the fog chilled the room. By the time they stumbled out into the night air, both of them were laughing in relief.

“See? Survived. Easy.” Boom kept his arm draped over her shoulders as if he’d forgotten it was there.

“I nearly died three times, one of which was your fault,” Floyd shot back.

“And I saved you three times. That’s balance.”

Floyd looked at him, half-playful, half-serious. “Are you always going to protect me like this?”

Boom’s grin softened, his voice quieter. “Whenever you’ll let me.”

Floyd ducked her head, a goofy smile tugging at her lips she couldn’t hide. Boom turned quickly, his own cheeks pink, pretending to scan the carnival.

“Come on. Clues won’t find themselves.”

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew: in that maze of shadows, screams, and trembling, the only thing that had truly felt safe was each other.

*****************************

Viva and Clay wandered through the festival stalls, their path lit by garish bulbs and the chorus of laughter all around. Clay had to intervene just in time, tugging Viva away from her third ring toss win before she claimed another enormous prize.

“Hey! I still had one throw left,” Viva protested, arms full of an oversized pink unicorn and a bear nearly bigger than her.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you would’ve nailed it too,” Clay said, glancing sideways with a smile. “But I already can’t see your face behind all that. And I know you were planning to dump them on me.”

“And what’s wrong with that? You can never have too many stuffed animals.”

“Right. Until your room turns into a plush jungle you can’t walk through.”

Viva huffed, feigning offense. “You’re not letting me show you affection in my way.”

“So that’s what this is? I thought you were just building a plush wall between us.”

Her laugh was softer this time. She lowered her voice. “I just wanted to impress you, Clara.”

Clay blinked, caught off guard. “Impress me?”

“Yes. You’re… amazing. Calm, kind, attentive. I just wanted to show I was worth your time.”

Clay slowed, his expression softening. “Viva… you don’t need trophies for that. I like spending time with you. I already think you’re awesome.”

For a fleeting moment, Viva’s eyes shimmered with something deeper. But before Clay could say more, Viva’s gaze snagged on a reflection in the glass.

“Look! A funhouse!” she exclaimed, energy bubbling back as she grabbed Clay’s hand and pulled her forward without hesitation.

Clay stumbled a step but followed, his lips curving despite himself. She's a bit smaller than me, and somehow I'm the one being dragged around.

“How are you so strong?” he muttered with a helpless smile.

“It’s the power of excitement! And this unicorn,” Viva said, hoisting the stuffed creature like a weapon of joy.

Clay laughed, shaking his head, but the warmth in his chest was undeniable. With Viva, the world felt less rigid… and a little brighter.

The funhouse greeted them with a spinning tunnel of flashing lights. Viva barreled through, still holding Clay’s hand, while Clay fought to keep her balance.

“Is this supposed to be funny or nauseating?” Clay asked, wobbling.

“Both!” Viva giggled, tugging her along.

Past the tunnel, they entered a hall of warped mirrors. Viva stopped at one that ballooned her head comically.

“Look! I’m a happy broccoli!” she burst out, doubled over laughing.

Clay stood beside her, glancing at her own reflection—ridiculously long legs with a squashed torso.

“And I look like spaghetti with shoulders,” he deadpanned.

“Perfect! Broccoli pasta.” Viva nudged her playfully.

Clay chuckled, but his smile faltered. That phrase—spaghetti with shoulders. He’d said it before. He remembered laughing, Floyd teasing, Branch pointing out something behind him… The mirror. The moment. He had been here before.

Clay's chest tightened.

“Viva,” he said, voice suddenly urgent. “I’m having a great time, really. But we need to get back to my brothers. Now.”

Viva blinked, startled by the shift. “Your brothers? You mean Boom and Ablaze? Funny—I never hear Kismet mention you.”

Clay scratched the back of his neck, uneasy. “We… keep our friendship low-key. Less gossip that way.”

“So there’s nothing between Ablaze and your sister?” Viva asked, light tone, but her eyes searched his.

“Branch? No. She’s single. Why?”

“Just curious,” Viva replied, shrugging. A mischievous smile ghosted her lips.

Clay pulled out his phone. “I’ll text them. Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course.” Viva’s smile softened into something gentler. “I like you, Clara. Even if you refuse my stuffed animal empire.”

Clay’s lips curved despite the knot in his stomach. “I’ll remember that next time.”

Viva edged closer. “Whatever it is you remembered… are you okay?”

Clay met her gaze. For a second, he considered spilling everything. Instead, he simply nodded. “I will be. Thanks for being here.”

Without thinking, Clay caught Viva’s hand again and started toward the exit. Viva followed, squeezing their fingers together with quiet certainty.

Neither of them spoke of it, but in that dizzy maze of lights and reflections, the warmth of their joined hands felt more real than anything else—and neither of them wanted to let go.

Chapter Text

Poppy tugged Branch along by the hand, laughter spilling out of her as she pulled her toward the glowing carousel. Branch struggled to match her pace, both with her quick steps and with Poppy’s endless chatter. A few paces back, Ablaze followed with his hands tucked in his pockets and an amused curl to his lips.

Suddenly, Poppy stopped. Her eyes sparkled as she grabbed Branch by the collar and yanked her closer. The motion left Branch tilting her chin up, caught off guard, her cheeks heating as Poppy’s magenta gaze hovered inches from her own.

“Branch! If you know Kismet, you must know BroZone too, right?” she blurted, eyes wide.

Branch could only nod, still reeling from the closeness. Poppy squealed, the sound making Branch flinch, and Ablaze let out a low chuckle. Then Poppy leaned in just a fraction more—her nose brushing Branch’s. The sapphire-eyed girl’s blush deepened.

“Do you think you could introduce me? Even just to Branch,” Poppy pleaded, smile imploring. “Please?”

Before Branch could speak, Ablaze stepped forward, gently peeling Poppy’s hands off his sister’s jacket.

“Alright, Poppy,” he said lightly, placing himself between them. “My favorite grump here needs air, not a bear hug.”

Poppy flushed and ducked her head. “Sorry. I… get carried away.”

Branch was still pink, staring at the ground, so Ablaze bent toward her. “You good, sweetie?” he asked softly.

Branch blinked, then managed a small smile. “Yeah. She just… surprised me.”

Satisfied, Ablaze stepped aside with a crooked grin. “So tell me, why all the fuss about Bitty B? Pretty sure I’m easier on the eyes.”

Branch rolled her eyes. Poppy, however, looked at him so seriously that it startled him.

“It’s not about looks,” she said firmly. “Sure, he’s handsome—but that’s not why I admire him. He cares. About his brothers, about his fans. Even when he hides it behind that sarcastic mask for the cameras, you can tell. He sings with heart, he fights for what he believes in. That’s what makes him special.”

The words silenced them both. Ablaze because he hadn’t expected such sincerity. Branch because her face felt like it might combust—Poppy had just described her, word for word.

Branch turned away, biting his lip, wishing he could disappear. “How do you know all that about someone you’ve never met?” he asked, his voice barely steady.

“I don’t know,” Poppy admitted with a small shrug. “Sometimes you just… feel it. When someone has a good soul, you see it in everything they do.”

Branch’s heart pounded so loudly she was sure Ablaze could hear it.

The redhead let out a low whistle. “Guess Bitty B’s got himself a super fan.”

Poppy smiled without shame. “Not just a fan. I admire Branch Valtren as a person. For what he stands for. For what he inspires.”

Branch hugged her arms across her chest, fighting the swirl of gratitude and panic. She tried to smile, but it came out crooked.

“Lucky him,” he whispered.

Only Ablaze caught it. His gaze flicked toward his sister, but for once, he kept his thoughts to himself.

“And if you had him in front of you, what would you say?” Branch asked, his voice steadier than he actually felt.

Poppy gave a nervous laugh. “Oof, that’s a lot of pressure. Probably just… ‘thank you.’ Because his music helped me when I was going through a rough time. It made me feel less alone.” She hesitated, then grinned sheepishly. “And maybe I’d ask for a hug—but honestly? I’d probably faint first.”

For the first time that night, Branch’s smile wasn’t forced. She glanced sideways at Ablaze, who was watching with a mix of tenderness and mischief that made Branch roll her eyes faintly.

They walked on until the carousel came into view, glowing under strings of warm lights. Painted horses bobbed up and down to tinkling music while laughter drifted through the air.

“That one’s mine!” Poppy gasped, pointing to a pink unicorn with a sky-blue mane. “It even has glitter! Can you believe it?”

Branch muttered under his breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “Not surprised at all.”

“What was that?” Poppy asked, leaning closer.

“Nothing. Just—go pick your glittery unicorn,” Branch said, shaking his head.

“And you? Which one are you choosing?”

Branch scanned the carousel until his eyes landed on a dark blue steed with silver trim, tucked half-hidden behind a column. “That one.”

Poppy’s eyes widened theatrically. “Really? Out of all these? You’d pick the gloomy one?”

“Very sure,” Branch replied with a faint smirk.

Poppy laughed as she climbed onto her unicorn. Branch followed with a little more awkwardness, gripping the pole tightly. Ablaze swung onto a horse behind them, leaning back like he had front-row seats to a private show. The ride began with a lurch, music filling the air. Poppy stretched her hand toward Branch, eyes shining.

“Come on! Give me your hand—this’ll be more fun!”

Branch hesitated, staring at her as if the request made no sense. But something in Poppy’s gaze left no room for refusal. Slowly, almost shyly, Branch reached out, and their fingers laced together.

“See? This is how you ride a carousel,” Poppy laughed, her hair dancing in the breeze.

Branch tried to suppress a smile but failed. “You make everything feel like an adventure,” he murmured before he could stop himself.

Poppy tilted her head, still holding on. “And is that good or bad?”

Branch studied their joined hands, his grip tightening just slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “I guess it depends… on where the adventure leads.”

Poppy looked at her, smile fading into something quieter, more tender. For a moment, the carousel’s music, the spinning lights, even Ablaze’s watchful gaze blurred into the background. It felt like the world had slowed down, just for the two of them.

From his spot, Ablaze arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “So… just a friend, huh,” he murmured under his breath, as if he were catching onto a secret the others hadn’t noticed yet.

The carousel kept turning, laughter and music swirling around them. Between Branch and Poppy, though, there was only a comfortable silence — their hands still linked, neither one daring to pull away first. Their hearts beat faster with every slow rise and fall of the painted horses.

As the ride slowed, the music softened, and the horses sank gracefully to the floor. Yet even when the carousel stilled, their fingers stayed entwined.

“I… think it’s over,” Branch said quietly, staring at their joined hands.

“Oh—right.” Poppy released her with a quick, nervous giggle, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that didn’t need fixing. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yes… it was,” Branch murmured, his voice betraying the slightest tremor as he looked away.

They climbed down carefully, and just as Branch's sneakers touched the ground, Ablaze sidled up beside her with a low whistle, dropping an arm casually over her shoulders.

“Have fun?” he asked, tone light, but his gaze was too sharp to be simple teasing.

“So much!” Poppy beamed, completely missing the weight in his voice. “Did you see my unicorn? It sparkled!”

“Yes, Poppy, we saw the unicorn,” Ablaze replied with a crooked smile, flicking a quick glance at Branch. She tugged at her jacket, as if the extra fabric might hide the stubborn blush on her cheeks.

“What’s next?” Poppy bounced on her toes. “Cotton candy?”

“Sure,” Ablaze said smoothly. “But maybe water first. Some people look like they need to cool off.” His eyes lingered pointedly on Branch without naming her.

“Huh? Are you hot, Branch?” Poppy asked innocently.

Branch swallowed hard. “Maybe… a little,” he admitted, trying for indifference.

“Then water it is! And then cotton candy,” Poppy declared, looping her arm through hers again without a second thought.

Branch stiffened at the contact but didn’t pull away. Ablaze fell into step behind them, hands in his pockets, his smile subtle and knowing.

As the carnival lights flickered across his face, Ablaze shook his head faintly. “This is going to get interesting,” he muttered, watching the two figures ahead — walking side by side, closer than they realized.

Poppy bounced lightly with each step, her arm still hooked through Branch’s. Despite the bustle of voices, games, and music around them, Branch heard only the hammering of his own heartbeat. Poppy’s energy rattled him… yet at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to want distance.

“Am I bothering you?” Poppy asked suddenly, her voice softer now, though her stride didn’t falter. “Sometimes Viva and I get told we’re… too much.”

Branch glanced sideways. Poppy’s head was bowed slightly, as though she genuinely feared the answer.

“No. Not at all,” Branch said quietly, sincerity slipping past his usual reserve. “I’m just… not used to it.”

“Used to what?”

Branch gave a faint, almost embarrassed laugh. “To this. Spending time with someone who isn’t one of my sisters… or that insufferable redhead behind us.”

“Hey, I heard that,” Ablaze called, though his grin carried no heat.

Poppy stopped, tugging Branch to a halt with her. For a moment she simply studied her, carnival lights blinking around them. Ablaze, a few steps back, pretended to scroll his phone — though his ears didn’t miss a word.

“Well,” Poppy said at last, her smile warm and steady. “You’d better get used to me. Because I like what I’ve seen so far. I like your dry humor, the patience you show when you explain things, the way your brow furrows when you’re concentrating. You’re… different, Branch. In a good way.”

Branch froze, heat blooming in her cheeks. She turned her gaze away, struggling for words — but she didn’t step back. Didn’t argue. She just let the silence hold them together.

“Water!” Poppy suddenly exclaimed, her energy bursting back as she pointed. “There’s a stand! Come on!”

Branch nodded quickly, relieved for the shift.

At the cart, the vendor handed them two huge cups of ice water. Poppy promptly splashed her nose on the first sip, making herself snort with laughter. Branch, to her own surprise, chuckled with her — not the forced, polite kind, but real.

From his post against a wooden beam, Ablaze watched. He noticed the way Poppy leaned in closer than necessary when she spoke, how Branch answered with short but genuine replies, and the invisible space shrinking between them. Something was forming here — sweet, slow, inevitable. And he wasn’t about to miss a second of it. In fact, he might even stir the pot a little, just for fun.

His private amusement ended when his phone buzzed twice. He glanced down: Clay. The grin that spread across his lips was immediate, his eyes flicking to Branch with unspoken thought. Then the second notification. Trickee. Ablaze opened it — and his smile died. A shadow crossed his face. Sliding his phone quickly back into his pocket, he looked up again at Branch, who was still laughing at something Poppy had said, blissfully unaware.

With firm steps, Ablaze closed the distance between them. “Sweetie,” he said, voice lower than usual, stripped of its teasing edge. “Clara sent a message.”

Branch barely looked up, still engaged with Poppy. But Poppy turned, smiling lightly.

“She probably wrote to say she’s having fun with my sister,” she said cheerfully, then turned right back to Branch, chatting about the cotton candy stand.

“Yeah… that,” Ablaze murmured, forcing a half-smile that never reached his eyes. His gaze lingered on Branch, far more serious now. “Sweetie. It’s time to go.”

“What? But it’s still early!” Poppy protested, pouting as she instinctively glanced to Branch for backup.

Branch sighed, rolling his eyes. “Ignore him. Didn’t I tell you he’s insufferable?”

Poppy tried to scold, though a laugh softened her words. “Branch, don’t be rude to your friend!”

Ablaze arched a brow, then exhaled — and without warning, strode forward and hefted Branch over his shoulder like she was a sack of flour.

“Ablaze! What the hell—?! Put me down right now!”

“Sorry, sweetie,” he said evenly, ignoring her fists thumping at his back. “But I’m not in the mood for tantrums. Something serious came up.” He glanced at Poppy, and though his voice remained calm, there was no mistaking the gravity in his eyes. “You can walk with us to the exit, or call your sister and meet her somewhere. I’m sorry, Poppy… but this is an emergency.”

Poppy froze, uncertain. Her eyes flicked between Branch — wriggling, protesting — and Ablaze, whose steady expression left no room for argument.

“Poppy!” Branch called from over the redhead's shoulder, more frustrated than furious now. He huffed, adjusting himself as best he could. “Please excuse this idiot. I’ll message you the second I can. I’d love to go out with you again. And… let me know when you and Viva get home, alright?”

Poppy’s lips parted, but no words came. She only nodded, watching as Ablaze carried Branch into the crowd, their figures swallowed quickly by the swirl of lights and laughter.

For the first time that night, her smile faded. She hugged her own arms, eyes lingering on the spot where Branch had been. The carousel lights still blinked merrily, the music still played — yet the air felt a little colder. A quiet sigh slipped from her lips, carrying the weight of an evening cut too short.

Chapter Text

Ablaze walked in silence, his strides steady and unbothered. Branch slung over his shoulder like an unruly sack of flour. She had stopped kicking, but the steady stream of muttered insults against his back hadn’t let up.

“Was it really necessary to haul me around like a potato sack? What’s this so-called emergency you mentioned?”

“We’ll talk when we’re in private,” Ablaze replied, his voice calm but edged with seriousness. “It matters.”

Branch twisted, trying to catch even a glimpse of his face. “What did Clay’s message say?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, a faint smile tugged at his lips, betraying a flicker of relief. “Clay said he remembered something. He might finally have some answers.”

Branch stilled for a heartbeat—before slamming her fist squarely into his back. “You colossal idiot, put me down right now!”

Ablaze’s laugh rumbled out, unbothered. “Not a chance, sweetie. Just think of me as your gallant knight—”

“Knight? Please. Knights don’t carry people like luggage!”

“Depends on the luggage,” Ablaze shot back, giving her a jostle to emphasize his point.

Branch let out a groan, smacking his shoulder with both fists this time. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Ablaze teased, steady as ever, “you haven’t actually bitten me to escape. That’s progress.”

Branch huffed but stayed put, her glare sharp enough to kill.

***************************

The carousel had shut down, and the carnival lights twinkled in the distance like sleepy fireflies. Poppy walked along the path back, hugging her jacket to her chest. Her steps were slow, her mind crowded with fragments.

Branch’s laugh. The way she leaned closer when it was too noisy. Her eyes shining when they talked about music. Their fingers interlaced on the carousel. And then that abrupt goodbye… so frustrating.

“There you are!” Viva called out, waving from their meeting point. She leaned casually against a lamppost, one foot propped against it, looking as if she’d been waiting forever. “So? Did you have fun tonight?”

Poppy’s face lit up as she approached, though something softer lingered underneath her smile.

“Yes! So much. Branch even taught me one of those target games, and then we ended up on the carousel.” She looked down, a small smile slipping through. “She’s… really nice. I don’t know, she gives off this tough vibe at first, but she’s actually really sweet. And when she laughs… it’s—” she hesitated, cheeks warming, “—pretty. Really pretty.”

Viva’s eyebrow shot up almost comically high. “‘Pretty’?” she echoed, her tone sharp with curiosity. “Aha. So was it worth coming out tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Poppy said without hesitation, though her expression clouded. “Except Ablaze suddenly whisked her away. He said it was an emergency, but he didn’t even let me say a proper goodbye.”

“Clara mentioned something about an emergency too when we ran out of the fun house,” Viva mused, studying her sister. “And did it… bother you? The way Branch left?”

“I’m not mad,” Poppy admitted, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. “It’s just… we were in the middle of something. Like a conversation worth finishing, you know? Has that ever happened to you?”

Viva smirked, leaning off the lamppost. “Yes. It’s called ‘being left wanting more.’ Usually happens when you like someone.”

Poppy flushed, turning away too quickly. “Oh, don’t be silly! We’re just friends. Besides, you know I’m straight.”

“Aha. Suuure,” Viva drawled, clearly unconvinced. “Well, even if you’re totally not interested, I did find out Clara and her sisters are all single. And Clara made it very clear there’s nothing between Branch and Ablaze. Just years of friendship.”

Poppy frowned, confused. “Why are you telling me that? Do you want me to set Branch up on a date or something?”

“No!” Viva threw her hands up. “What I’m saying is… never mind. The point is, Clara’s not going to stay single much longer.”

Poppy tilted her head. “Numbered days?”

“Exactly,” Viva said with utter certainty. “Because Clara is going to be my girlfriend. She’s worth it, and I won’t just sit back while someone else gets there first.”

“Since when are you so possessive?” Poppy teased, stifling a laugh.

“It’s not possessive—it’s determination,” Viva corrected, her tone firm but eyes shining. “Sometimes you meet someone and you just know. You don’t even understand why, but you feel it.”

Poppy grew quiet, her gaze drifting toward the carnival lights in the distance. Her fingers traced idle circles against her sleeve.

“…Those are such pretty words,” she murmured. “Very romantic.”

Viva glanced sideways at her, catching the soft flush on her cheeks, but kept her grin to herself. She just walked beside her, shoulder brushing shoulder. Together, they followed the path away from the fading glow of the carnival—one already falling with certainty, the other just beginning, without realizing it yet.

************************

Everyone was crammed into the living room, the air thick with impatience. Clay paced in front of them like a lecturer who’d lost his notes.

Branch sat on a sofa between Boom and Ablaze: Boom had made her lap his pillow, while Ablaze rested a lazy arm around her shoulders. Floyd sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the sofa, while Boom absentmindedly combed his fingers through her hair. Across the way, John and Bruce drummed their legs in unison on the couch, their rhythm only adding to the tension.

“Clay, you’re making me nervous! Spit it out already!” Ablaze finally snapped.

Clay blinked, as though she’d just returned from orbit, then straightened with unnecessary gravity.

“Sorry, sorry. What happened is… I was with Viva in front of some mirrors, and suddenly a memory came back. Floyd, Branch, and I had been there before.”

“So we confirm that on the mysterious night—the one nobody remembers—we did go to the carnival,” Floyd said, arching an eyebrow.

Clay nodded solemnly.

“And? What else?” John pressed, arms crossed.

Clay looked genuinely puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?”

“Clay Valtren,” John snapped, leaning forward, “you dragged us all here, claimed it was urgent, and interrupted my date with Hickory! Now I owe him two more! So please tell me you found something useful.”

“A date?!” Boom gasped theatrically, propping himself on one elbow. “So you do admit you like that sexy cowboy.”

“He’s not that sexy,” Floyd muttered with a sulk.

“What?! Of course not! How could I like that narcissistic, infuriating redhead?” John shot back, though the redness in his cheeks screamed otherwise.

“JD, we asked about Hickory, not about Ablaze,” Branch cut in flatly.

“Hey! Don’t call me that!” Ablaze barked.

“Then stop carrying me around like a sack of potatoes!” Branch retorted, punching his shoulder.

“If I didn’t know you two were straight and just love each other like siblings, I’d already have Hype drawing fanart,” Boom said, frowning dramatically.

“Branch is basically a lesbian at this point. Several of us are,” Clay added with a shrug.

“This whole orientation thing with swapped bodies is a mess,” John groaned, covering his face.

“Not for you, Johnny. You’re bi. You’re like Wi-Fi—you connect to everything,” Boom smirked.

Bruce, finally chiming in, raised an eyebrow at Ablaze. “By the way… why were you carrying Bitty like a sack of potatoes?”

“That’s what I want to know!” Branch flared, pointing at him. “I’m not your luggage!”

“Because when I said it was an emergency, you ignored me!” Ablaze shot back, waving his arms. “You were too busy drowning in the magenta eyes of your new friend!”

“I told you they aren’t ‘just friends,’” Clay sing-songed.

“I confirmed it today,” Ablaze added, grinning like a detective who’d cracked the case.

Branch crossed his arms, cheeks heating. “What are you talking about?! Poppy is just a friend. Stop imagining things!”

“Whatever you say, Bitty…” Clay muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Can we please focus?!” John thundered, patience cracking. “Clay, did you find out anything else?”

Clay pursed his lips, shuffling. “…Uh, no. Just that. But I thought confirming the carnival was important.”

“You did good, Clay,” Floyd said warmly, giving her a sweet smile. “Now we’ve got a fixed point in the timeline. Johnny’s just cranky because you ruined his date and he won’t admit he has feelings for Hickory.”

“It was over a bet!” John protested. “An unfair one! That mechanical bull was possessed, and this body can’t even open a jar!”

“Sure, JD,” Bruce said, patting her back.

“And you!” Branch snapped, spinning on Ablaze again. “You dragged me like a sack of cement—all for this?!”

“Actually…” Ablaze interrupted, straightening with theatrical importance. “There is something else. Besides Clay’s thing.”

The room went still. All eyes turned to him.

“Trickee sent me a message,” Ablaze announced, glancing around at them. “Apparently, our manager wants to organize a music event with several bands. Kismet would open the show… and BroZone would close it.”

The words dropped into the room like a stone in a pond. No one spoke.

John was the first to move, pulling out his phone with a scowl. “That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have any message about that.”

“I guess he wanted to give you all a break,” Ablaze replied evenly. “You’re on vacation, right? Trickee said the event is in two weeks… right when your time off ends.”

“So we have two weeks to figure out what happened to us?” Clay asked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

“And if we don’t manage it?” Bruce muttered, running a hand down his face. The nervous edge in his voice was impossible to miss.

“I can’t face our manager… not in this body,” John admitted, shrinking back into the couch. “There’s no way he’ll believe me, even if I tell him the truth.”

Boom, who had been twirling a lock of Floyd’s hair absentmindedly, raised his hand like a kid in class. “We could stall. Come on, Blazie, help me out here.”

Ablaze nodded, already thinking. “We’ll talk to him. Make up an excuse… BroZone’s down with the flu, or food poisoning, or stuck in quarantine after eating expired sushi. Something believable. But we wait until the weekend, so it doesn’t look suspicious.”

Branch exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. “We need to fix this now. Otherwise… that concert won’t just be embarrassing. It’ll be our musical funeral.”

The silence that followed was suffocating—until Boom broke it with a grin: “Well, if you do die on stage, at least you’ll die looking FABULOUS.”

“I refuse to die in this weakling body!” John exploded, throwing his arms up.

“Hickory seems to like it a lot,” Bruce added with a sly smile.

“SHUT UP!!” John roared, his face blazing red.

That was all it took for the room to erupt in laughter—loud, messy, contagious. But even as they laughed, the tension hummed beneath it, undeniable. Two weeks. The countdown had begun.

*************************

The next morning, everyone crowded around the breakfast table, plates and mugs scattered between them as ideas bounced back and forth.

“Boom and I plan to retrace the places we visited that day, before the carnival,” Floyd said, calmly buttering his toast. “Maybe we’ll find something we missed.”

“With luck, a clue or… I don’t know, a freaky detail we ignored,” Boom added, talking through a mouthful of cereal.

Branch straightened in his chair. “I’m going out with Poppy. I know the investigation is important, but Ablaze didn’t let me say a proper goodbye. We’re going back to the carnival to make up for yesterday.”

“Sure, blame me,” Ablaze shot back, smirking. “Everyone here knows you’re just looking for an excuse to see her again.” He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the others. “Obviously, I’m going with Bitty. Someone has to focus on clues while he’s busy making heart eyes.”

Branch glared, but her reddened ears betrayed her.

“Well, I already did my part yesterday,” Clay said, sipping juice. “Today, I’m going to the gym.”

Every head turned toward her like she’d just announced she was joining a monastery.

“You? The gym?” Branch asked flatly.

Clay set his glass down with exaggerated dignity. “What’s so weird about that? I need to stretch, clear my head, and—if we’re really going to perform—start thinking about choreographies.”

Floyd’s lips curled into a sly grin. “Choreographies… or trying to impress someone whose name happens to start with V?”

Clay rolled her eyes, but her ears flushed pink.

“I’ll go with you,” John cut in, determination written across her face. “I still want to train so I can be ready to fight whoever did this to us.”

Bruce groaned, standing and collecting his plate. “Fine. I’m going too. Last time you nearly killed yourself, JD. Someone has to supervise.”

“May I remind you—I’m the oldest?” John protested.

“And yet, somehow, we’re still more responsible than you,” Bruce said, patting her on the shoulder as he walked past.

Laughter rippled around the table, light but short-lived. The mood dimmed again as silence settled, everyone aware of the unspoken truth: time was slipping away.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, the three brothers set off for the gym, this time remembering to wear their sports tops. Nobody wanted to repeat the painful incident of the “unexpected bounce.”

When they arrived, John disappeared into the bathroom to “get in the zone”—which probably meant flexing at the mirror—while Bruce accompanied Clay toward the weight area. Just before stepping inside, Clay slowed and pointed with her chin at a row of rooms on the left.

“And what’s over there?”

“Classes,” Bruce muttered. “Cardio, yoga, spinning, Zumba… Johnny and I stick to the machines. Less… embarrassing.”

But Clay’s eyes had already locked onto one particular room. A wave of women entered laughing, Latin music pulsing from inside. The instructor, a neon explosion with a headset, greeted each person as if they were long-lost friends.

“Looks like something fun’s about to start. How about we try it?”

Bruce groaned. “Clay…”

“Come on! Just one class. We can hide in the back. If we hate it, we bolt.”

Bruce stared, resigned. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Or an adventure,” Clay shot back, tugging her inside.

The music blasted. The instructor threw her arms up. “Let’s go, ladies! Fire in those hips! I want to see the room burn!”

Bruce froze like a malfunctioning robot, stiff arms at her sides. Meanwhile, Clay picked up the rhythm, spinning, jumping, shaking her arms with reckless confidence. And she was smiling.

Little by little, Bruce gave in. A shoulder shrug. Then a hip roll. Then—God help him—a full spin with arms raised like she was auditioning for a music video.

“That’s it!” Clay cheered.

“Don’t get used to it! I’m just… warming up!” Bruce said, already moving like he’d been secretly taking lessons for months.

That’s when John strutted out of the bathroom, ready to conquer the weights. He froze. His brothers —sweaty, radiant, moving in sync with a crowd of women—were shaking and spinning like they’d been possessed by Latin music itself.

“…What the hell?” he whispered.

Clay spotted her in the mirror and waved wildly. “JD! Get in here!”

John instantly stepped back. “Absolutely not.”

Too late—the instructor had John in her sights. “You too, gorgeous! Come on! Everyone cheer him in!”

The women clapped and whooped, and one grabbed John’s arm, dragging her inside like a prize.

“But I came for the weights!” John yelped, limbs flailing as he tried to catch the beat and failed spectacularly.

“Legs, Johnny! Use your legs!” Bruce shouted, now fully reborn as a disciple of Zumba.

“This is worse than boot camp in hiking boots!” John cried, stomping completely out of sync, nearly colliding with the mirror.

Half an hour later, the three collapsed onto the studio floor, panting like they’d survived an apocalypse.

“I can’t feel my feet,” John groaned at the ceiling.

“That’s because you abandoned them in song one,” Clay wheezed through laughter.

Bruce, still glowing, gave a thumbs-up. “I have to admit… that was kind of amazing.”

John lifted his head, scandalized. “You—Bruce ‘Machines Only’ BroZone—actually liked that?”

“The instructor said my spin was ‘powerful and fluid,’ thank you very much.” Bruce smirked.

“This never happened,” John declared firmly.

Clay raised his phone with an evil grin. “Too late. I got your best move: ‘The Dramatic Stumble with Bounce.’ Instant classic.”

“You’re dead,” John croaked, lunging weakly.

And so, with laughter, sweat, and very incriminating footage, the three Valtren brothers left the studio. Their bodies might still be strangers to them, but at least they knew they could laugh their way through the chaos—for as long as their burning lungs would allow.

*************************

While some brothers headed to the gym and Branch and Ablaze relaxed at home before going out with Poppy, Boom and Floyd wandered to the small bookshop where Clay had once found his special edition.

The place smelled of old paper and fresh ink. Lantern-like lights hung low from the ceiling, their glow pooling in warm circles on the floor while the aisles beyond seemed too deep, too shadowed, as if the shop were larger inside than out.

They drifted apart, letting their fingers trail across the spines as though one might hum with the answer they were looking for.

Floyd’s steps slowed when he noticed her. At the far end of an aisle stood a silver-haired woman, her figure half-veiled in shadow. She turned a page with deliberate grace, her smile curling in a way that made something cold prickle down his spine. It was familiar, disturbingly so—like a half-remembered dream or a reflection glimpsed in rippling water.

“…Do I know her?” he whispered to himself.

Almost against her will, Floyd lifted a hand. The woman mirrored the gesture, but her smile widened too much, stretching almost unnaturally. A shiver crawled across the back of Floyd's neck.

Then the woman moved. Not with haste but with a fluid, gliding step that carried her out of sight before Floyd’s mind could process it. Heart quickening, Floyd hurried after her. She turned the corner—only to find emptiness. No trace of the woman. Just the book she had been holding, lying open on the floor.

He bent to pick it up, hesitation making his fingers tremble. Enchanted. The pages had fallen open to the ballroom scene, where Giselle and Robert danced beneath a thousand lights.

“Whoa!”

Floyd flinched as Boom’s voice burst behind her, nearly dropping the book.

“Sorry!” Boom chuckled, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Find something good?”

Floyd straightened, masking his nerves with a quick smile. “Didn’t know Enchanted had a book version.” He flipped a page too casually, as if it didn’t matter.

Boom leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. “‘True love’s kiss is the most powerful magic of all…’” he murmured, voice unusually quiet. “If you were really cursed… do you think a kiss like that could break it?”

Floyd let out a quick, slightly forced laugh. “Wouldn’t that be a little too… fantastical?” He shrugged. “Besides, that ‘true love’ stuff sounds nice, but… I don’t know. People get tired. They change.”

Boom frowned thoughtfully, eyes still on the page. “Maybe. But sometimes true love isn’t about perfection. It’s about choosing the same person every day, even when it’s hard. That’s a kind of magic too.”

Floyd looked at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice. That tenderness Boom sometimes showed without realizing it always threw him off. Something tightened in his chest.

Then Boom’s gaze softened further. “Romantically speaking… who do you think would be your ‘Prince Charming’? The one who could break any spell with a kiss.”

Floyd’s throat tightened. He swallowed, eyes darting away. “…Hey. Was that black cat always on the counter?” He pointed suddenly.

Boom turned curiously, while Floyd closed the book carefully, as if she didn’t want the conversation to remain too open… or too exposed.

Boom blinked. “What cat?”

The counter was empty.

“…Nothing. Must’ve imagined it. This place has a weird vibe.”

Boom let it pass with a chuckle. “This place is weird, yeah. But kind of magical too. Like everything’s waiting to be discovered.”

“Yeah,” Floyd said quietly. His lips twisted into a half-smile. “Like a lot of things lately.”

Boom wandered off to another shelf, leafing through a collection of fairy tales. Floyd lingered, staring down at the closed book in his hands, then back at Boom’s distracted figure.

For a heartbeat, he let the thought escape: What if it’s him? What if Boom is my Prince Charming? What if that kiss wasn’t impossible after all?

But the thought carried fear with it—fear of change, of rejection, of turning a fragile hope into a broken truth. She shook her head sharply, brushing the idea away like dust.

Masking his nerves with his crooked smile, Floyd joined Boom. “After this,” he said with a lighter air, “my brothers and I had a picnic in a nearby park. We should go there.”

Boom arched a brow, sly grin tugging at his lips. “Floyd Valtren… did you just ask me on a picnic?”

Floyd blinked, realizing too late how it sounded. He rubbed the back of his neck but forced a crooked smile. “…Why not? Snacks, fresh air. Could be worse.”

Boom’s laugh came warm and easy. “Just admit you love spending time with me.”

Floyd rolled his eyes, heading for the counter with the book. “Shut up and pick what you want to drink. But only if there are chocolate chip cookies.”

“What if I want raspberry cupcakes?”

“Then you’ll have to carry the shopping bag,” Floyd said, not looking directly at him, though the smile didn’t leave his face.

Boom tapped his chin dramatically. “Fair. But if you buy decorative napkins, I’m calling it a date.”

Floyd pushed open the door, smirk tugging at his lips. “Then you’d better not forget your sun hat.”

Boom’s laugh followed her out into the daylight.

******

The park was hushed, wrapped in the glow of the sinking sun. Floyd and Boom had settled beneath an old oak tree whose branches filtered the light into shifting fragments of gold across the grass. Their shopping bag lay open between them: red berry juice, chocolate chip cookies just as Floyd insisted, and raspberry cupcakes, because Boom couldn’t resist.

They ate slowly, almost absently, letting the stillness carry them. It wasn’t silence born of discomfort, but of something softer. A hush that felt like it belonged only to them.

Boom fiddled with the wrapper of a napkin, his smile a little crooked. “Do you realize this feels like something out of a cheesy novel?”

Floyd snorted lightly, tilting his head back against the tree. “Not sure if we’re the protagonists… or the best friends everyone’s screaming at to just kiss already.”

That made Boom look up. His laugh caught in his throat, because Floyd said it so casually while sipping his juice, as if it didn’t carry any weight at all. But for Boom, it did. Too much.

“…And what do you think?” he asked, more serious this time. “Which one would you be?”

Floyd set the cup down slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun burned orange behind the trees. He didn’t look at Boom. Couldn’t.

“Sometimes I think I’m stuck in the middle,” he admitted quietly. “Like I want to step forward… but I’m scared of ruining everything.”

The words settled between them, fragile and raw. Boom felt his chest tighten. He understood. He’d lived that same hesitation every day. And for a moment, he thought—This is it. Maybe this is the moment I could finally say what I've been holding in.

“Floyd, I—”

“Boom, I—”

They froze, startled to have spoken at the same time, then laughed. Their laughter was light, but beneath it lingered something nervous. Something aching.

“You what?” Boom asked, trying for lightness, but his voice betrayed him with a tremor.

Floyd’s heart stuttered. He could say it now. He could admit that Boom had become the first thought of his mornings and the last whisper before sleep. He could confess that, if true love’s kiss were real, he already knew who he’d want it to be from.

But instead, he exhaled and smiled faintly. “I think… it’s nice spending time with you.”

Boom’s answering smile was tender but tinged with sadness. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I was going to say…” His gaze dropped to his hands.

The sun dipped lower, slipping behind the trees, bathing the park in a final wash of orange and rose. They sat there shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel each other’s warmth, but not quite close enough to bridge the space between. Neither dared to move closer. And yet, in that fragile pause, the truth pulsed between them—unspoken, undeniable.

Because sometimes love doesn’t need to be declared to be real. Sometimes it lingers in a laugh, in the brush of shoulders, in the silence that feels like belonging. Suspended. Waiting for the courage to finally be named.

Chapter Text

Branch walked beside Ablaze toward the carnival entrance. The redhead shot her a sly glance, clearly entertained by the way her sister’s stiff posture betrayed the nerves she was trying so hard to hide.

“You know,” Ablaze murmured with a crooked smile, “if Poppy so much as glances your way, she’ll realize you’re practically vibrating with excitement.”

“Shut up,” Branch muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Just an observation,” he said with a theatrical shrug. “Not like it isn’t obvious.”

When they stepped inside, it didn’t take long to spot Poppy. The moment her eyes landed on Branch, her whole face lit up as if someone had switched on a lantern inside her. She waved wildly, nearly smacking the person next to her with her hand.

“Hi, Branch! …and—oh. Ablaze?” Her cheerful tone dipped into puzzled surprise. “What are you doing here?”

The look on her face was so sincere that Ablaze had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. He gave a little bow. “I’m touched by your warm welcome, Poppy. Truly.”

Branch huffed. “He invited himself.”

“Correction,” Ablaze said smoothly, “I rescued her from the horrors of walking alone. Besides, who wouldn’t want to come to the carnival with their adorable friends? It’s not like I’m crashing a top-secret date or anything.” He smirked at Branch, who glared daggers back at him.

Poppy tilted her head, still trying to piece things together.

“And someone,” Ablaze continued, slinging an arm around Branch’s shoulders, “has to protect my sweet girl. What if some stranger tries to kidnap her for being so irresistibly charming? I’d never forgive myself.”

Poppy blinked between them, eyebrows raised. “Wow… I didn’t realize you two were that close.”

“Too close,” Ablaze said with a wicked little grin. “We even have cute nicknames for each other, but ‘sweetie’ is my favorite for Branch.”

Branch growled, jerking free. “Do you consider ‘idiot’ a sweet nickname? Because that’s the only one you’re getting.”

“Oh, don’t break my heart, sweetie,” Ablaze sighed dramatically, clutching his chest.

Branch groaned, lowering his voice to him. “Are you here to help figure out what happened to us or just to humiliate me?”

“Why not both?” Ablaze whispered back, then winked at Poppy. “Come on, Branch. Smile a little. The mystery can wait—five minutes of fun won’t kill us.”

“Speaking of fun,” Poppy cut in with a bright grin, “who wants to play darts?”

Branch’s shoulders relaxed just slightly at the way Poppy looked at her. Ablaze noticed and smirked.

“Perfect,” he muttered under his breath. “Games, romance, and mystery. Best carnival ever.”

As they moved down the aisle of lights and games, Ablaze walked leisurely beside Branch, deliberately drifting into her space. Every few steps his shoulder brushed hers, and once, he leaned in close enough that his breath tickled her ear.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and sly, “if I were you, I’d have worn something shinier. Sequins, maybe. Glitter. Easier to catch a certain someone’s attention that way.”

Branch shot him a withering look. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll toss you on the carousel and let the kids ride you until you puke.”

“So violent…” Ablaze chuckled. “It just proves how much my closeness gets under your skin.” He straightened suddenly, raising his voice. “Hey, Poppy! Is that caramel apple stall?”

“Yes! Let’s go!” Poppy called back, her pink hair bouncing as she ran toward it.

“Oh, how sweet. Literally,” Ablaze said with mock tenderness, following at a stroll.

Branch groaned but trailed after him, glaring holes in the back of his head.

At the stall, Poppy returned beaming, a shiny caramel apple in her hand. Ablaze drifted right back to Branch’s side, close enough their arms brushed, and—without asking—tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t you want an apple, sweetie?” he asked in a syrupy tone.

“Stop calling me that,” Branch muttered, but he didn’t move away.

Poppy, mid-bite, cast them a sidelong glance, her smile faltering for half a second. “Branch, you must be really good at hiding. For even Kismet’s biggest fans not to notice you exist?” Her words were light, but her eyes lingered a bit too long.

Ablaze grinned like a cat with cream. “Oh, my sweet girl is excellent at hiding things—sometimes even from herself.” He spun on his heel dramatically and draped an arm over Branch’s shoulders. “When there aren’t cameras around, she and I are inseparable. Practically soulmates. Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Branch shoved him off with a grunt, though his ears were faintly pink. “Do you want me to kill you here, or wait until after?”

“After. The lights are pretty tonight,” Ablaze answered breezily.

Poppy giggled, though her bite into the apple was a little too quick, as if masking something. “Well, honestly, I’d like to be that close to you, Branch. You seem… really special.” She gave Branch a small nudge with her elbow, her tone playful but her eyes hopeful.

Branch’s breath hitched, and she turned her gaze upward, cheeks heating.

Ablaze clasped his hands behind his back, enjoying himself far too much. “See? That’s the thing. Some friendships are just casual. And then there are the ones that pretend to be casual when they’re… well, something else. The kind that make you fix your hair or spray perfume before you see her.”

Poppy blinked, caught off guard. “Isn’t that normal? I mean… I try to look nice for all my friends.”

Branch folded her arms tight, lips pressed together, refusing to meet Poppy’s eyes.

Ablaze clicked his tongue theatrically. “Poppy, Poppy… sometimes I think if a bee stung you right in the heart, you still wouldn’t notice.”

“Huh?” she asked, confused.

“Nothing,” he said with an angelic smile.

Branch growled under his breath. “You need to stop.”

“I’ll stop,” Ablaze said with a wink, quickening his pace to leave them a few steps behind, “the moment you two realize you’re surrounded by tension thick enough to choke on,” he muttered to himself.

Unaware, Poppy glanced sideways at Branch. She caught the faint crease between her brows, the way her lips pressed into a thin line as if she were lost in thought. Something about it made Poppy’s chest stir uncomfortably, though she still couldn’t put her finger on why. She looked away quickly, forcing a smile.

“So… shall we go on the carousel again?” she said brightly, eager to change the air.

The carousel spun with twinkling lights and music that was just soft enough to feel a little bittersweet. Each of them had chosen a different horse, though Ablaze had made a point of picking the one right between Branch and Poppy.

“Isn’t this adorable?” Ablaze said, resting his chin lazily on the bar in front of him. “Like a triple date.”

“It’s not a date,” Branch said immediately, staring hard at the painted mane of his horse.

“Of course not,” Poppy added quickly, her laugh a touch higher than usual. “But… it is nice, don’t you think?”

“Nice,” Ablaze agreed, watching them both from the corner of his eye. “Though it’d be even nicer if certain people didn’t act like they were at a funeral whenever they’re smiled at.” His gaze flicked openly to Branch.

Branch scoffed, pretending to examine the gears of the carousel. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Ablaze replied with mock innocence so exaggerated that even Poppy giggled.

When the carousel stopped, Ablaze hopped off first and turned to Poppy, bowing so dramatically it made a couple of kids nearby giggle. He offered his arm.

“M’lady.”

Poppy’s laugh bubbled out as she accepted the gesture. “Thank you, Ablaze!”

Branch climbed down on his own, eyes narrowed. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Jealous, sweetie?” he murmured in her ear before striding a few steps ahead.

Poppy tilted her head, lips parted. “What’s wrong with him?”

Branch exhaled hard. “That’s Ablaze. Annoying by nature.”

They wandered deeper into the carnival, past glowing booths and drifting scents of sugar and popcorn. Ablaze stopped every few steps to point out something ridiculous: like oversized plush prizes or a booth that sold glow-in-the-dark wigs.

“Ring toss?” he challenged. “Loser buys cotton candy.”

“Pass,” Branch said flatly, folding his arms.

“Afraid to lose in front of your boyfriend, sweetie?”

Branch whipped his head toward him. “I don’t have a boyfriend!”

Poppy nearly choked on her caramel apple. “Her what?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just a little joke,” Ablaze said smoothly, his grin widening.

“Don’t say things like that!” Branch snapped, cheeks faintly pink. “You’ll confuse people.”

“Oh no,” Ablaze replied, strolling ahead with his hands in his pockets. “People are already confused.”

Branch groaned and spun on his heel toward the dart booth. “Forget it. Let’s go. I’m going to beat you.”

“That’s the spirit, sweetie.”

Poppy followed, her fingers tightening slightly around the stick of her half-eaten apple. There was a strange heaviness in her chest, a little tug she didn’t quite understand. Something had shifted in the space between them—something that didn’t yet have a name.

As they competed at the game, Ablaze let Branch win… almost. He lost with flair, just to provoke exaggerated reactions.

“Oh no! You beat me. Again. What precision. What grace. Truly, a goddess among mortals—with those dazzling sapphire eyes that—ow! Did you just hit me with a dart?!”

“It wasn’t an accident.”

“Of course it wasn’t.”

Poppy laughed, but her gaze lingered on Branch longer than she meant to. The small, awkward, but genuine smile on her face made something warm stir in Poppy’s chest. She quickly looked away, chewing her lip.

“What if we go on the Ferris wheel now?” Ablaze asked suddenly, snapping Poppy from her thoughts. “Might be a good opportunity to… you know, talk.”

“The three of us together?” Poppy asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Obviously.”

Branch squinted suspiciously. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, sweetie. I just want to see the stars.”

They climbed into the Ferris wheel car just before the doors closed. It was small—the kind that forced shoulders to touch. Branch sat stiffly on one side, Poppy on the other. Naturally, Ablaze slid into the middle with a dramatic sigh.

“What a truly iconic moment,” he said, draping himself like a tragic hero between them.

Branch groaned. “Sit up straight.”

“Anything for you, sweetie.” He leaned even closer, shoulder pressing firmly against hers.

“Ablaze!” Branch shoved him, but he only wobbled theatrically.

Poppy giggled. “You two better behave—you’re going to tip us over.”

“Oh, sorry, Poppy.” Ablaze smiled angelically. “It’s just that Branch and I have a special connection. We communicate through physical contact, right, sweetie?”

“I’m going to throw you out when we reach the top,” Branch muttered through his teeth.

Unbothered, Ablaze leaned in until his lips nearly brushed Branch’s ear. “What’s wrong? Afraid I’ll notice how tense you get when Poppy looks at you? Afraid she’ll notice?” he whispered, his tone sing-song but edged with intent.

Branch froze. Her sapphire eyes locked on the night sky as if it were the most riveting view she’d ever seen.

Poppy tilted her head. “What did you say to her?” she asked, catching the sudden change in her friend’s posture.

“Nothing important. Right, Branchie?” Ablaze grinned, brazenly resting his head on her shoulder.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why not? It’s adorable. You’re adorable when you’re angry, too.”

Poppy laughed, though her voice carried a note she didn’t fully understand. “Ablaze, leave her alone. Though… it is nice to see two best friends get along so well.” She lingered deliberately on best friends.

Branch’s eyes snapped wide. “What?! We don’t get along like that—he’s driving me insane!”

“Mmhm,” Poppy replied, lips twitching as she turned toward the glowing carnival below. “Still… you can tell you care about each other.”

Ablaze smothered a triumphant chuckle. A heavy pause settled in the small car—silent, weighty, and unspoken. 

The wheel kept turning, slow and steady, as the carnival lights blinked like stars below. Ablaze lounged in the middle of the seat, utterly comfortable, his smile fixed. Because even though neither girl would admit it, the spark was there—he hadn’t invented it. He was only fanning the flames.

“And you know what would be perfect right now?” he asked. “Pictures! A trio of selfies for the memory.”

Before either could protest, he stretched his arm, snapping a photo. Branch turned her face just enough to soften her scowl, while Poppy smiled without reserve.

Click.

“There. A perfect picture of the two of you… and one idiot in the middle.”

“Couldn’t have described it better myself,” Branch muttered.

But when the phone lowered, Poppy’s eyes drifted sideways. Branch’s expression was serious, maybe even tense, yet there was something alive in her gaze. Something that made Poppy blink slower than usual, caught in it.

The moment ended as the cabin touched the ground. Branch bolted out so quickly she nearly tripped on the step. Ablaze followed at a lazy pace, satisfied, while Poppy trailed after, still unsettled by a feeling she couldn’t name.

“Did the height scare you, sweetie?” Ablaze teased, slipping back to Branch’s side.

“I was scared of having to share air with you for five minutes,” Branch shot back, eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Admit you had fun. It was practically a double date… or one of those romcoms where the girl doesn’t know she’s in love yet,” he said, with a meaningful flick of his gaze toward Poppy.

Poppy cut in quickly, voice brighter than it needed to be. “Do you want cotton candy, Branch?” She stepped closer to her before Ablaze could add more fuel.

“Why not offer me some too?” Ablaze leaned forward, blocking the space between them.

“You already had a caramel apple; I didn’t think you’d want more sweet things tonight,” Poppy said, her smile tight.

“Oh, I love sweet things. Just not as much as the ones that pretend they’re not sweet.” His eyes slid toward Branch.

Branch froze mid-step. “Are you going to behave,” he muttered under his breath, “or do you want me to toss you into the river?”

“Alright, alright,” Ablaze chuckled, lowering his voice just for her. “I’ll leave… once I’m sure you two are properly confused about your romantic tension.”

“WHAT!?” Branch exploded.

Poppy stumbled, nearly colliding with a food stall. “What did you say?” she asked, turning back.

“I said—” Ablaze gestured innocently, “that the ring toss over there is tempting me. Who knows? I might win the perfect prize.”

Branch’s glare could have scorched him where he stood. Poppy only tilted her head, bemused.

“See you two in a bit,” Ablaze said with a two-finger salute, retreating into the crowd. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

His grin lingered even after he vanished.

Silence settled between Branch and Poppy, just long enough to feel heavy.

“What’s his deal?” Poppy asked finally, laughing a little, though it came out nervous.

“I don’t know… but I wish he’d spend more time away from me,” Branch muttered. The sigh that slipped from his chest sounded more like relief than annoyance.

Poppy bumped her arm lightly against hers. “So… cotton candy?”

Branch glanced at her, startled. Then a tiny, reluctant smile broke through. Barely there, but real.

“Yeah. But only if I get to pick the color.”

“Deal!”

They fell into step, side by side. With Ablaze gone, the night seemed quieter—no taunts, no interruptions—just the hum of the carnival and the unspoken warmth neither of them dared name.

Chapter Text

The cotton candy stall was covered in bright lights and bursts of color. Poppy chose a giant pink one, while Branch reluctantly picked a blue one—grimacing the moment the sugar stuck to her fingers.

“This is going to be a nightmare to clean,” he muttered, shaking his hand like that would help.

Poppy leaned closer, grinning. “Don’t you know how to eat it without making a mess?”

Branch raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Of course. Watch and learn.”

She tore off a tuft of pink fluff and popped it into her mouth as if she were on stage at a manners demonstration. She raised her brows with exaggerated pride.

Branch scoffed, though his lips tugged upward. “That proves nothing.”

“Want me to teach you?”

Branch opened her mouth to refuse, but Poppy was already stepping closer. She plucked off a piece of her blue cotton candy and held it out, her eyes dancing.

“Come on, try it. I don’t bite.”

Branch hesitated. The challenge in Poppy’s smile was impossible to ignore. Slowly, she leaned forward. Her fingers brushed Poppy’s, and suddenly their faces were far too close. The carnival faded: only neon lights, laughter in the distance, and the thundering of Branch’s own heartbeat.

Poppy didn’t move. Branch couldn’t look away.

When she finally bit the candy, it was like a spell snapped.

“Sweet… but sticky,” Branch murmured, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I told you,” Poppy said, though her laugh came out strangely nervous.

“Can we pretend that wasn’t… weird?”

“What thing?”

“The whole ‘I don’t bite’ thing.”

“Oh.” Poppy’s cheeks colored faintly. “It was a joke. Just a joke.” She looked away quickly, as though the cotton candy in her hand had suddenly become fascinating.

They walked in silence, but it wasn’t empty anymore—it hummed with something unspoken.

“There’s a mirror maze over there,” Poppy said, pointing.

Branch shot her a look. “Do you want to go?”

“Yes. Unless you’re afraid of finding an alternate version of yourself. Imagine—male Branch.”

“Poppy…”

“Yes?”

“Keep talking and I’ll redecorate your face with this cotton candy.”

“Then you’ll have to catch me!”

With a mischievous laugh, Poppy darted into the crowd. Branch groaned, rolled her eyes, but followed.

The entrance to the mirror maze shimmered with metallic strips and flashing lights. Inside, the world fractured—neon reflections, endless Poppys, endless Branches.

“…This was a mistake,” Branch muttered, testing the air with his hand.

“Of course it wasn’t!” Poppy’s voice echoed, followed by a bright laugh.

Branch turned a corner and froze: four Poppys beamed back at her from different angles.

“Poppy?”

“Yes?” chorused four voices.

Branch scowled. “Ridiculous.”

“It’s not my fault you get lost easier than a spoon at the bottom of a sugar bowl!” Poppy teased from somewhere unseen.

Branch followed the sound, but just as she rounded a corner, Poppy appeared from the other side. They collided, tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

“Ow! What are you doing, trying to crush me?” Poppy laughed breathlessly.

“You jumped out of nowhere!”

“You’re the one moving like a ninja!”

Branch realized she was on top of her, propped up by her elbows. Their laughter faded. Their faces were inches apart. Poppy’s smile softened, almost uncertain. Branch’s throat went dry.

Then Poppy lifted a hand, brushing a stray strand of Branch’s hair aside. The touch was feather-light, but it lit sparks under Branch’s skin.

He stiffened, scrambling up too quickly. “T-This is exactly why I hate mirror mazes,” she stammered, brushing off her clothes.

Still on the ground, Poppy tilted her head, smiling sideways. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Why would something be wrong?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m stressed. This place is stressful.”

“Right…” Poppy stood and dusted herself off. “Do you want to leave? I mean, I already found you.”

Branch glanced at her—really looked at her—for a second too long before muttering, “Yeah. Enough distortion for one night.”

“I thought you’d say ‘enough of you for one night.’”

Branch’s response was quiet but sincere. “Don’t say that. I… I like being with you.”

They slipped out of the maze side by side. Their conversation didn’t pick up again, but as they walked, their hands brushed once… twice… Neither pulled away.

*******

Ablaze, after letting Branch and Poppy vanish into the carnival’s laughter and charged silence, wandered alone through the maze of lights and noise. He told himself he was looking for clues—something, anything—that might explain what had happened to his brothers. But truthfully, his steps had no direction. He simply moved, wide-eyed, like a moth scanning every flicker of flame.

Without realizing it, his feet carried him away from the crowds. Here, the carnival dimmed. The air seemed heavier, the music muffled, as though the brass instruments themselves bent their notes out of respect—or fear—of this corner.

The tents were older here. Faded letters promised unique spectacles: jugglers whose movements looked too sharp, a clown whose painted grin twitched at the edges, an old woman with a parrot croaking fortunes in a language he couldn’t place. A man with hollow eyes and chalk-white face invited him in to see “the boy who talks to the dead.” But it was the small, unassuming tent at the very back that froze his steps.

A wooden sign, dulled with age yet traced in gold letters, read: Discover Your Future. Beneath the words, hand-drawn symbols gleamed faintly: a crystal ball, an inverted moon, a spread of tarot cards.

Ablaze stopped dead. The air here felt different, colder, as if he’d stepped across a line no one else could see.

He folded his arms, frowning. “What is this? A trap for the curious?”

Then it happened—so subtle he almost dismissed it. A faint vibration in his ears. The sensation of breath at his neck. A whisper—his name. Every instinct screamed at once. He staggered a step back, pulse quickening. 

He turned, ready to walk away. Don’t, that small, stubborn voice urged—the one he hated listening to because it was always right. Don’t go in.

But just before leaving, his eyes betrayed him. He glanced back. The curtains of the tent stirred—though the air was still. A shadow pressed faintly against the fabric: slender, indistinct. Ablaze narrowed his eyes. Was it a woman? A trick of the lamp?

Then he saw it clearly. Silver hair, spilling like light down to its shoulders. And a hand, pale and slow, rising until it pressed against the curtain. Right at the center. Right where his gaze had landed.

His heart jolted. His mouth went dry.

He stumbled back once. Twice.

And then—unable to endure the weight of that unseen stare—he turned on his heel and strode quickly toward the brighter noise of the carnival.

“Definitely not the time to mess with the unknown,” he muttered under his breath.

************************

Bruce was finishing getting changed when she paused in front of the mirror, towel still wrapped around her hair. The Zumba class had left her drenched, and she hadn’t even thought twice before bolting straight into the shower the moment they got home. Hot water. Privacy. Zero stress.

Sure, I could have used the gym showers—but no. I'm not ready for that. For the sight of women walking around with that casual, unthinking confidence, wrapped only in towels or nothing at all. Even if my body matched theirs now, I know I'm not the same. Not fully. And the last thing I want is to disturb that sense of security I had only just begun to appreciate.

A soft buzz pulled her from the thought. She reached for her phone.

Brandy.

The name blinked on the screen, and before Bruce could stop himself, a smile tugged at his lips. He read it again, slower, as if his brain didn’t trust his eyes. Brandy.

She was asking her out. Coffee. Nothing formal. And yet—since when did something so simple make my pulse jump?

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, brow furrowing, as if the word alone could steady him.

But when her thumb hovered over the keyboard, it moved faster than usual, betraying her. She typed: Sure, sounds good :). Paused. Deleted the smiley. Added a different one. Deleted that too. In the end, she sent the very first version.

Bruce exhaled, long and heavy, and glanced back at the mirror. The steam was fading, leaving the girl in the glass staring back with a knowing look. Damp hair wrapped in a towel. Soft skin still flushed from the shower. That reflection—is that really me?

His chest tightened. “If I’m going for coffee with her,” he mumbled, “I should at least look decent.”

The closet doors creaked open. Bruce sifted through until she found something casual but not careless: dark fitted jeans, a light white blouse patterned with black flowers, and a denim jacket that struck the right balance—effortless, but deliberate. Not a date outfit. Just… put together.

When the towel finally slipped from her head, she ran her fingers through her damp hair, letting it fall in loose waves around her shoulders. She caught her reflection again. For the first time in a long time, she lingered.

A breath. Then another.

“It’s not a date,” he told himself, though the words lacked conviction. “It’s just Brandy. Just coffee. Normal.”

But the flutter low in her stomach—the one he hadn’t felt in years—spoke louder than her denial.

******

The café smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffee, the air warm against the cool evening outside. Bruce arrived a little late, tugging at the sleeve of her jacket as she stepped in. She didn’t know why her stomach was in knots. It isn't a date. Just a coffee. Just Brandy.

Brandy was already waiting by the window, idly flipping through the menu. When she spotted her, her smile spread wide, bright enough to make Bruce falter mid-step.

“Hey! Right on time,” Brandy teased. “Though I was two seconds away from ordering without you.”

Bruce slid into the seat across from her, smirking to mask the nervous flutter in his chest. “And deprive me of the chance to give unsolicited dessert advice? Not happening.”

Brandy laughed softly, crossing her legs with practiced grace. “I like that you always have a comeback. Honestly, I still can’t believe I ran into you at the supermarket. You were very passionate about salad dressing.”

“It was a critical matter,” Bruce deadpanned. “Pick the wrong one and you doom the entire meal. Honestly, saving lives is simpler.”

“Oh?” Brandy tilted her head. “Is that your backstory then? Mysterious life-saver with a sarcastic streak?”

Bruce opened her mouth, ready to deflect with another quip. But Brandy’s gaze—warm, steady, curious without being prying—caught her off guard. The words came out softer than intended.

“Let’s just say… I’ve had to adapt to things I never thought I’d face.”

Brandy studied her for a beat, eyes lingering as if trying to piece together the puzzle. But she didn’t push.

The waitress appeared with their drinks, setting down cups of steaming coffee and a plate of cookies before leaving them in the hush of their corner. Bruce wrapped his hands around his cup, grounding himself in its heat.

Brandy’s voice drew her eyes back up. “You know what struck me about you, Brianna?”

Bruce blinked. “Struck you? Should I be worried?”

Brandy chuckled. “No. I just mean… you were unapologetically yourself the very first second I met you. Most people hide behind something. You don’t. And I like that.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow, but his pulse quickened. “Being ‘so me’… is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Definitely,” Brandy said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. “I think it says more about you than any story from your past could.”

For a moment, Bruce couldn’t answer. Her throat tightened. She felt… seen, in a way that both unsettled and comforted her at once. Brandy doesn't know the truth—not really—and yet, somehow, she still sees me.

The silence stretched, charged, until Bruce finally murmured, “Thank you. People don’t usually say that. At least… not sincerely.”

Brandy leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand, her smile soft but certain. “Then let me say something else sincerely: I’d like to keep getting to know you. If you don’t mind.”

The words landed like a spark in Bruce’s chest. Denial pushed her to shrug it off, to laugh it away. But instead she sat there, heart thrumming, realizing she didn’t want to ignore the feeling.

“I don’t mind,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he intended. Then, after a breath: “Not at all.”

Brandy picked up a cookie, snapping it neatly in half before bringing a piece to her lips. Her eyes lingered on Bruce as she chewed, a sly curve tugging at her mouth.

“So… how often do you give unsolicited culinary advice to strangers in the salad dressing aisle?”

Bruce tilted his head, letting out a low laugh. “Only when I see someone clearly in distress. I consider it my civic duty to intervene.”

“In distress?” Brandy’s brows shot up in mock indignation. “Excuse me, I was perfectly capable of choosing a salad dressing. I think you just wanted an excuse to talk to me.”

“And what if I did?” Bruce countered, eyebrow arched. He kept his tone cool, but his pulse betrayed him. “Doesn’t seem like it turned out so badly.”

Brandy held her gaze a beat too long, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “No… it didn’t. Actually, it turned out quite well. You make everything feel… different.”

Bruce’s composure slipped for half a second. “Different how?”

Brandy gestured vaguely, her hand cutting little shapes in the air. “I don’t know… like I don’t have to filter myself. No pretending. No overthinking.”

The words hit Bruce harder than expected. She shifted in her seat, turning her coffee cup in her hands as if the swirl of steam could sort out the sudden knot in her chest. Because that was exactly how she felt too. Exposed. But seen.

“Same here,” he admitted, softer than intended. “It’s… weird. But nice.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it hummed quietly, like the space was holding its breath for them. Brandy leaned in a little closer, resting her chin on her hand.

“And tell me…” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “Do you always dress up like this for a casual coffee?”

Bruce blinked, feigning offense. “Like what?”

“Like this…” Brandy’s smile curved into mischief. “Pretty.”

Heat rushed to Bruce’s cheeks, and she ducked her eyes to the cup in her hands before she could stop herself. She forced a smirk back onto her face, clinging to her last defense.

“Are you insinuating I dressed up for you?”

“I didn’t insinuate anything,” Brandy said lightly, biting into her cookie with an unapologetic grin.

Bruce narrowed his eyes, elbow propped on the table. “And you? Do you always invite people for coffee after asking about salad dressing?”

“Only,” Brandy said smoothly, “when the person who helps me has pretty eyes.”

Bruce nearly choked on her laugh, covering it by sipping quickly from her cup. She wasn’t used to being on this end of things—usually she was the one turning girls into flustered messes. But Brandy? Brandy was flipping the script. And somehow, instead of feeling cornered, Bruce felt… comfortable. Giddy, even.

“So…” Bruce began, leaning back in his chair with a small, challenging smile. “If I asked you to go for a walk after this, would you accuse me of having a hidden agenda?”

Brandy tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “Depends. What would that agenda be?”

“I don’t know yet.” Bruce pretended to think, tapping his chin. “Maybe… a stroll through the park. Maybe… buying you a new salad dressing.”

Brandy laughed—bright, unrestrained—and something in that sound loosened a knot Bruce didn’t know she’d been carrying. For a few minutes, everything felt right.

“Alright, Brianna,” Brandy said, standing. “Surprise me.”

******

The park greeted them with quiet paths and a sky streaked in lavender and gold. Brandy walked with her hands tucked into her dress pockets, sneaking glances at Bruce as though she were trying to solve a puzzle.

“What if you’re actually a secret chef?” Brandy whispered conspiratorially. “That’s how you knew so much about dressings.”

Bruce pressed a hand to his chest, mock-offended. “You found me out. I run a cooking channel where I belt out eighties ballads while chopping onions. Huge on TikTok.”

“I knew it!” Brandy gasped dramatically. “Next you’ll confess you tap dance.”

“Only at weddings. And only after my third slice of cake.”

Brandy laughed and bumped her shoulder into Bruce’s. Bruce stumbled theatrically, straightened up, and smirked. “Careful, Brandy. I’m fragile.”

“Fragile? Please. Just because you’re shorter than me doesn’t mean you get to play that card.”

“I’m pocket-sized for your convenience. Built-in charm.”

“Charm?” Brandy raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was just adorable clumsiness.”

“Hey!” Bruce tried to sound indignant but couldn’t hold back his grin.

They both laughed, and when the quiet settled again, it wasn’t empty. Their steps fell into rhythm as if their bodies had struck an unspoken agreement.

Passing a nougat stand, Bruce slowed and glanced sideways. “What do you think? Half pink, half blue?”

“Only if you carry them,” Brandy teased.

“Deal.”

Bruce returned with the bag and held it out, deadly serious. “The blue has more power. The pink is sweeter. Choose carefully—it says a lot about you.”

Brandy plucked a pink piece, eyes glinting. “So what does that make you? Powerful?”

Bruce bit into a blue piece with a crooked smile. “Powerful. And maybe a little sweet. But don’t tell anyone.”

Brandy leaned closer, her voice lower now. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She took a bite, lips curving as the sugar melted on her tongue.

They kept walking, trading bites and jokes, their laughter mixing with the sweetness on his tongue. For a moment, Bruce let himself believe it could stay this simple—two people sharing nougat beneath a fading sky. A pause from the chaos. Just… Brandy and him.

Chapter Text

Just like Bruce, Clay thought that once she arrived home she’d finally be able to relax. But she had barely set her keys on the table when her phone buzzed with a notification. She frowned and picked it up: a message from Viva, summoning her to a nearby park.

Clay sighed—half exasperated, half amused—but a small smile tugged at her lips anyway. She hurried upstairs, took the quickest shower she could, changed in a flash, and, almost without thinking, reached for the pink plaid vest she’d somehow grown fond of.

When Clay arrived, Viva was perched on a bench, swinging her legs like stillness itself was unbearable. Clay let out a soft laugh under her breath. That was so perfectly Viva.

Viva’s head snapped up at the sound. The moment she saw Clay, her whole face lit up, and she bounded forward, throwing her arms around her with unrestrained energy.

“It’s good to see you too, Viva,” Clay murmured, returning the embrace with a shyer, more careful touch—but no less sincere.

Viva leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, still keeping her close. “You’re not going to regret saying yes. I promise.”

Clay tilted his head, curiosity and caution mingling in his expression. “And what exactly did I say yes to?”

“Well,” Viva grinned, “at first I thought we’d spend an afternoon Viva-style. But then I figured… what if we make it Clara-style instead?” She nudged her playfully. “So tell me—what do you like?”

Something in Clay softened at the way Viva asked it, with genuine brightness and interest. That expression was becoming her weakness.

“I have a feeling Viva-style will be a lot more fun,” he replied, a tender smile slipping through.

“Nope,” Viva said firmly, though her tone stayed warm. “I want to know you. What excites you? What makes you happy? Please, Clara.” Her eyes locked on hers, full of that sweet persistence that made her impossible to refuse.

Clay dropped his gaze, cheeks warming at the attention. “I don’t want you to get bored…”

“Let me worry about that.” Viva leaned closer, gently brushing her shoulder against Clay’s. “Come on. Start simple. What makes you happy?”

Clay hesitated, then said in a small, almost apologetic voice, “Reading?”

“Perfect!” Viva exclaimed, immediately lacing their fingers together. “Then we’re going to a bookstore.”

Clay barely managed a laugh before Viva tugged her forward with infectious enthusiasm. She didn’t resist. Being pulled along by Viva, Clay realized, didn’t feel bad at all.

When they stepped inside, the warm scent of new paper wrapped around Clay like a familiar melody. She slowed instinctively, breathing it in, while Viva trailed close behind, nearly bouncing with curiosity.

“So…” Viva began, sidestepping a man struggling with a tower of fantasy novels, “do you have a list of titles you’re after, or…?”

“No, not a list as such,” Clay replied with a small laugh. “Though it wouldn’t be a bad idea. Actually, my sisters dragged me to a bookstore recently so I’d, in their words, ‘stop pestering them’ about a book I couldn’t shut up about.”

“And now you’re set?” Viva tilted her head, teasing.

Clay arched a brow, amused. “One never has enough books. I need more, even when I’ve got piles waiting their turn in a corner.”

Viva grinned. “You with books, me with vinyl records.” She nodded proudly, as if it was a perfect parallel.

“Vinyl? I thought you’d be a Spotify girl,” Clay teased.

“And I thought you’d stick to e-books.” Viva smirked back.

“But epubs don’t smell like new book,” Clay said, leaning toward a hardcover and inhaling discreetly.

Viva laughed. “True. And records don’t smell like music, but they feel like it.” Her grin softened, and then, almost shyly: “Clara…”

Clay glanced up from the back cover he’d been flipping through. “Yes?”

Viva shifted, fidgeting with her hands. “Would you let me spoil you?”

The book went still in Clay’s fingers. “…What are you saying?”

“You know those challenges where someone has one minute to grab everything they can carry?”

Clay blinked. “Uh-huh…”

“I want to do that. With you. Here.”

“One minute… to fill a basket with books?” Clay repeated, incredulous.

“Exactly! So—will you let me?” Viva’s eyes shone with that mix of mischief and sincerity that always undid her.

Clay frowned, torn. “No, Viva. That feels like taking advantage of you.”

“You’re not taking advantage of anyone. I’m the one proposing it.” Viva’s gaze softened, though her voice stayed firm. “Please.”

“Books are expensive,” Clay insisted.

“Money isn’t a problem for my family,” Viva said simply, then leaned closer, lowering her voice. “And I’ll keep insisting until you say yes. Why is it so hard for you to accept something for yourself? You’re beautiful, Clara—and in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you’re just as beautiful inside. Let me do this. It’s the least you deserve.”

Clay froze, his breath caught. Compliments were rare for him; in the band, praise usually landed on Bruce or Floyd. Gifts from fans felt fleeting, shallow. But this—this was different. Viva wasn’t doing it for show. She glowed with an unfiltered sincerity, and Clay felt it down to his chest. And the truth was, the idea of one guiltless minute—snatching books without worrying about price—lit something inside him. It was selfish. And Clay wanted it anyway.

“If I accept,” he said finally, “there are conditions.” He lifted a finger before Viva could cheer. “No absurdly expensive collector’s editions. And…” his lips curved in a small smile, “…you have to take at least one book I choose for you.”

Viva’s grin bloomed, bright and triumphant. “Deal! And I get to do the countdown.” She whipped out her phone, held it high like a trophy, and set the timer. “When I say go… you run.”

Clay adjusted her pink plaid vest, nerves buzzing through her. She grabbed a metal basket, glancing at Viva’s excitement with reluctant fondness.

“Ready when you are.”

“Three… two… one… GO!”

Fifty-nine…

Clay shot down the fantasy aisle, covers sparkling like jewels on either side. She didn’t hesitate—an edition of The Midnight Library landed in the basket, followed quickly by an illustrated Little Prince. A shiver of pure joy ran down her spine.

Thirty-eight…

She veered into non-fiction, fingers flying. A heavy book on advanced mathematics, a pocket-sized collection of haikus with a koi on the cover—both thudded into the basket. Viva, trotting after her with an extra bag, raised her brows in delight.

“You’re making a literary tutti-frutti!” she teased, her laughter chasing Clay down the aisle.

Twenty-two…

Clay slid to a halt in front of the comic shelf. She grabbed one, then another, breathless, guilt and giddiness tangling together. When was the last time I did something so reckless—so fun?

Ten… nine… eight…

Her promise flashed in her mind. She darted to the fiction section, pulled out a pastel-colored paperback—The Selection. Clay turned and held it out to Viva like a prize.

“For you,” he panted, as if offering treasure.

Viva’s eyes softened, her grin radiant.

Three… two… one!

“Time!” Viva cried, slamming her thumb against the screen.

The hush of the bookstore seemed to crash back in around them. Clay froze, chest rising and falling, staring down at her overflowing basket.

“Did you survive?” Viva asked, breathless with amusement.

“I think so,” Clay managed between gulps of air. “But I’m not sure your card will.”

Viva laughed, the sound bright and easy. “My card will be fine. My dad might raise an eyebrow at the receipt, though.” She winked. “Worth it.”

They staggered to the checkout, trading nervous giggles and secret glances, while the cashier built a precarious castle from Clay’s haul. And yet, it wasn’t the stack of books that warmed Clay’s chest—it was the joy of being seen, of sharing his passion without mockery, without being called boring.

Outside, the late afternoon sky was awash in gold. Clay hugged his bags close, the handles digging into his fingers. “Thank you… really.”

Viva lifted The Selection like a trophy. “Thank you for letting me spoil you. And for picking me this one.” She nudged her shoulder gently. “So—what do you say? A café, two chairs, and the first pages of our books?”

Clay met her eyes, his smile small but unshakably real. He nodded. “I’d like that.”

******

They found a quiet café with shelves of used books stacked along the walls, blending into the furniture as if they’d always belonged. Warm light pooled across wooden tables, painting everything in amber. Viva chose a seat by the window and flopped into her chair with her usual uncontainable energy, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the place. Clay sat more carefully, as if she still couldn’t believe this day was happening at all.

They set their bags down beside them.

“So…” Viva began, tugging her book free and studying it with curiosity. “‘The Selection, by Kiera Cass.’” She turned it over in her hands, an eyebrow arched. “Are you hinting that I should audition to win a prince?”

Clay laughed softly, stirring his drink in slow circles. “Not exactly. I picked it because… the main character doesn’t let herself be defined by what others expect. She’s thrown into this spectacle where she has to perform, compete, impress—but in the end, she stays true to what she believes. Even when she doubts herself. Even when she contradicts herself sometimes.”

Viva lowered the book, her expression softening. “So… are you calling me complicated?”

“No.” Clay’s smile grew more certain. “I’m saying you’re someone who can’t be pigeonholed. Someone who shines easily on the outside, but has layers people don’t always see. That’s what I see in America Singer—and in you. More strength than anyone realizes.”

Viva went quiet, watching her. “And you? Do you identify with her?”

Clay hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Sometimes I feel forced into a role—back when the band was starting out, people wanted me to just be ‘the fun one.’ But inside… I want to carve my own way. Even if I don’t always know how.”

Viva traced the edge of the book cover with her thumb. “Then this is a gift with more depth than I expected.”

“I wanted it to mean something,” Clay admitted.

“You succeeded.” Viva’s voice was softer now, almost reverent.

Their eyes met. The banter stilled. For a suspended moment, it was just the truth between them, unguarded and raw.

“You know,” Viva murmured, “I think I like you best when you look at me like that. When you don’t hide.”

Clay’s gaze wavered, warmth rushing to his cheeks. “I’m learning not to. With you… it feels easier.”

“Then let’s make a deal.” Viva stretched her hand across the table, palm open. “You don’t hide… and I promise to always notice the parts of you others might miss—or ignore.”

Clay’s hand slid into hers, their fingers intertwining. The simple touch felt grounding, real. For the first time in a long while, Clay felt seen for more than his surface—for more than his fame.

“And next time,” Clay said with a small smile, “I’ll be the one spoiling you.”

“You’re going to take me on a Clara-style date?” Viva teased.

“Maybe. But don’t expect roses or castles.” Clay’s lips curved playfully. “I might surprise you with something better.”

“Better than a prince and a crown?”

“Much better.” Clay’s gaze locked on hers, steady and sure.

Viva tilted her head, smiling with that blend of sweetness and mischief that was uniquely hers. “Then surprise me. Just know… I’m hard to impress.”

Clay chuckled, tightening her hold on her hand. “I accept the challenge.”

Outside, the café slowly emptied, the golden light giving way to night. Stars pressed against the glass as if they, too, wanted to listen. At their table, laughter spilled softly, glances lingered longer, and the cadence of their voices folded into the hush of the room. Clay had set her book aside long ago, her attention fixed entirely on Viva. There was something about her—something that made Clay want this moment to stretch forever.

And there, surrounded by books and coffee and quiet promises, Clay felt it settle deep within him:

Something had begun to bloom between them.

Something fragile. Something real.

Chapter Text

“Are you seriously going to ignore me? That’s very mature of you, sweetie.”

“Of course,” Branch muttered, not slowing down, arms crossed tight across his chest. “Because you’re the poster child for maturity.” He rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck there.

The path home was thick with silence, though the tension walked right beside them. Branch’s steps were quick and clipped, her shoulders rigid, while Ablaze trailed behind with his usual half-smile—like he hadn’t noticed he’d lit the fuse.

“Sweetie, I was just trying to help. You and Poppy like each other. Someone had to step in.”

Branch stopped so suddenly he almost bumped into her. She spun around, glare blazing.

“You didn’t help! You embarrassed me. Admit it, Ablaze Wilder—you screwed up!”

He frowned, tilting his head like the idea offended him. “Excuse me? I assure you, I did nothing wrong. You’re overreacting.”

Branch barked out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Overreacting? All I’m asking is the bare minimum—that you admit you acted like a testosterone-fueled nuisance today. Which is saying something, because your usual level is already unbearable.”

Ablaze raised his hands as if he were making peace, though the smirk tugging at his lips ruined it. “Alright, alright. Maybe I… might have gone a little overboard. But it was with good intentions. I did it for you.”

Branch narrowed his eyes. “For me? Or because you can’t resist sticking your nose into business that isn’t yours?”

She turned on her heel before he could reply. Ablaze sighed dramatically and followed.

“Are you going to ignore me again?”

No answer.

“You can’t ignore me forever, Branch Valtren.”

Still nothing.

Ablaze scowled, kicking a loose stone hardly. The silence between them grew heavier with every step. Finally, as the house came into view, his patience snapped.

“Why can’t you just understand I was trying to help you? Honestly, I should be the one offended—you’re sulking like a petulant child.”

Branch stopped at the door and turned, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. “And why can’t you understand you’re an unbearable idiot?”

Before Ablaze could muster a comeback, she shoved the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut.

A muffled thunk followed immediately. Then a pained groan. “…Ow,” came Ablaze’s defeated whisper.

On the other side of the door, Branch allowed himself the smallest, most satisfied smile.

“And with that,” Boom declared from the sofa, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest, “we break the streak of lovestruck idiots waltzing through the door today.”

Branch blinked, thrown off by the announcement. “What are you talking about?”

She looked around for the first time and froze. The entire group was packed into the living room, eyes glued to her like she was the evening’s entertainment.

“…Were you all waiting for me to get back from my outing with Poppy?”

“No.” / “Yes.” Floyd and Clay answered in unison. Clay flushed pink; Floyd didn’t so much as blink.

“It was totally accidental,” Bruce tried, though his guilty tone didn’t sell it.

“What happened,” John cut in smoothly, “is Bruce came back first, looking like a teen-romance protagonist—leaning on the doorframe, sighing at nothing. Very cliché.”

Clay groaned. Floyd, of course, pounced. “Then Clay arrived with a smile so goofy it looked like he’d just kissed a cotton candy cloud. Naturally, we wanted to see if you would drift in on a love-struck breeze too… but nope. We got thunder and door-slamming instead.”

“And speaking of,” Boom added, peering out the window, “you slammed the door in Blazie’s face. Are you really leaving him out there like a stray?”

“Yes,” Branch said flatly, crossing his arms. “He can howl at the moon with the other dogs. Maybe then one of them will explain boundaries to him.”

“Branch Valtren.” John’s tone turned firm, instantly straightening a few spines in the room. “Let him in.”

Branch grumbled but, under John’s gaze, trudged to the door. “Fine. But only because if he freezes, I’ll have to hear about it for the rest of my life—‘hypothermia in the middle of summer,’ blah blah.”

She cracked the door open. Ablaze was standing there with his face squished against the windowpane, arms crossed like he’d fused with the wall.

“Is your tantrum over, sweetie?” he quipped the second their eyes met.

Branch shut the door again. “Five more minutes,” he told the room, dead serious. “Please.”

“Branch,” John warned, arms crossed now himself. “What exactly did he do?”

Branch opened her mouth, then stopped. Slowly, a mischievous grin curled her lips. She turned back, pulled the door open just a sliver, and poked her head out. Ablaze was still in position, eyebrow cocked.

“Going to let me in this time,” he asked dryly, “or should I start charging rent for the porch?”

Branch’s smile widened. “Do you think I’m being childish?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. Because I’m about to do something very childish.”

“Sweetie… don’t.” Ablaze’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning?”

“What any little kid does when they’re being bullied,” Branch sing-songed. “Tell on you to my elders.”

“Branch, no. Don’t—”

Too late.

He flung the door wide open, twirled on his heel, and bellowed into the living room with full stage drama: “HEEELP! Ablaze has been tormenting me all day long!”

Then he dropped his voice to a pitiful pout, lower lip jutting out as he looked at his older brothers with exaggerated innocence. The group’s collective expression shifted instantly toward Ablaze—like he’d just kicked a basket of kittens.

The redhead froze, then raised both hands. “I can explain.”

“Go ahead,” John said, stern as a judge. “Explain why our baby brother is accusing you of tormenting him.”

“I didn't torment him, baby!” Ablaze blurted.

John’s frown deepened. “Baby?”

“I mean—uh—in my head, ‘baby’ sounds like ‘Johnny.’ I can't call you Johnny out loud in public. That would be weird.”

Clay raised a brow. “Wait. Are you handing out nicknames now? Should I brace myself?”

“Nah, just Johnny and Bitty. Classic set,” Boom cut in, smirking.

“Exactly!” Ablaze latched onto it with an awkward grin. “And as for what Branch is saying, I was only trying to help—”

“Well, you didn’t,” Branch snapped, arms locked tight across his chest. “You spent the entire date being so syrupy sweet I thought I was going to drown. Dropping hints left and right like you were the narrator of some cheap romance novel. You didn’t help, Ablaze. You ruined the mood.”

Ablaze brightened like he’d just struck gold. “At least you finally admitted it was a date.”

“Blazie, stop. You’re two seconds away from me buying you a leash,” Boom said, lounging back.

“Branch seems to be right. Sounds like you messed up,” Bruce added, blunt as ever.

“I’m with Branch,” Clay agreed.

“Honestly,” Floyd chimed in with a tilt of his head, “it sounds less like help and more like sabotage, trying to force a romantic reaction on Branch and Poppy, but only getting our baby brother uncomfortable.”

Ablaze glanced at John like a drowning man reaching for a rope. “Johnny? Back me up?”

John sighed, rubbing his temples. “Sorry, Ablaze. For once, Branch isn’t being dramatic. This one’s on you.”

Ablaze’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him. “So I really ruined it? Sweetie, I swear I just wanted to help.”

Branch gave him a sideways glance—still prickly, but softer now. “Yeah, you did the opposite. You made me grumpy, stressed, and—” he exhaled, rolling his eyes “—fine, I forgive you.”

Ablaze’s head snapped up. “Really?”

“Yes. But you’re not invited to the next one.”

“You’re going out again?!” Ablaze’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “So I didn’t totally ruin it!”

“I had fun once you finally left. We’re getting ice cream next time. If you show up, I’ll tie you to a chair.”

“Understood, understood. Perfect gentleman mode—activated!” Ablaze said, hands raised in surrender.

Clay leaned forward, curious. “And did you get anything useful when you left them alone?”

“Not a thing,” Ablaze admitted with a shrug.

A chorus of disappointed groans filled the room.

“Don’t give up,” Floyd said with a sly little smile. “Sooner or later, we’ll get a clue.”

“Right! Better to think about something happier… like Johnny’s big date tomorrow,” Boom chimed, sing-song.

John groaned. “If I’m going out with Hickory, it’s because I lost a bet. The carnival already counted as a date—until Clay’s text ruined it.”

Bruce smirked. “Uh-huh. And that’s got nothing to do with you liking him?”

“I don’t like him!” John barked, standing. “You know what? I’m going to bed. Apparently Ablaze’s insufferableness is contagious.”

Laughter erupted as John marched upstairs.

Branch finally slumped onto the couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips as his brothers’ chatter swirled around him. The day had been messy, sure. Ablaze is still a headache, but I'm home. And there is another date with Poppy ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, not everything was lost.

*****************************

The next morning, the doorbell rang, and Boom all but sprinted to answer it, a grin already spreading across his face. He knew exactly who it was.

“Good morning, cowboy!” he announced theatrically, flinging the door open to reveal Hickory’s familiar red hair.

“Morning, Boom,” Hickory greeted, calm and warm as ever. “Is Johanna ready?”

Before Boom could answer, another mop of red hair popped into view.

“Hickory!” Ablaze exclaimed with way too much enthusiasm. He cupped his hands and bellowed toward the stairs: “Baby, the cowboy’s here!”

“‘Baby’?” Hickory echoed, one brow arching in amused confusion.

Boom groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t mind him. He’s been unbearable since yesterday.”

“Don’t ignore me!” Ablaze planted himself squarely in Hickory’s path, arms crossed. “Listen up, cowboy—we need to have a man-to-man talk. You will treat Johanna like a prin—”

Boom reacted instantly, clapping a hand over Ablaze’s mouth before the sentence could finish. He leaned in close, whispering through gritted teeth, “If you ruin my favorite ship, I’ll personally staple your lips shut.” Then he straightened, smiling at Hickory like nothing had happened. “Pay him no mind. Blazie was dropped as a child. Sometimes you just gotta reboot him.”

Boom cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered inside: “Branch! Come leash your stray dog before he terrifies the guests!”

From deeper in the house, Branch shouted back, “You deal with the stray! You didn’t let me lock him outside, so now he’s your problem!”

At that moment, John descended the stairs, frown firmly in place. “Boom, what’s really scaring the guests is your yelling. The stray’s just background noise.”

“Baby!” Ablaze whined.

John leveled a cold stare. “Keep calling me ‘baby’ and I’ll keep calling you ‘stray dog.’”

That did it—Boom and Hickory burst out laughing while Ablaze’s pout only grew.

John ignored them all and strode toward the door. “I’m leaving. Don’t break, burn, or tie anyone up. Make sure the stray doesn’t bite the neighbors. And please, for the love of harmony, don’t flood the house again.”

“We’ll manage, JD. Worst case, we put the stray on a leash,” Boom quipped.

“You wound me,” Ablaze gasped dramatically, hugging himself.

“You’ll live,” John said dryly, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. At the doorway, his tone softened as he met Hickory’s gaze. “Well, cowboy? Where to?”

“The zoo,” Hickory replied, offering his hand like a gentleman.

John arched an eyebrow as he took it. “The zoo? I figured you’d drag me to a ranch or a horseback ride.”

Hickory chuckled, casting her a sideways glance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, mousie. Save those plans for the next date.”

John bit the inside of her cheek to hide the blush, following him out.

Behind them, Boom leaned halfway out the door and called: “Sunscreen! And no riding rhinos!”

“Hey,” Ablaze piped up eagerly, “what if we follow them? You know, undercover—spy mode?”

“Right, because you’re so subtle,” Boom muttered, slamming the door. The house filled with laughter.

Outside, Hickory opened the car door with old-fashioned chivalry. “After you, mousie.”

John narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to pull a rose out of your hat too, are you?”

“If it wins you over, I’ll get two,” Hickory teased with a crooked smile.

John rolled her eyes but slid into the seat anyway. When the engine started, the radio filled the air with a slow, tender song.

“What kind of cheesy trap is this?” he asked, arching a brow.

“My date playlist. I can change it if it makes you nervous.”

“Nervous?” John scoffed. “Please. You’re the one who sweats if I smile at you for two seconds.”

Hickory’s grin widened. “So you admit it? You’ve smiled at me more than once.”

“It was sarcasm, cowboy.”

“Still counts.”

John turned toward the window, lips twitching despite himself.

Chapter Text

Upon arriving at the zoo, they walked toward the entrance. Hickory paid for the tickets while John bought popcorn. When Hickory returned with the admissions, he held out his hand.

John paused mid-bite, staring at his open palm, then up into his green eyes.

“Are you gonna hold my hand, or do I need to put a leash on you so you don’t get lost?” Hickory drawled.

“Only if you wear a muzzle.”

“Would you be the one to put it on me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What if I like tempting you?”

John gave him a flat glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “If your plan is to turn this date into a contest of absurd flirting, just know—you’re already losing.”

“Oh yeah? Funny, ‘cause I count every one of your smiles as a win.”

John rolled his eyes, but his hand slipped into Hickory’s. “Shut up and let’s just go in.”

They walked slowly until they stopped at the big cat exhibit. A lioness lay sprawled in the sun, regal and indifferent. John leaned on the railing, arms crossed, still working through her popcorn. Hickory settled beside her, elbow propped casually.

“Look at her,” Hickory said, nodding at the lioness. “Proud, territorial, dangerous… reminds me of you.”

“And with excellent taste in choosing her pride,” John shot back, smug—until Hickory’s hand darted toward his bag. He smacked it away. “Hands off, cowboy. These are mine.”

Hickory clutched his chest. “Is it that hard for you to share, mousie?”

“With you? Absolutely. You’re the exact kind of intruder she’d swipe into next week.”

He chuckled, clearly delighted. “Then how about a treaty? Just one piece. No raids.”

John narrowed his eyes, plucked a kernel, and dangled it between his fingers. “Fine. But you’ll have to catch it. Miss, and the treaty’s void.”

“Always so generous.” He smirked. “Deal.”

She flicked it into the air. Hickory leaned back, catching it effortlessly.

John arched a brow, hiding his surprise. “Huh. You’re better at catching things than I gave you credit for.”

“Any time you want to fall, my arms are ready.”

John let out a laugh before he could stop it, shoving more popcorn into his mouth to smother the sound. “You’re lucky the tigers are asleep. Otherwise I’d toss you in just to shut you up.”

“You threaten me with tigers, I offer you my arms…” Hickory’s voice dropped low, teasing. “Seems unfair. Might have to demand more popcorn to balance things out.”

John shook his head, but a smile betrayed him. “Dream on. That one piece doesn’t mean anything.”

“You say that now,” he murmured, amusement in his tone. “But give me another, and I might have to start falling for you.”

John snorted, cheeks warm. “Come on. Before you say something so cheesy I really do throw myself in.”

“And leave me alone with the wild beasts? Not happening.” He fell into step beside her.

As they walked toward the next exhibit, John thought—reluctantly, quietly—that maybe Hickory wasn’t so unbearable after all.

“Where are we going now?” John asked, stretching his arms lazily as he walked, tilting his head back to soak in the sun.

“To see the penguins,” Hickory replied, like it was the most obvious choice in the world.

“Penguins? Didn’t know you were a fan of clumsy birds in tuxedos.”

“How could I not be? Small, stubborn, dramatic—”

“And let me guess…” John cut in, eyebrow arched. “They remind you of me?”

“You said it, not me,” Hickory answered, lifting his hands in mock innocence.

John shot him a sideways glance, fighting a smile. “With all your animal comparisons, by the end of the day you’ll call me a raccoon or a badger.”

“No way. Raccoons steal food.” His grin widened. “You just guard it like a dragon hoarding treasure.”

John snorted. “And here I thought cowboys were supposed to be poets. Turns out you specialize in ridiculous metaphors.”

“Admit it,” he teased, leaning closer. “I’m entertaining you. You haven’t rolled your eyes in at least five minutes—that’s a new record.”

John tried to hold a neutral face, but a smile slipped through. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just relaxed because you’re not talking about feelings. The second you say something like ‘fate brought us together,’ I’m swan-diving into the ostrich enclosure.”

Hickory pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “Noted. I won’t say ‘fate brought us together’… at least not until after the penguins.”

They both laughed, their steps falling into easy rhythm until the path opened into a rocky exhibit. Penguins waddled clumsily across the rocks or dove into the water with splashes too big for their size.

“Look, there’s your spirit animal,” John said, pointing at one that tripped and face-planted, only to pop back up as if nothing had happened.

“Because it’s clumsy, brave, or pretending it didn’t hurt?” Hickory asked.

“All three.” John laughed, flicking a piece of popcorn at him.

Hickory caught it in the air with a flourish and gave an exaggerated bow. “Second level unlocked: penguin-grade popcorn.”

“Keep it up and you might earn yourself a medal.”

“And a kiss?” His grin was wicked, eyes glinting.

John scoffed but couldn’t hide his wide smile. “More like a kick in the shin if you keep pushing it.”

He chuckled, holding his chest like she’d wounded him. “Fair enough. But if I trip and fall on you… that’ll be fate’s doing, not mine.”

“And if I ‘accidentally’ shove you into the pond…” John countered, leaning closer with a daring grin. “That’ll also be fate’s doing.”

For a beat, Hickory only looked at her, the teasing in his eyes softening into something warmer. John broke the stare first, tossing another piece of popcorn at him to cover the shift.

They walked on toward the bear exhibit, trading sarcastic remarks, each trying to outdo the other’s punchlines. Hickory kept making sneaky grabs for the popcorn; John batted him away every time, grinning despite herself.

“So now what?” John asked, nudging Hickory's side with his elbow. “Do the bears remind you of me too?”

“Nope. Those are me: big, hungry, and kind of lazy.”

“Wow,” John smirked. “Finally, some honesty.”

Just then, a boy no older than six wandered over, ice cream smeared on his face. He stared at them with bold curiosity before marching closer.

“Are you two a couple?”

John almost choked on her popcorn. Hickory’s grin spread like he’d just won a prize.

“No,” John said immediately.

“Not yet,” Hickory countered at the same time, adding a wink.

“We’re not a couple!” John insisted, flustered, forcing a polite smile at the boy. “We’re just… acquaintances.”

The boy squinted, unconvinced. “Then why are you laughing like my parents? They laugh like that all the time. Because they’re a couple.”

Hickory crouched to his level, eyes glinting with mischief. “Maybe because your dad also steals your mom’s food?”

The boy gasped. “Yeah! He always steals her chips!”

“See?” Hickory looked up at John with triumph. “Textbook couple behavior.”

John elbowed him harder this time, though his smile was breaking through. “Let’s keep moving before this kid starts planning our wedding.”

The boy bent down, picked up a small stone, and held it out solemnly. “This can be the ring. My sister married her stuffed animal with a donut. This is fancier.”

John buried his face in his hands, laughter spilling out uncontrollably. “Hickory, do something, please!”

“What do you want me to do? The kid has vision.” Hickory took the stone reverently, then presented it to John like it was a diamond. “Thank you, partner. When the time comes, you’ll officiate.”

“Yes! I’m gonna practice my speech!” The boy sprinted off toward a nearby woman, yelling, “MOM, I’M GONNA MARRY TWO PEOPLE!”

John turned to Hickory, still laughing, still exasperated, and shoved the stone back at him. “I hate you.”

“I know.” He slipped it dramatically into his pocket. “And yet… you accepted the ring.”

“That was so the kid wouldn’t feel bad. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late,” he said softly, smiling in a way that made her look away a little too quickly.

******

The sun was beginning to set, streaking the sky in gold and rose. Hickory and John walked at an easier pace now, each with a bottle of water in hand. Tucked under John’s arm was the small plush lion Hickory had insisted on buying for her.

“And are you going to take care of Lionel?” Hickory asked, tilting his head at the plush with a mischievous grin.

“I don’t know…” John studied the toy with mock suspicion. “He looks like the type who’d spill all my secrets.”

“I swear he’s trustworthy. Signed a confidentiality agreement and everything.” Hickory drew an invisible X in the air.

John laughed under her breath before falling quiet, her gaze drifting toward the painted horizon. Hickory glanced at her sideways, picking up the subtle shift in her expression.

“What’s up, mousie?”

“Nothing.” He hesitated, then sighed, voice softer. “Truth is… I had a good time with you.”

Hickory's grin spread instantly. “Wait—was that a confession? Should I record it for evidence?” He patted his pocket like reaching for his phone.

John swatted his arm, smiling. “Don’t push it. But yes. It was… fun. And not as unbearable as I expected.”

“Wow. Glowing praise,” Hickory teased. “Is that the closest I’m ever gonna get to a thank you?”

“Close enough. Don’t go imagining picnics on checkered blankets every weekend.”

“Fine. Just zoos, carnivals, plumbing emergencies, and the occasional heroic rescue from shady guys on the street. Totally casual.”

John rolled his eyes, though his smile lingered. “…Thank you, Hickory.”

The sudden sincerity caught the cowboy off guard. For once, his grin softened into something quieter.

“Anytime, mousie. Even when you don’t ask, I’ll probably show up anyway.”

She huffed, but didn’t argue.

They walked in companionable silence until Hickory pulled the small stone from his pocket—the “ring” the boy had given them. He turned it over in his hand, thoughtful.

“What am I supposed to do with this? Polish it and put it on display?”

“Do what you want.” John glanced at him, cheeks warming faintly. “Just… if you ever hand it to me again, make sure there aren’t witnesses.”

Hickory’s smile curved slow and knowing. “So… there is a next date?”

John opened the car door, clutching the plush to his chest. “The bet I lost said I had to agree to two dates, remember?”

Hickory slid into the driver's seat, buckling up with a satisfied murmur. “Then I’ll behave so well, even Lionel will be proud of me.”

John pretended not to hear—but she hugged the lion just a little tighter, her lips betraying the faintest smile.

******

As Hickory parked outside the house, the front door swung open and Boom was already leaning halfway out.

“They’re back! The cowboy and JD are back!” he announced like a sports commentator calling the winning goal.

Ablaze was right behind him. “So? Did you kiss or what?”

“Ablaze,” John grumbled.

Boom gasped. “So there was a kiss?!” He slapped Bruce’s hand in a triumphant high-five as the latter emerged from the doorway.

“Don’t you people have lives?” John muttered.

“We are your life,” Bruce said with mock gravity.

“And we live for this ship,” Boom whispered loudly, earning a snicker from Ablaze.

Hickory chuckled, circling the car to open the passenger door. “Lovely to see you, Brianna and her panel of judges,” he said with a playful bow toward the house. “But I’ll be on my way before someone asks me for sworn testimony or… blood samples.” His grin tilted sideways as his gaze flicked to John. “Until next time, mousie.”

John only sighed—long, audible, and dramatic—but her eyes betrayed a flicker of warmth.

She stepped inside, shut the door, and immediately froze at the sight of Boom brandishing a whiteboard by the couch, already covered in messy handwriting. The rest were grinning like jackals.

“What?” John said defensively.

“You blushed,” Floyd chimed, smug.

Boom spun the whiteboard around. In bold letters it read:

Symptom #3: Facial flushing upon contact with subject of interest.

John frowned. “I did not.”

“Clay, Branch, back me up!” Floyd called.

The two raised their hands innocently. “We didn’t see anything. Totally missed it.” They inched toward the kitchen.

“Fine,” Ablaze said, lounging on the couch. “At least tell us if you held hands.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because,” Boom explained solemnly, pointing at a color-coded pie chart, “if there was no kiss but there was hand-holding, you’ve officially reached first base.”

John groaned and started up the stairs. “I’m so done with all of you.”

“That’s code for ‘Yes, but I’ll never admit it,’” Bruce sing-songed.

“Bruce Valtren, I will bury you in the backyard if you don’t shut up!” John barked from the landing.

“Boom, mark that down—Phase Two: Aggressive denial with violent threats,” Ablaze ordered, raising a hand like a referee.

The living room erupted in laughter as John’s door slammed shut.

But in the quiet of her room, under the soft glow of her lamp and the little lion plush perched on her nightstand, the small smile crept back. This time, John didn’t bother to fight it.

Chapter Text

The rest of the week passed with a deceptive tranquility. There were still no breakthroughs in breaking the curse or finding answers to their strange new reality, but BroZone—and the two members of Kismet—had found a quiet comfort in one another’s company.

At that moment, Branch stood before her bedroom mirror, staring at her own reflection as if she were studying a stranger. Her gaze lingered on the clothes she had chosen, the way her shoulders sat, the faint unease in her eyes. She barely noticed the silence until it was broken by a soft knock on the door.

A pair of violet eyes peeked through the crack.

“Hi,” Ablaze whispered.

“Hi,” Branch replied, one brow lifting curiously.

“Getting ready for your date? Want a hand?”

“I think I’m ready, Ablaze.”

The redhead smirked, his tone dripping with mock disapproval. “No, no, no. Absolutely not. You’re not walking out the door with your hair in that chaos. Sit down, bed—now.”

Branch rolled her eyes with a snort but obeyed, settling onto the edge of the bed. Ablaze slid beside her, already armed with quiet determination.

“I stole a comb and a hair tie from your brother,” he announced, brandishing them like prized treasures.

“From Bruce?” Branch tried to glance over her shoulder, but Ablaze gently guided her chin back forward. “Handle that brush like a sacred relic, or you’ll be sleeping outside. And trust me—no one will save you.”

Ablaze laughed, beginning to smooth her dark mane with a surprising tenderness. “What a cruel fate for a superstar like me. One act of kindness and suddenly I’m a stray dog.”

Branch huffed, though the tug at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. The air between them softened as his fingers worked with a patience that felt almost reverent.

After a quiet stretch, Branch spoke, his voice low. “I know… you meant well. But sometimes I just need you to trust me. In how I want to do things. In what I’m feeling. You weren’t very helpful on my last date with Poppy.”

Ablaze’s hands stilled for a moment against her hair. He exhaled, the sigh carrying more weight than his usual dramatics. “Yeah. I know. I get carried away, act before I think. I just…” His voice dipped, almost shy. “I just want to see—would it be my little brother or my little sister?”

Branch twisted halfway toward him, staring in disbelief. “Really? That’s the question you pick to ruin your emotional redemption arc?”

Ablaze grinned sheepishly, shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. “Sorry, sorry. But back to my grand speech: I care about seeing you well and happy. Sometimes I do stupid things because I’m scared something will go wrong and you’ll get hurt.”

“Sometimes?” Branch shot back, one eyebrow climbing high.

“Yeah. Sometimes,” Ablaze repeated, straight-faced with mock dignity. “Besides, I already paid my karma when I wandered into some shady corner of the carnival and came face-to-face with a silver-haired witch. Gave me the creeps.”

“You don’t say,” Branch deadpanned. “Did she offer you a shiny red apple?”

“No,” Ablaze chuckled. “But she definitely saw me. I swear, the way she looked at me—I bolted out of there like my life depended on it.” His laugh softened, then he sighed. “But you’re right. You’re more than capable. I’m gonna try to trust you more. Word of your irritatingly protective older brother.”

With a final twist, he secured the braid with the stolen hair tie and leaned back to admire his work. “Done. You can go charm your princess now.”

Without thinking, Branch turned and threw her arms around him. Ablaze stiffened, caught off guard, before melting into the embrace and returning it with surprising gentleness.

“Thanks… Blazie,” Branch murmured. “You’re the brother I never asked for… but wouldn’t trade for anything now.”

Ablaze’s grin softened into something warmer. His arms tightened, sincere this time. “And you—and BroZone, and Kismet—you’re the brothers who ruined my perfect life as an only child… but fine, I guess you’re worth the chaos.”

Branch laughed, the tension slipping from her shoulders as she rested in his arms.

“Sorry again for wrecking your date with Poppy,” Ablaze added quietly.

Branch leaned back just enough to meet his eyes. “You’re forgiven. I know in your head the plan sounded genius. Too bad you didn’t have someone around to tell you how dumb it was.”

“Noted for next time,” Ablaze said, laughing. Then, with exaggerated sweetness: “Can I still call you ‘sweetie’? I like it. It fits.”

Branch rolled her eyes but gave the smallest nod, resigned.

Ablaze’s smile widened into something mischievous and proud. “Good. Now go, before you’re late.”

Branch stood, casting one last look at his reflection in the mirror. On his way out, he tossed over his shoulder: “Thanks, Blazie. Really.”

The redhead watched her go, his smile calm and steady. “Give her your best, sweetie,” he whispered to himself. “Show that girl you’re worth your weight in gold.”

*****************************

Branch took a steadying breath as she adjusted her vest outside the ice cream parlor. The sweet, sugary scent in the air was oddly reassuring, steadying the jitter in her chest. She had barely pushed open the glass door when a joyful shout nearly made her jump.

“Branch!”

At the back table, Poppy was waving both arms like she might take flight.

Branch cracked an amused smile and made her way over. She didn’t even get the chance to say hello before she was swept into a hug, all warmth and energy. Reflex held her still for a beat—then she relaxed, returning the gesture with a quiet laugh rumbling in her chest.

“Are you always going to greet me like this?” he asked, still chuckling as Poppy finally let go.

“Obviously,” Poppy said with mock seriousness. “I get excited to see you—what did you expect? You’d better get used to it.”

Branch shook his head, though the smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “Guess I don’t have a choice.”

Poppy pushed a menu across the table, her eyes sparkling. “Want to share an ice cream? That way we can try more flavors.”

“Sounds good. Got any in mind?”

“I was torn between cookie dough or strawberry with chocolate... What about you?”

“Vanilla,” Branch said immediately. “You can pick all the extravagant ones you want, but we’re at least getting one scoop of vanilla.”

Poppy burst into giggles, leaning forward. “Vanilla? Really? I didn’t see that coming. I had you pegged as a mint chip kind of girl.”

“Nope. Vanilla. Simple, classic, no drama,” Branch quipped with a shrug. “Like I wish my life was.”

Something softened in Poppy’s expression as she tilted her head. “Sometimes the simple things are the most comforting, too.”

Branch’s gaze dipped to the table for a moment longer than necessary, as if the words hit somewhere he wasn’t ready to admit. “Yeah… I guess so.”

The lull that followed wasn’t awkward—it was warm, almost expectant. Poppy broke it with a mischievous grin, studying Branch carefully.

“By the way, I like your braid. It makes you look… prettier than usual.”

Branch blinked, startled, then ducked his head with a shy smile. “Thanks. Ablaze did my hair.”

“Ablaze?” Poppy raised a brow. “Well, tell him he’s got talent… though maybe next time we go out, you could let me do your hair instead.” Her smile turned a touch sideways, playful.

Branch glanced at her, and for the briefest second, he could swear his breath caught. “Uh… yeah. That wouldn’t be a problem.”

Poppy propped her chin on her hands, still watching her with that bright focus that always made Branch feel oddly seen. “We could try something fun… pigtails, maybe. Or a half-braid with little flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Yes! You look beautiful in cool tones; some little purple flowers would be perfect.”

Branch let out a low laugh, his cheeks betraying him with color. “I’d look like I stepped out of a fairy tale…”

“I don’t see that as a bad thing,” Poppy replied without missing a beat. The words slipped out unfiltered, and she quickly looked away with a nervous giggle. “I mean—it’d be… cute, don’t you think?”

The waiter arrived just in time to break the spell of silence. Both of them straightened, pretending to study the menu with sudden focus. They settled on a large sundae—vanilla, strawberry chocolate, and cookies dough—all piled high and crowned with two heart-shaped cookies.

“Heart-shaped cookies?” Branch muttered, one brow arched.

“I didn’t order them like that, I swear,” Poppy said, her laughter bubbling easily. “But hey, the universe has good taste.”

Branch chuckled, a low sound that made her shoulders relax. For a moment, everything felt easy.

“So,” Poppy began between spoonfuls, “how’s life lately? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

Branch hesitated, her spoon lingering in the sundae. What could I tell her? That I sometimes looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself? That I'm anxious about Ablaze’s meeting with our manager tomorrow? That every passing day without a cure for this course made my chest tighten a little more?

“Normal,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “A bit chaotic, but… nothing I can’t handle.”

Poppy’s eyes lingered on her longer than Branch liked—bright, searching. Then she simply nodded and dug into the sundae again.

“Well, just in case… if you ever need to disconnect or talk, I can be your pause.”

Branch blinked. “My pause?”

“Yes.” She leaned her chin on her hand, expression earnest. “Like… a breather. A sunny day, or a calm song. Everyone needs one of those, right?”

Something inside Branch uncoiled at Poppy’s words. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them until now. A genuine smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I’ll consider your offer.”

Poppy grinned in triumph and scooped up an exaggerated bite of ice cream, closing her eyes as if in bliss. “Mmm… this is dangerously good. If I keep going out with you, I’m going to need bigger pants.”

Branch laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll lend you mine. Though fair warning—they don’t exactly match your ‘strawberry-chocolate-with-sprinkles’ aesthetic.”

Poppy shot her a playful glare. “Excuse me, don’t mock my vibe. Besides…” She let her gaze drift over Branch with a teasing smile. “You could wear a flower-print jacket and still look intimidating.”

“I’m not intimidating,” he objected.

“Of course you are,” she countered immediately. “You’ve got that mysterious, quiet energy, with those intense eyes. It’s… kind of unfair, actually. Scary how good you are at it.”

Branch tilted his head, amused by her seriousness. “Maybe I should let you put flowers in my hair after all. That way it’ll balance out the threatening aura.”

Poppy laughed, though her cheeks warmed as the image lingered in her mind longer than she’d like. She twirled her spoon lazily in the melting sundae.

“I’d be delighted. But of course, if you want Ablaze to tag along next time, that’d be fine too. He’s fun.” Her smile faltered for a beat, softer, more private. “But… honestly, I’d prefer if it were just the two of us.”

Branch blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, yeah?”

Poppy nodded quickly, as if she hadn’t just revealed something. “Yeah. It feels… easier with you. Nicer. Like I can say the silliest things and never feel judged.”

The napkin in Branch’s hand crumpled slightly under her fingers. She tried to ignore the sudden leap in her chest.

“I like it being just us, too,” he admitted quietly. “It’s… nice.”

Poppy smiled distractedly and stared at the sundae, her spoon trailing lazy circles through the cream. “Maybe we should do this more often. Ice cream, talking, you letting me play with your hair—”

“And you stealing my vanilla,” Branch cut in, noticing her spoon inching toward the pale scoop.

“I would never!” Poppy gasped—right before brazenly scooping a mouthful of vanilla. “Okay, maybe just this once. But come on, look at the presentation! Who could resist?”

Branch rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite in it. She didn’t mind. Not at all.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“I know,” Poppy replied proudly, flashing a grin. “But I’m also charming.”

Branch opened her mouth to retort, but stopped short when Poppy frowned slightly and leaned closer, studying her face.

“What?” he asked, a touch defensive.

“You have…” Poppy reached out before Branch could move. Her thumb brushed the corner of Branch’s lips, warm against her cool skin. “…a little spot. Chocolate.”

For Branch, the world narrowed to that single touch. Her breath caught, her pulse stuttered. She sat frozen, sapphire eyes fixed on Poppy, as though that single, casual gesture had unmoored her completely.

“Ah… thanks,” he murmured, barely audible.

Poppy smiled, utterly unaware of the effect she’d left behind. “You’re welcome. Can’t let my ice cream partner wander around with evidence of the crime.”

Branch let out a nervous laugh and ducked her head toward the sundae, pretending to hunt for another spoonful. In truth, she just needed to breathe. Her fingers trembled faintly around the handle, but she kept them moving.

“Are you okay?” Poppy asked, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Yeah, yeah… just… this ice cream’s really cold.”

Poppy giggled, nudging her arm gently. “Well, of course! It’s ice cream.”

Branch looked up at Poppy, a soft smile curving her lips despite herself.

Poppy returned the smile, bright and easy, but as she dug back into the sundae, she couldn’t shake the odd flutter in her chest—the strange warmth that had nothing to do with the sugar. She brushed it off as nothing. Just friendship.

Chapter Text

Outside the ice cream parlor, the sky was tinged with soft orange hues. The evening was beginning to say goodbye with a light breeze that sent Poppy’s loose hair dancing gently. They walked side by side along the sidewalk, unhurried, their hands close—almost brushing, but never quite. That almost was enough to make Poppy oddly aware of the space between them.

“You know what I like about you?” Branch said suddenly, eyes fixed ahead.

Poppy blinked at her, curiosity tugging at her smile. “What?”

“That you don’t make me feel like I have to impress you. You just… let me be me.”

Something shifted in Poppy’s chest at those words—warm and heavy all at once. She looked at Branch from the corner of her eye, noticing the way the fading sunlight touched the dark strands of her hair.

“I don’t have to try hard with you either,” she admitted softly. “It’s… easy, when we’re together.”

Branch’s lips curved into a small, real smile, the kind Poppy was beginning to crave more than ice cream itself.

“What do you think about doing something different next time?” Poppy asked, the words slipping out before she could second-guess herself. “I don’t know… a picnic, maybe?”

“I’d like that,” Branch replied without hesitation.

They fell into silence again, though it didn’t feel empty. The sunset painted the street in gold, crickets beginning to weave their song into the city’s hum. Poppy’s gaze drifted downward and caught a wildflower stubbornly growing from a crack in the pavement. She stopped, crouched, and plucked it with care.

Without thinking, she stepped closer and tucked it into Branch’s braid.

“There,” she said, smiling as her pulse skipped. “Now you look even more perfect.”

Branch blinked, startled by both the gesture and the nearness. “Thank you, but… what’s this for?”

“Because it suits you. And… because you made me happy today,” Poppy replied, her voice lighter than she felt. “I wanted to give you something in return.”

Branch’s lips parted as if to answer, but only a faint, trembling “Thank you…” escaped.

Poppy’s heart skipped again at the sound, and before she could stop herself—or even fully understand why—she leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against Branch’s cheek. Innocent. Fleeting. But for Branch, once again, the world seemed still.

“See you soon, okay?” Poppy said, pulling back like nothing unusual had happened, waving with that cheerful ease she was known for. “And take care of that flower! No returns accepted.”

Branch touched his cheek as though to hold onto the warmth left there, his voice softer than he intended. “Yeah… see you soon.”

A slow smile spread across her face, though her fingers still lingered at the place where Poppy’s lips had been.

Meanwhile, Poppy turned away, humming under her breath. But as she rounded the corner, her steps faltered. She froze, eyes widening, and raised a hand to her lips.

“Did I just… kiss Branch?” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hum of the crickets.

Heat rushed to her cheeks, butterflies stirring in her stomach. It wasn’t unusual for her to be affectionate—she was Poppy, after all. She gave hugs freely, kissed her friends on the cheek without thinking, sprinkled sweetness wherever she went.

But this time… this time felt different.

“I always kiss my friends,” she told herself firmly. And yet the thought unraveled almost immediately. “So why did it feel like something more?”

Her smile betrayed her confusion, tugging at her lips even as she shook her head. Quickening her pace, she decided she couldn’t just walk aimlessly to shake off the feeling. No—she needed answers. There was only one person she trusted to untangle this.

Maybe, just maybe… her sister would know what to say.

*******

As soon as she got home, Poppy went straight to Viva’s room. The sound of running water came from the shower, so she sat on the edge of the bed, twisting her fingers together in her lap. She didn’t know exactly what she was going to say—just that she needed to say something, or she’d burst.

Minutes later, Viva emerged wrapped in a towel, another balanced like a turban around her head. She stopped short when she spotted Poppy sitting there so still.

“What’s with that face?” Viva asked, arching a brow. “Did someone break your heart, or did you overdose on gummy bears again?”

Poppy blinked, as if waking from a trance. “What? No! I… I just went out with Branch this afternoon.”

Viva’s lips curved into a slow, sly smile. “‘Just went out’? Uh-huh. Was that, like… a date-date? Or more like, ‘two friends pretending they’re not giving each other heart-eyes’?”

Poppy gasped and swatted her with an elbow. “Viva!”

“What? I’m just saying what everyone’s probably thinking,” Viva teased, though her tone was warm.

Poppy ducked her head, fiddling with the blanket. “It wasn’t a date. We just… had ice cream, walked around, talked. You know, the usual stuff.”

“Uh-huh…” Viva leaned in, squinting at her. “Then why do you look like someone stepped out of a rom-com? Seriously, Poppy, you’re glowing.”

“I’m not!” She clapped her hands to her cheeks, but the heat there betrayed her. “It’s just the… the weather. Or the sugar. Or—ugh, I don’t know.”

Viva tilted her head, unconvinced. “That’s not a sugar rush face. That’s an ‘I just got kissed’ face.”

Poppy froze, her mouth parting. “It wasn’t… I mean… it wasn’t a real kiss. Just a little one. I kissed her on the cheek.”

Viva’s brows shot up. “Wait—you gave her the kiss?”

“…Yes,” Poppy admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Viva grinned like she’d just won a lifelong bet. “And you’re still here trying to tell me it was no big deal?”

Poppy hesitated, her fingers knotting in the blanket. “I don’t know why I did it. I just… did. It felt right in the moment. But also… different. Not like when I do that with other friends. I can’t explain it.”

Viva’s teasing softened, her tone gentler now. “And how did it make you feel?”

“Good,” Poppy answered instantly, then faltered. Her voice lowered, vulnerable. “Really good. But also weird. Like I crossed a line I didn’t even know was there. And now… I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Viva nodded with a calm smile. “That sounds an awful lot like attraction, Poppy.”

“I don’t know,” Poppy blurted out, too fast. She sat forward, wringing her hands. “I don’t see her like that. I mean… I’m not supposed to see her like that. We’re barely friends. I like her—yes, a lot. She makes me laugh, she makes me feel comfortable, safe, happy… but… Branch is a girl.”

Viva arched an eyebrow, amused. “Clara is a girl too. And, hopefully, she’s about to be my girlfriend. So what’s the problem?”

Poppy bit her lip, restless. “It’s just… I never imagined myself feeling like this. All this time, I thought I was straight.”

Viva chuckled softly. “You know, someone once told me: we all think we’re straight until we meet that one person who makes us question it.”

Poppy stared at her, eyes wide. “And you’re saying Branch is that person for me?”

Viva shrugged with mock innocence. “I’m just saying she’s pretty, interesting… and you’re clearly not immune to her charm. Besides…” She tilted her head. “I get the impression Ablaze has noticed too. They seem pretty close, don’t they?”

Something flickered in Poppy’s face. She frowned. “Yes. He braided her hair today and she looked… gorgeous.” The word slipped out before she could catch it, making her cheeks burn. “But I couldn’t help feeling a little… annoyed? Like I wished I had been the one to do her hair.”

Viva smirked knowingly. “And just today, Ablaze wasn’t around, was he? Which means you had Branch’s full attention.”

Poppy’s defenses faltered, her voice softening. “It was great. I felt like we really connected. No distractions. No Ablaze hovering around. Just us. And… I liked it that way.”

Viva leaned back against the headboard, studying her with half a smile. “Sounds to me like you don’t just like Branch. You also don’t like sharing her. That, my dear sister, is called jealousy. And yes—” she poked Poppy lightly in the arm “—it sounds very much like you wish you were in Ablaze’s place.”

“Viva!” Poppy sprang to her feet, flustered, her face a storm of red. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“No. What doesn’t make sense,” Viva countered gently, “is you trying to convince yourself nothing’s happening… when it’s obvious something is. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“It’s not that!” Poppy protested, her hands flying up before dropping uselessly at her sides. “It’s just that… when I’m with Branch, I don’t think. I just… act. Like today—I saw a flower on the sidewalk and suddenly I was putting it in her hair. It didn’t make any sense, but I did it. And now I can’t stop asking myself why.”

Viva stood, closing the distance between them. She took Poppy’s restless hands into her own, steadying them. “Because you’re starting to feel something more than friendship. And that’s okay. Don’t be scared, Poppy. You don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just… let yourself feel. Stop shutting it down before it even has a chance to grow.”

Poppy’s eyes flickered with panic and hope all at once. “But what if I do like her? What if I’m…”

“Bisexual?” Viva finished for her, with an easy shrug. “So what?”

Poppy swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling too quickly. Her eyes shimmered with a mix of fear and something dangerously close to excitement.

“But I don’t know how to handle it.”

Viva pulled her into a hug, firm and warm. “You don’t have to handle it alone. I’m here. Always.”

For the first time that night, Poppy let her body relax, burying her face in her sister’s shoulder. “Thank you, Viva.”

“Always,” Viva murmured. “That’s what sisters are for.”

They stayed like that for several long seconds. And though the confusion still lingered, a new certainty peeked through Poppy’s doubts. Like the flower she had tucked into Branch’s braid: small, fragile, unexpected… but alive.

Viva leaned back just enough to look her sister in the eyes, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “By the way… next time you feel the urge to accessorize Branch with flowers, maybe accessorize with a flirty note, too.”

“Viva!” Poppy squeaked, swatting her sister’s arm, her cheeks burning all over again.

“I’m just being practical!” Viva chirped, dodging another playful shove. Her laughter was a bright, happy sound. “Think about it! Branch seems and sounds a lot like one of those fairytale crushes you used to gush about.”

Poppy’s cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t help grinning into the thought. Maybe she didn’t have all the answers, but she did know one thing: fairytales suddenly felt a little less distant… and a lot more possible.

And for now, that was enough.

******************************

Everyone was scattered around the living room as if time itself had paused. Blankets and pillows covered the floor, forming a makeshift fort where chaos strangely felt like comfort. The decision to spend the night together hadn’t needed words—it had simply happened.

Boom stretched out on one end of the couch, calm and steady, while Floyd reclined across his lap, her head tilted back as Boom idly combed his fingers through her hair. At the other end, John claimed the spot by lifting Floyd’s feet into her own lap as though it were second nature.

Across the room, Clay curled up in the armchair, hugging a cushion like it might anchor her. Her gaze seemed to wander beyond the room, chasing questions no one else could see.

On the floor, among mattresses and tangled blankets, Branch, Ablaze, and Bruce made their own nest. The redhead sat in the middle with a bowl of popcorn balanced on his knees, tossing kernels into either sister’s mouth with his eyes closed, a silly little game that kept their laughter soft but steady. Every miss—landing on a forehead or bouncing off a shoulder—only made Branch’s quiet giggles tangle with Bruce’s louder ones.

“This…” Clay murmured at last, breaking the lazy chatter. “Doesn’t it feel weird that we’re this calm? I mean… we’re still trapped in female bodies.”

Silence pressed down, even Boom’s hand pausing mid-stroke through Floyd’s hair.

“And what do you want us to do?” Bruce asked, voice easy but gaze flicking up to the ceiling. “Run in circles? Scream until someone notices? Summon a magic mirror for advice?”

Clay lowered the cushion, his voice tightening. “We could at least plan something. I hate sitting here doing nothing… I feel useless.”

“You’re not useless,” John said firmly. “We’ll get through this. We’ve handled worse, and as long as we face it together, that’s more than most people have.”

Branch shifted slightly, his voice so faint only Ablaze caught it. “I just hope you manage to reach an agreement with the manager tomorrow… buy us more time.”

The redhead nudged her with his shoulder, offering another piece of popcorn. His grin was wordless, but the gesture said enough. Sometimes the smallest distractions—the game, the laughter, the shared warmth—were what kept them going, one day at a time.

“What if we watch a movie?” Bruce proposed.

“But nothing weird, okay?” Boom said, pointing a finger from the couch. “Last time you said that, we ended up with Inception and no one knew if we were asleep or still dreaming.”

“Technically, we’re still dreaming. Otherwise, how do you explain me not being in my own body?” Clay muttered into his cushion.

“I vote action,” Ablaze cut in, already excited. “Explosions, car chases, buildings collapsing—the essentials.”

Boom gave him a look. “Why do you always want to watch things that could kill us in real life?”

“Because if something’s gonna blow up, I’d rather it be on TV and not in the bathroom… unlike someone who detonated the toilet.”

Floyd sat up, scandalized. “It was one time! And how was I supposed to know you can’t flush sanitary pads?!”

“Not even there, still traumatized,” Ablaze sighed dramatically.

“Anyway,” Floyd crossed his arms. “My vote is for Mamma Mia. Nothing says ‘guys’ night’ like ABBA, emotional breakdowns, and Meryl Streep defying gravity while singing.”

Clay groaned. “The last thing we need is you on the couch screaming Dancing Queen again.”

“It was an unforgettable performance, thank you very much,” Floyd said, tossing his hair like a diva.

Branch, sprawled across a blanket, muttered, “If I have to hear Vin Diesel say ‘family’ one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

Ablaze smirked. “What, you’d rather watch a documentary about bees doing yoga?”

Bruce blinked. “Wait, does that exist?”

Everyone turned to John, who had been scrolling through the movie catalog with monk-like patience. She cleared her throat.

“Democracy has spoken. We’re watching Jurassic World. Explosions, nostalgia, and zero musicals… unless the dinosaurs suddenly break into song, which honestly, I’d pay to see.”

Ablaze leaned back with a grin. “Fine. But if the raptors start dancing, Floyd is not allowed to join them.”

The movie began. The first T-Rex roar shook the room, and Floyd immediately latched onto Boom’s leg as if she were about to be dragged off-screen, feet first.

Clay’s expression stayed neutral, but her white-knuckled grip on the cushion betrayed her nerves.

“Did you know real velociraptors were the size of a turkey?” Branch commented casually, munching popcorn.

“I refuse to be scared by a killer turkey,” Clay muttered, clutching his cushion tighter.

“Too late,” Boom whispered, nodding at the screen just as a raptor pounced. Clay let out a strangled squeak, her legs kicking involuntarily against the armchair.

“I’d scream too if I were attacked by a giant turkey with gel nails,” Floyd said defensively, still glued to Boom.

“Bruce, stop pretending you’re Chris Pratt!” John scolded, though his grin was already slipping through.

“Let me live my fantasy of taming Jurassic chickens!” Bruce cried, hopping to his feet and holding his hands out in Pratt’s iconic pose.

Branch groaned and chucked a kernel of popcorn at her. “Sit down before the dinosaur eats you first.”

The group burst into laughter—loud, contagious, rolling through the fort of pillows and blankets. Even Clay, cheeks flushed, let out a tired little smile. For a few minutes, it was easy to forget curses, managers, and impossible problems. For a few minutes, all that mattered was dinosaurs and each other.

Chapter Text

Ablaze let out a sigh as a ray of sunshine warmed his face. He frowned when he noticed a hand covering part of it—Bruce's hand, relaxed in sleep. With a gentle nudge, the redhead moved it aside and sat up, stretching his arms until his back popped.

The room was a picture of improvised peace. Clay was curled up in her armchair, blanket pulled to her nose. At some point in the night, John had settled beside Branch, both of them breathing evenly in sync. The sight made Ablaze smile—but nothing compared to the sofa: Floyd and Boom tangled together, clinging to each other as though the universe had decided they belonged that way.

The sight made his chest soften. Without thinking, he reached for his phone, but the time on the screen wiped the smile right off his face.

“Shit,” he hissed. “I forgot to set the alarm! We’re going to be super late—”

He leaned over Boom, shaking him carefully, trying not to disturb Floyd.

“Boom, wake up. We have to go.”

Boom groaned and buried his face in Floyd’s neck. “Five more minutes…”

“No! Meeting. Manager. Remember?!” Ablaze’s whisper was sharp with panic.

One bleary eye cracked open. “And whose fault is it that we’re in a rush? Oh, right—the guy who didn’t set an alarm.”

Ablaze’s jaw clenched. “Are we seriously doing this now?”

Before Boom could reply, a low growl cut through the room. Both froze and turned. Branch was sitting up, hair mussed, eyes narrowed, her look pure judgment.

“I’m making coffee,” he muttered, standing. “Get dressed before you make yourselves even later.”

Ablaze rolled his eyes, bolting for his room. Boom sighed theatrically, then peeled himself away from Floyd with exaggerated care… only to flop face-first onto his bed the second he went upstairs and reached his room. Within seconds, he was snoring again.

When Ablaze came back downstairs, dressed and buzzing with nervous energy, he stopped short. Bruce was at the stove, humming quietly as she flipped something in a pan.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Ablaze said, hovering by the doorway.

Bruce waved him off without turning. “Relax. Sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“But—”

Bruce finally turned, eyebrow arched. “No buts. You’ve got time to eat before you run off. I’m not sending you out on an empty stomach.”

Ablaze groaned and dropped into a chair. “Fine. Whatever you say… Dad.”

That earned him a booming laugh. “I thought that was JD’s job.”

“Nope. JD’s like our big brother. You’re the practical dad who cooks.”

Bruce slid a plate in front of him with mock solemnity. “Fantastic. I’m ‘Daddy BroZone’ now.”

“At least you’re a cool dad,” Ablaze said with a smirk.

Bruce snorted, shaking his head as he went back to the stove. “Flattery won’t save you when Boom strolls in here late again.”

Clay and Floyd shuffled into the kitchen, half-asleep, like they’d been dragged out of bed by gravity itself.

“Morning,” Clay mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

Branch and John followed not long after. Bruce started dishing out plates, filling the table with the smell of fried eggs and toast.

“Where’s Boom?” Floyd asked as he slid into the chair beside Clay.

“He went up to change,” Ablaze said with a shrug. “Maybe even a shower if he feels ambitious.”

Branch gave his coffee an unimpressed stir. “He’d better hurry.”

Floyd stood, already reaching for the counter. “I’ll put some coffee in a thermos for him. He’s not exactly a morning person.”

“I’ll go get him,” Bruce offered, setting down the last plate.

“No.” Ablaze was already pushing his chair back. “I’ll do it. I’m done anyway.” He stalked toward the stairs.

The kitchen went quiet. Then—

“BOOM RIVERSONG!” Ablaze’s voice shook the ceiling. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! YOU FELL ASLEEP AGAIN!”

A muffled thud followed by frantic footsteps made everyone pause.

Boom staggered down the stairs like a zombie mid-resurrection, hair sticking in every direction, shirt inside-out, rubbing one eye while clinging to the banister with the other.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he mumbled, yawning so wide it almost swallowed his words. “Technically, I’m already dressed.”

Floyd’s lips twitched before he broke into a chuckle. “You look like you got run over by a truck full of stuffed animals.”

“Come on, Boom!” Ablaze said, tugging on his jacket at the door. “If we hurry, maybe we won’t be too late!”

Just as Boom shuffled after him, a voice cut through.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Boom turned, slow and groggy. Floyd stood, leaning on the half wall to enter the kitchen, holding a thermos of coffee with both hands like it was an offering.

Boom blinked at her. “…Ah. Right.” He shuffled closer, took the thermos—then, without hesitation, leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against her lips. Small. Automatic. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Thanks, my love. See you later.”

And off he went, still half-asleep, lumbering toward the door.

Ablaze froze, hand on the knob, staring like the world had glitched. He watched Boom wander out onto the street before snapping back, blinking hard. One last wide-eyed look at the Valtrens—and then he bolted after Boom, slamming the door behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Clay’s spoon slipped from her fingers. Branch slowly turned her head, eyes wide. John sat gaping like she’d just witnessed a soap opera twist. Bruce’s mug hovered midair.

And Floyd—Floyd hadn’t moved an inch. She just stood there, eyes wide. Processing. Boom. Had. Kissed. Her.

“...Did you all see that? Was it a dream?” Clay whispered.

“Nope, not a dream,” Branch murmured, still stunned.

“Boom kissed Floyd,” John said flatly. Then, louder: “And he called him my love! Since when do they do that?! Last I checked, Boom was still on ‘dearest.’”

Bruce pushed up from his chair. “Tell me someone got that on video. Please.”

Clay, still staring at Floyd, muttered, “Not me. But honestly? I don’t need coffee anymore. I’m awake now.”

Finally, Floyd blinked. His lips parted just slightly. “…Boom kissed me.” A slow, dazed smile crept across his face, cheeks burning crimson. “…Boom kissed me,” he repeated, softer, dreamy, almost to himself.

Branch smirked. “And you froze like someone hit pause.”

Floyd buried her face in her hands, ears scarlet.

Bruce gave her shoulder a pat. “Well then… congratulations, little brother.”

John chuckled. “Guess a true love’s kiss doesn’t break curses after all.”

“John Dory!” Clay shoved her. “Don’t ruin it!”

“Oh, please. Floyd isn’t even listening to us,” John shot back.

“Of course he’s not,” Bruce said, grinning. “His prince charming kissed him. He’s living his fairytale ending.”

Branch rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her. Floyd was still a statue, hands over her face… but her fingers couldn’t hide the lovestruck grin peeking through.

Clay leaned closer, stage-whispering, “…Oh no. He’s stuck like that.”

Bruce nodded gravely. “Boom fried our brother’s brain.”

Branch chuckled. “Don’t worry. He’ll reboot once his prince charming kisses him again.”

And from behind his hands, Floyd’s muffled voice drifted out, soft and dreamy: “…I wouldn’t mind that.”

The room erupted in laughter all over again.

******

Outside the house, just a few steps away, Boom shuffled beside Ablaze, sipping at his coffee with bleary eyes. Still half-asleep, he had no idea of the earthquake he’d just left behind.

Ablaze, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at him. Wide-eyed. Jaw tight. Like he was about to combust. Finally, he cracked.

“Boom.”

“Hm?”

“Take another sip.”

“…What?”

“Go on. A big one. Let’s see if you wake up properly this time.”

Boom gave him a suspicious look but obeyed, swallowing a generous gulp. He blinked. Frowned. Stopped dead in his tracks.

“Wait…”

Ablaze crossed his arms, grinning like a cat with cream. “Here it comes.”

Boom turned slowly toward him. “Did I just—”

“Yes.” Ablaze cut him off instantly.

Boom paled. “I kissed her?”

“On. The. Lips. Clear as day. And then—‘Thanks, my love.’ Like you were off to work in a sitcom marriage. BOOM, YOU KISSED FLOYD!”

Boom slapped a hand over his face. “No. No, no, no…”

“Oh yes!” Ablaze hopped in place, half laughing, half screaming. “Clay dropped her spoon, Branch nearly fainted, Floyd froze like a statue carved by Cupid himself—it was ICONIC.”

Groaning, Boom began pacing in small, frantic circles, muttering under his breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I was half-asleep. It doesn’t count!”

“Doesn’t count?!” Ablaze grabbed his shoulders, shaking him lightly. “That was the most real thing you’ve ever done!”

Boom sank down onto the curb, thermos still clutched in his hand, staring at the ground. “…I basically screamed my feelings into a megaphone. And now? I don’t know how I’m supposed to face Floyd.”

Ablaze sat beside him, the mischief in his face softening. “You wanted to kiss him though, didn’t you?”

Silence stretched, broken only by the sound of cars in the distance. Finally, Boom’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Of course I did. Just… not like that. Not with an audience.”

Ablaze’s smile turned gentler. “Boom… you kissed Floyd without even thinking. Half-asleep. And it was still more romantic than if you’d planned it for weeks.”

That pulled a reluctant chuckle from Boom. “…You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” Ablaze admitted. Then nudged him with his shoulder. “But hey—I’m proud of you. If you chicken out on kissing Floyd again, don’t worry. I’ll do it for you.”

Boom shoved him back with a laugh. “Idiot.”

“Who, me? Or you?”

“You,” Boom said, still smiling, finally taking another sip of coffee.

For a moment, they just sat there—two brothers on a quiet curb, morning air crisp around them, coffee warming their hands. The world was waking up, but Boom could barely hear it over the thunder of his own heartbeat.

And he knew it wasn’t the caffeine.

Chapter Text

Once the house settled into something resembling calm, the girls pushed on with their breakfast. The laughter had died down, but chaos still lingered in the clatter of cutlery, steaming mugs, and half-finished plates.

Clay ate quietly, almost too quietly, until she froze mid-motion. She set her spoon down and shut her eyes, breathing in slowly.

John noticed first. “Hey, you good?” His brow creased with concern.

“Yeah… yeah, fine. I’m, uh… I’m going out with Viva today.” Clay forced a small smile, nudging another spoonful toward his mouth—only to gag, his stomach twisting as the spoon clattered back onto the plate.

Bruce immediately put down his fork. “Clay, what’s wrong?”

“Nausea,” he muttered, pale. “I don’t know… I was fine a minute ago.”

“Nausea?” Floyd leaned forward, curious and concerned all at once.

Before anyone could press further, Branch let out a low groan and doubled over, clutching her abdomen.

“Branch?” John half-rose, alarm in his voice.

“I’m fine. It’s just…” He turned to Floyd with a wince. “How do you usually describe the cramps?”

Floyd didn’t even hesitate. “Like someone stabbing you in the gut with a rusty fork while gremlins throw a rave in there. Why?” Then his eyes went wide. “Wait—don’t tell me. Is it your time of the month?”

Branch’s grimace deepened. “Looks like it. I’m going to check.”

“There’s a pack in the bathroom,” Floyd offered sympathetically. “And, just to be clear, they don’t go in the toilet.”

Branch spun on her with a scowl. “I know that! I’m not about to flood the plumbing like you did, drama queen!” She stormed off; they could hear the bathroom door slamming.

John blinked, deadpan. “Wow. Cranky much?”

“I heard that!” came Branch’s muffled yell.

Bruce calmly sipped his juice. “Brace yourselves. You’re all about to meet Peak Grumpy Branch. And when I say ‘you all,’ I mean it. I’ve got a date with Brandy, so I’m officially excused.”

John gasped, clutching his chest like he’d been betrayed. “Coward!”

“I call it self-preservation,” Bruce replied smoothly. “Besides, Branch already looks like she’s ready to overthrow the monarchy.”

They heard the bathroom door fly open. Branch reappeared in the kitchen, glaring daggers. “Say one more word, Bruce Valtren, and I’ll show you what a revolution looks like in real time.”

Bruce raised his glass in mock salute. “Cheers.”

Floyd wisely pivoted, glancing at Clay. “Hey… seriously. Are you okay? You’ve been quiet. Quieter than usual.”

Clay’s chair scraped as he stood. “Bathroom,” he murmured, avoiding everyone’s eyes before slipping out.

A tense beat lingered before Branch dropped back into his seat with a frustrated sigh, fidgeting. “Ugh. Floyd, how do you stand these pads? Feels like wearing a giant diaper. I’m waddling like a penguin.”

Floyd gave a helpless shrug. “You get used to it. Eventually.”

John burst out laughing. “Just like the old days, Bitty B—back to being the baby of the band!”

Branch growled and hurled her spoon across the table. John yelped and ducked just in time.

“Hey! It was a joke!”

“Oh yeah?” Branch snapped, arms crossed. “Well, I’m bleeding and my patience just died a violent death. Pick a better time.”

That was when Clay returned from the bathroom, moving with the slow resignation of someone who’d lost a war. She stopped at the table, eyes steady.

“I’m menstruating,” he announced flatly.

Silence hit like a brick.

“…Is that even possible?” John asked, baffled. “Two of you at once?”

“More than two,” Floyd corrected, leaning forward on his elbows. “Boom explained it happens sometimes. Sisters, roommates, friends… bodies sync up.”

Bruce tilted his head, intrigued. “Why?”

Floyd shook his head. “No clue. But considering we’re stuck under one roof? Doesn’t surprise me. We’re basically sisters now.”

Clay dropped back into his chair with a long sigh. “Great. We bleed together, we suffer together.”

John smirked, folding his arms. “So when’s my turn? Do I get cravings? Mood swings? Bigger boobs?”

Branch shot her a withering look. “One can only hope.”

Clay lifted his glass in mock solemnity. “To the SisZone—sisters united by hormonal doom.”

Bruce arched a brow, but a crooked smile tugged at his lips. “SisZone?”

“Temporary name,” Clay shrugged, motioning for a toast.

John clinked glasses with her immediately. “Cheers to sisterhood.”

Floyd chuckled, eyes soft as he glanced around the table. “Does this count as… bonding?”

Branch rolled his eyes, but a reluctant laugh broke through. “Yeah. The bloodiest bonding session ever.”

******************************

Ablaze walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, headphones on, muttering under his breath as if rehearsal might save him.

“They’re not gonna kill me… They like me. I think. I’m basically a big brother to Branch. He wouldn’t actually kill me… right?” He frowned, turning up his music. “Damn Hype. Why can’t he just stay still for once? Not that hard…”

By the time he looked up, the BroZone house loomed in front of him. His stomach flipped. Okay. I can do this. Totally. He slipped his headphones off, stuffed them into his pocket, and knocked.

Bruce answered almost instantly, a smile flashing across her face—until she realized Ablaze was alone.

“Can I come in? We need to talk,” Ablaze said, rocking on his heels like a teenager waiting outside the principal’s office.

Bruce sighed. “I really hope you’re bringing good news. This house can’t take another ounce of drama.”

“You mean the kiss this morning?”

Bruce chuckled. “That was good drama. No, I’m talking about Branch and Clay. Let’s just say… they’re a little more sensitive than usual.”

Ablaze arched a brow. “Bitty? Sensitive?”

“Just get in here.”

Inside, chaos was its usual self. Clay lay sprawled on the floor in a suspiciously yoga-like pose, groaning. Branch sat on the couch with a stormy face, half-leaning against John like she was her personal pillow. Floyd sat rigidly in a chair, eyes glued to the doorway as if waiting for someone.

The moment Ablaze stepped in, Floyd’s voice cut through the room. “Where’s Boom?”

Ablaze’s smile tilted apologetically. “He stayed back with our manager. Choreography stuff. Believe me, he wanted to come, but they wouldn’t let him.”

Clay flopped an arm across his face. “So… we’ll see him later?”

“About that…” Ablaze rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to talk about today’s meeting. There’s good news and bad news.”

Branch’s glare could’ve set curtains on fire. “Well, what are you waiting for?! Nobody’s paying you to stand there hogging oxygen!”

Ablaze raised a brow. “You weren’t this grumpy this morning. What happened?”

“Hormones,” John answered solemnly.

“Shut up,” Branch growled, elbowing her.

Clay groaned louder, rolling over on the floor. “Quit whining, Branch! You’ve got cramps that pills can fix. My back feels like I aged seventy years overnight! Why else would I be lying here?”

Branch snorted. “Because the floor’s cooler than the couch?”

“Children,” Floyd cut in, lifting his voice. “Focus. Let Ablaze talk.”

“Thank you,” Ablaze said, exhaling. “The good news is we negotiated two more weeks of rest for you. That means you’ve got three weeks to try to get back to normal.”

John’s face lit up with relief. “That’s amazing! Our little stray dog actually delivers.”

Ablaze blinked. “…Thanks? I think?”

“And the bad news?” Bruce asked, folding his arms.

Ablaze rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, well… you know how Hype is, right?”

Branch raised a brow. “Like a sugar-high toddler who’s been unleashed in a toy store? Uncontrollable, unbearable, impossible to tie down?”

John frowned at her. “Hey! I know you’re hormonal right now and everything annoys you, but that doesn’t give you the right to roast the people you love.”

Branch shot her a glare. “Of course it does. It’s in the fine print of the friendship and brotherhood contract.”

“…What contract?” Ablaze muttered, confused, then shook his head. “Anyway. Our big kid couldn’t handle sitting still. He got so desperate this week that he… released the first thirty seconds of one of our songs.”

Bruce straightened. “What?”

“Yeah. He posted a sneak peek of the ‘Soda Pop’ video.” Ablaze pulled out his headphones and handed them to Bruce and Floyd.

Branch groaned loudly. “Seriously?! Why does he always pull this crap when I’m literally bleeding to death?”

Clay flapped a hand from the floor. “Hey! Don’t gatekeep—let me hear it too!”

Rolling his eyes, Ablaze grabbed the remote and hooked the TV. The preview blasted through the speakers, the upbeat rhythm instantly filling the room. Almost against their will, heads started bobbing and shoulders swayed.

Clay let out a defeated laugh. “Ugh… it’s way too catchy.”

Bruce muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Great. Now it’s stuck in my head for the rest of the day.”

John grinned proudly. “I like it.”

“Thanks,” Ablaze said, pausing the video. He lifted his hands before Branch could interrupt. “I know! It’s good. But here’s the problem: because Hype jumped the gun, our manager wants to ride the hype train—pun intended. Interviews, fan lives, promo, the works. That’s why Boom’s stuck at the studio. They’re grilling him about choreography in case fans ask. And…” His gaze flicked to Branch. “They also wanted you to join, since you’re in the video.”

Branch’s glare sharpened.

“I told them no,” Ablaze added quickly. “You're on the same break as everyone in BroZone. And considering how pale you look, it didn’t even sound like a lie.”

Branch huffed. “…Thanks.”

Floyd leaned forward, uneasy. “So… you’re leaving?”

“A week. Two at most,” Ablaze admitted. “We'll come back and try to help you if you're still like this. Boom begged to come say goodbye, but they wouldn’t let him. So they sent me to pick up our stuff.”

Branch shot upright. “Hold on—are you telling me that shameless guy kissed my brother this morning… and then vanished?”

She looked ready to pounce. John grabbed her shoulders to hold her back. “Down, tiger!”

But Ablaze kept his focus on Floyd. His voice softened. “Boom told me you two have important things to talk about. That it has to be face-to-face. He regrets not being here, Floyd. He promised that as soon as he’s free, he’s coming straight to you. I can’t speak for him, but… I know you mean a lot to him.”

Floyd’s eyes dropped to the floor. Her lips pressed together, chest rising with a quiet breath. The room stilled around her—Branch’s irritation faltered, Clay looked away, Bruce folded her arms tighter, John just sighed.

Finally, Floyd managed a crooked smile. “I’m not good with goodbyes. Never have been. But… I would’ve preferred one. Even an awkward one.”

Ablaze bowed his head. “I know. He tried. Fought for it, actually. But in the end… it wasn’t his call.”

The silence that followed was heavy, uncomfortable. 

Branch was the only one who dared to speak. “If you want, I’ll go and kick him out for you,” he said in a serious tone, though the fierce spark in her eyes made it clear she meant every word.

Floyd let out a humorless laugh. “That’s not necessary… but I appreciate it.”

Ablaze took a step closer, gentler now. “We won’t be gone too long, Floyd. And I can promise you—he’s feeling just as bad, if not worse, knowing he had to postpone this conversation. I’ll keep him in check. No more disappearing acts, no more… dumb ideas.”

“Thanks,” Floyd murmured, a glimmer rising in his eyes but refusing to spill over. “Though honestly, I don’t know what other stupid thing Boom could even do. He kissed me, vanished, and now he’s been dragged off to promote your song. What’s next? A tattoo of my face across his arm?”

“That would be an honor,” Bruce quipped immediately.

Branch snorted. “Yeah, especially if it’s that dramatic expression you’re pulling right now.”

Floyd rolled her eyes, but the edge in her features softened. She was quietly grateful they weren’t letting her sink into the weight of it alone.

“I just want you to let him know…” He drew a slow breath. “That I’ll be waiting for him. I know Boom wouldn’t just vanish without a reason.”

Ablaze’s voice was steady. “I’ll tell him. Word for word.”

Floyd finally looked up, calmer now. “And tell Hype that if he sneaks another song release just because he’s bored, I’m going to hit him.”

Branch burst out laughing. “Oh, I need to see that. Floyd throwing punches.”

Bruce raised a brow, grinning. “I can’t even picture it. Floyd would apologize before the swing landed.”

John smirked, leaning back. “I’d still pay to see it.”

“Quiet, all of you,” Clay groaned from the floor, one hand raised. “My back is still broken, but if Floyd’s about to grow claws, I’m dragging myself upright to witness it.”

Laughter rippled through the room, warm and imperfect, but enough to chip away at the heavy air. And in the middle of that messy chorus, Floyd let herself smile for real.

Because even if Boom wasn’t there, the rest of them were… and she knew without question that her brothers—her sisters—would never let her face any of this alone.

Chapter Text

Later, Bruce, Floyd, and John were scattered around the living room, each absorbed in their own thing. Branch and Clay had vanished into their rooms and locked the doors.

“What time’s your date with Brandy?” Floyd asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Later,” Bruce shrugged. “For now, I’ll keep you company… someone has to keep an eye on the wild animals upstairs.”

John snorted. “Floyd, thank heavens you weren’t as sentimental—or as aggressive—as them.”

Floyd burst out laughing. “Nope. But I get it. It’s a nightmare. Although… hold on—do we even have enough pads in the house?”

Both older sisters froze.

Bruce’s eyes went wide. “No!” He bolted for the bathroom. A moment later: “We’re doomed. They’re gonna need more!”

“Okay, but who’s getting them?” Floyd asked, smirking. “I wouldn’t mind having a little adventure—”

A sharp scream echoed from upstairs, cutting her off.

Bruce grabbed the car keys without hesitation. “I’ll get the pads! I’ll be back before my date—don’t wait up!” And just like that, the door slammed behind him.

John and Floyd blinked at the empty space.

“…Well, that was fast,” Floyd muttered, then stood with a sigh. “I’ll check who screamed.”

John nodded. “Thanks.”

Floyd’s steps slowed as she climbed the stairs, a knot of tension tightening in her stomach. This new, feminine version of Branch was one thing, but the way her moods turned sharp, fierce and a bit aggressive during her period... that was a layer of complexity that frankly intimidated her. She knocked softly on the youngest’s door.

“Hey, Bitty? You okay?”

“Leave me alone!” came the muffled response.

Floyd exhaled and moved to Clay’s room. She tapped gently. “We heard something downstairs. Everything alright?”

A shaky, tear-stained voice answered. “No…”

“Can I come in?”

“…Yeah.”

Inside, Clay was curled into a tight ball, face buried in the pillow, shoulders trembling.

Floyd sat down carefully beside her. “What’s wrong, Clay Clay?”

“It hurts so much,” Clay mumbled. “I already took pills… but they don’t work. And I don’t want to take more and end up overdosing.”

Floyd rubbed slow circles on her back, waiting.

“The worst part?” Clay’s voice cracked. “I tried to get up to get ready for Viva, and—my hips hurt too. It even hurts to walk, Floyd. Did it hurt you that much?”

Floyd shook her head gently. “No, I just had cramps. Pills knocked them out.”

Clay sobbed. “So I won’t be able to see Viva. And she’s going to hate me!”

“Viva won’t hate you. If you explain, she’ll get it—she’s a woman too, remember?”

“But I wanted to see her today!” Clay burst into tears again.

Floyd’s eyes softened, his teasing edge gone. He rubbed Clay’s shoulder more tenderly. “Okay, okay. Then don’t cancel. Invite her here. That way you don’t have to leave the bed.”

Clay lifted his head, eyes watery. “You think that’s okay?”

“If she wants to see you, she won’t care if you’re a weepy mess.”

Clay let out a tearful laugh. “I must look awful.”

“Maybe a little,” Floyd admitted with a grin. “But nothing a hot bath won’t fix. Just to the shower and back, promise. Please?”

“…I’ll try.”

“Good. I'll let JD know that Viva is coming over.”

Clay sniffled and rubbed his eyes. “Thanks…”

Floyd ruffled her hair affectionately and stood. “Now get your best ‘cute and vulnerable’ look ready. Don’t let her see that zombie in the mirror.”

Clay muffled another laugh into his pillow. “Too late…”

Floyd left with a faint smile, leaving the door ajar. Downstairs, John was in the kitchen, wiping down the counter with a little too much focus, as if scrubbing away her thoughts.

“Everything okay?” John asked without turning from the counter.

“More or less,” Floyd replied, dropping onto a chair. “Clay’s sensitive, but he’s calmer now. He’s going to invite Viva over.”

John glanced over his shoulder. “You think that’s a good idea?”

Floyd shrugged, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Sure. We’ll just hide every trophy, poster, and photo that screams we’re secretly BroZone… and pretend we’re hardcore fans instead.”

John burst out laughing, finally turning around. “You’re ridiculous… but I like it. I’ll check on Branch. Maybe if he invites Poppy over, she can cheer him up. I’ll even bribe him with chocolate.”

Floyd grinned. “Good luck with that.”

They got to work, tucking away framed records and dusting the shelves with unusual care. When they finished, John grabbed the chocolate and headed upstairs. She pushed Branch’s door open slowly.

Branch was cocooned in the sheets, spoon in hand, digging into ice cream while staring blankly at a movie.

“How are you?” John asked softly.

“Terrible. Leave me alone.”

“I brought you a chocolate,” he said, holding it out like a peace offering.

Branch gave her a look but snatched it anyway. “Thanks. Now go.”

“Clay’s inviting Viva over,” John added. “Want to call Poppy? She might—”

“No,” Branch cut her off sharply. “I don’t even stand myself right now. I’m not dragging Poppy into this. So no.”

John sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“Whatever you want. Just… I love you, Bitty.”

Branch’s eyes stayed glued to the screen. “I know. I… sometimes love you too. Now scram before I throw a spoon at you again.”

John’s lips quirked into a fond smile. She closed the door quietly and headed back down.

On the sofa, Floyd sat hunched over her phone, typing fast, brow furrowed.

“Texting Boom?” John teased.

Floyd jumped, nearly dropping his phone. “No! …Well, not exactly.” He chuckled nervously. “I was… writing a song. Thinking maybe we could debut something new at the festival.”

John blinked, his eyes lighting up. “Seriously? That’s brilliant! Show me!”

Floyd hesitated, cheeks pink, before handing the phone over. “It’s just a draft. Be nice.”

John scanned the lines, his expression softening. “This is good. Really good. Is it about Boom?”

Floyd scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yes… and no. It’s about when someone just… sneaks in and becomes your addiction. Like, you can’t breathe when they smile at you. Like when Boom does that stupid grin, or—like you with your cowboy.”

John rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “Shut up before you ruin it. Honestly, I love it. It has your softness… that honest thing only you can do.”

“You think the others will sing it?”

“If they don’t, we’ll make them.” John winked. “Seriously, this is what BroZone needs.”

Floyd’s grin grew. “Then we’ll do it.”

John shot up, energized. “Perfect! But just so you know… if you’re singing this at the festival, you’re dancing too.”

Floyd arched a brow. “You’re telling me that?”

John raised his hands. “Touché. Guess we’ll need choreography help. But first… we need our choreographer to stop bleeding long enough to actually teach us his moves.”

Floyd chuckled, shaking his head. “Only you would say it like that.” His smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful look. “JD…”

“Yeah?”

“I know in this new body you don’t have the same strength as before,” Floyd began cautiously. “And don’t even get me started on your coordination—it was always kind of a disaster—”

“Hey!” John interrupted with a dramatic scowl.

Floyd laughed, raising his hands. “Sorry, sorry. But seriously… has any of us actually sung in these new voices yet? Not just humming. I mean really singing. Do we… still have it?”

John froze, considering. “I hadn’t thought about that… Do you want to find out?”

Floyd narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What are you plotting?”

“A living room concert,” John declared grandly, grabbing the remote like a microphone. “Starring us, performing a BroZone classic.”

Floyd’s grin spread. “‘Perfect’?”

“Of course.”

Within seconds, John had the TV hooked to their old karaoke setup, blasting the track just loud enough to fill the room. She launched into the opening verse with her usual over-the-top flair, twirling dramatically. Floyd held back for a moment, then joined in, their higher voices weaving together.

It wasn’t the same as before—softer, lighter, with a new timbre—but the fire was there. The harmonies clicked, the rhythm pulsed through them, and the living room became their stage. They spun around, pointed at each other, even dropped to one knee for a cheesy “serenade” move.

Neither noticed the door creak open.

Two pairs of eyes peeked in, wide and sparkling with amusement.

When the final note rang out, the applause made both jump. They turned to see Viva clapping enthusiastically and Bruce leaning casually in the doorway with a grin.

“That was amazing!” Viva beamed. “Honestly, you could give Poppy a run for her money on who knows that song better.”

Bruce lifted a bag. “I ran into this blonde outside. We didn’t know we’d walk into a private concert. Pads acquired, mission complete. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date to get ready for.” With a wink, he disappeared upstairs.

Viva kept clapping, eyes shining. “Flo, Johanna—you two are incredible! Seriously, talk to Ablaze about guesting at a Kismet show. You’d blow up online!”

John and Floyd exchanged an embarrassed look, cheeks warm, before bursting into quiet laughter.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Floyd mumbled, glancing down, suddenly shy.

John seized the chance to deflect. “Anyway… Viva, want me to take you to see Clara?”

“Yes, please!” Viva chirped, practically bouncing.

“Come on then.” John gestured, and the two headed upstairs together.

Left alone, Floyd lingered in the quiet, eyes drifting to the TV’s frozen karaoke screen. She flexed her fingers, still tingling from the adrenaline, and a small smile tugged at her lips. The voices were different, yes… but the heart of BroZone hadn’t gone anywhere.

******

Viva climbed the stairs with a smile still on her face, following John’s steps to the hallway. The Valtren pointed to a slightly ajar door before disappearing toward another room.

“She’s in there,” he said quietly. “But… be careful. She’s really sensitive because of the cramps.”

Viva nodded gratefully and gently pushed the door open. The room was dim, curtains half-closed. Clay was reclining on the bed, a blanket pulled up to her waist and an open book resting on her chest. One hand pressed lightly to her abdomen, her eyes half-closed, her breathing slow, as though she were trying to distract herself without much success.

“Can I come in?” Viva asked, leaning softly against the doorframe.

Clay cracked his eyes open and lifted his head just a little. “Oh… of course. Hi.”

“Hi there,” Viva smiled, stepping inside without waiting for further invitation. “I heard the smartest and most beautiful book-devouring woman I know is feeling down. I came to see if she needed an assistant.”

Clay let out a soft snort, the faintest smile curving his lips. “I’m okay… more or less. Just… you know. Cramps.”

Viva frowned and walked to the edge of the bed. “And why are you alone? Where’s your army of heating pads and hot soups?”

“I rebelled against authority. Didn’t want everyone hovering over me,” Clay replied, closing the book with a slow hand.

“Well, lucky for you… I specialize in emotional and physiological emergency care,” Viva teased, perching delicately on the mattress.

For a moment she just looked at her. Clay’s brow was still faintly furrowed, a strand of hair slipping across her forehead. Without a word, Viva reached out and brushed it back, tucking it neatly behind her ear.

Clay blinked, slightly surprised, but didn’t move away. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Do you want me to get you something? Tea? A hot water bottle?”

“Do you have a magic hand that can deflate organs?” Clay asked weakly.

“Mmm… no, but I’ve got something better,” Viva whispered, her voice dropping to something playful and conspiratorial. “Do you trust me?”

Clay arched a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Just a little.”

Before she could react, Viva carefully slid closer, coaxing her to rest her head on her lap.

“Shhh, no protesting,” she said with a mischievous smile. “New treatment: affectionate company and head scratches. Proven to have a ninety-seven percent success rate in clinical trials that may or may not exist.”

Clay chuckled, too tired to argue, and let her eyes flutter shut. A soft sigh escaped as the tension in her shoulders eased, giving way to something calmer, something softer.

Viva shifted just enough to get comfortable, her arm resting lightly along Clay’s side as if she belonged there. The corners of her lips curved into a quiet smile she didn’t bother to hide.

For the first time that day, Clay seemed at peace. And Viva intended to keep it that way.

Chapter Text

The silence between them deepened, as if time itself had paused just to stretch out that fragile, perfect moment. Viva’s fingers drifted through Clay’s hair with reverent gentleness, every stroke unhurried, as if each strand carried a secret she wanted to learn by touch alone.

Clay exhaled, his lips curving faintly. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“That’s the plan,” Viva murmured, amusement softening her voice. “Or at least to make you forget what hurts.”

Her gaze wandered to the book Clay had abandoned among the sheets. She picked it up delicately, brushing her thumb across the cover as though afraid to break the spell. Reading the title under her breath, she tilted her head.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

Clay cracked one eye open, studying her with quiet suspicion. “You read aloud?”

“Only on special occasions,” Viva said with a half-smile that tugged knowingly at the corners of her lips.

Without waiting for permission, she flipped to the marked page and began to read. Her voice was warm, steady, unhurried—every word floating between them like a hush meant only for Clay. With each sentence, her hand kept its slow rhythm through Clay’s hair, anchoring her in comfort.

Clay said nothing, but the tightness in her shoulders gradually loosened. Her breathing fell in sync with Viva’s cadence, her eyelids fluttering heavier with each passage, as though the story itself was lulling her into surrender. For Viva, every line became less about the book and more about the excuse it gave her to linger closer, to weave herself into Clay’s silence.

Several minutes passed like this, until Clay gave a soft groan and curled a little tighter into the sheets.

Viva lowered the book and traced a thumb lightly across Clay’s temple. “Still hurting?”

Clay gave the smallest nod, eyes still closed.

“Alright,” Viva whispered, shifting carefully. “Time for part two of the miracle treatment. Don’t move.”

Clay’s lashes lifted just enough to watch her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m making you some tea. And if you’re lucky, I’ll unlock my inner alchemist and whip up a potion that cures you once and for all.” She paused in the doorway, throwing her a teasing glance.

The corner of Clay’s mouth twitched as she watched Viva disappear down the hall, leaving behind a warm hollow in the sheets—an imprint that lingered like a secret mark.

Downstairs, the house was still, the living room empty. Viva assumed the others had already retreated to their rooms and padded straight into the kitchen.

She moved with quiet purpose, rifling through cupboards in search of the familiar ingredients for a soothing tea she and Poppy had sworn by. A smile tugged at her lips as she silently thanked Brianna for her love of cooking, which left every shelf well stocked.

Setting the water to boil, she measured the herbs with practiced care, the motions second nature. Steam curled up, carrying with it a calming scent. When the blend was ready, she poured the tea into two cups and balanced them carefully in her hands before heading back upstairs.

Her first stop was Branch’s room. She knocked once, low and polite, and waited.

“For heaven’s sake, JD, I told you I wanted to be alone! I swear I’m not just going to throw a spoon at you — I’ll fling the empty ice cream tub too!”

Viva cracked the door and raised an eyebrow. “It’s not Johanna. Hi.”

Branch blinked awake, rubbing a hand over his face. “Viva… I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” Viva slid inside with an easy smile that softened the sharp edges of his annoyance. “I’ve been there. That’s why I brought you this.” She set the steaming cup on her bureau with the small care of someone delivering a truce. “Poppy sends her love. She wanted to see you, but we know you’re not in the mood. Drink this, rest.”

“Thank you, Viva. Really.”

The blonde gave a short, genuine nod, then closed the door behind her. She moved toward the room owned by the light-green-haired girl. Clara was half reclined, book tucked at her side. When she looked up and saw Viva at the door, a tired smile brightened her face.

“Did you miss me?” Viva teased, offering the cup.

Clara took it with both hands, warmth seeping into her palms, and nodded. She took a slow sip, eyes on the steam for a moment.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Viva said, sliding onto the bed beside her. “When you’re done, we can pick up where we left off.”

Clara drank in silence until the last drop. Viva took the empty cup, placed it on the bureau, and picked up the book again. She settled herself at Clara’s shoulder.

“Ready to continue?” Viva asked.

Clara managed a small smile and let her head fall back into Viva’s lap. Viva smoothed a strand of hair from her forehead and began to read. Her voice was soft and steady, the kind that fills a room without needing to fill it with sound. One hand threaded gently into Clara’s hair as if marking time on a clock they both understood.

Little by little, Clara’s jaw loosened. Her breath slowed. Viva watched the sweep of her lashes against pale skin and felt the familiar tightening in her chest—something like wanting, like guarding. The book became background; the steady cadence of the story and the small rhythm of her fingers became the whole world.

When Clara finally slept, she didn’t snore or twitch—she merely settled, content and honest in her vulnerability. Viva let the book close on her palm and rested her cheek against Clara’s temple for a second, memorizing the curve of it in the hush.

“I adore you,” she whispered, so quietly the room had to lean in to hear. “More than I should.” She pressed a gentle kiss to Clara’s brow. “But I want to earn your trust first. I want you to be comfortable with me — and when you are… I’ll ask you properly. Will you be my girlfriend, my clever, beautiful Clara?”

Viva lingered at the words, letting them hang between them like a promise. She stayed still, back against the headboard, the room small and private as a secret.

“What I have in energy, I also have in patience,” she murmured. “And you are worth the waiting.”

With Clara asleep across her lap and the house breathing quietly, Viva closed her own eyes. The silence folded around them, warm and careful, and she let herself savor it—one small, perfect pause between them.

*****************************

The sun warmed the glade and a light breeze made the tall leaves whisper above them. Bruce had chosen the spot on purpose: far from the bustle, under the generous shade of a spreading tree, with a clear view of the lake—one of those small corners that made the world feel like it could be put back together, if only for an afternoon.

Brandy walked up with a smile. The blanket was already spread, the basket open, fruit gleaming, a thermos tucked in the side, and a box that sent up a faint promise of cinnamon and sweet bread.

“And this?” she asked, surprised in the best way.

“Let’s just say I wanted to show off my culinary skills.” Bruce stood to help her settle, eyes laughing. “Come on, sit. Tell me what you think.”

Brandy sat, toes in the grass. Bruce lifted the lid with a little flourish. “Avocado and cheese sandwiches, strawberries with chocolate, cinnamon rolls…” He paused like a stage actor. “And iced peach tea.”

“Peach tea? Are you flirting with me?” she said, eyebrows climbing.

Bruce choked back a laugh and colored at the ears. “I don’t know… is it working?”

Brandy held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, then took the glass and sipped. “Maybe.” Her voice stayed light, but her look lingered.

They ate barefoot on the blanket, passing pieces of food between them, talking in easy bursts—about the lake, a clumsy neighbor, a song stuck in someone’s head—until the small things opened a space where they could be less guarded. The wind, the rustling leaves, the soft sound of their laughter: the world narrowed to that square of blanket and the slow, deliberate way Brandy watched her.

“You’re a mystery,” she said, rolling a strawberry between her fingers. “One I want to figure out.”

Bruce let out a dry laugh. “And if the mystery is disappointing?”

“Then maybe I’ll like the disappointment,” she answered, eyes teasing.

He blinked, then smiled—part tenderness, part something that felt like worry. “In that case… I’d like you to stay. I wouldn’t mind changing my routine to have you around.”

“Routine?” Brandy feigned a scandalized look. “Is that just part of the mystery, or are you about to confess your secret schedule?”

“Honestly, my routine has completely changed for the past week,” he admitted, letting out a laugh. “My sisters should give me an award for good behavior.”

“You? Causing trouble?” Brandy grinned. “I don’t believe it.”

“Not trouble exactly,” he admitted, recalling the annoyed looks every time one of his brothers found one of his new conquests in the house. “Just… fun decisions that made good stories. I loved messing with my sisters a bit.”

Brandy cocked a brow. “So why the sudden reformation?”

Bruce’s fingers traced a small circle on the blanket, avoiding her eyes for a second. “Because… a certain indecisive redhead managed to make me decide to behave.”

“Really?” Brandy nudged Bruce with the heel of her hand. “How do I know you’re not lying to keep me happy?”

“Because I’m usually honest about what I feel. Cuts down on drama.” He met her eyes at last, steady and open.

They exchanged another smile, softer this time, as the lake glittered in the late sun and the world felt a little kinder to them both.

Brandy studied her for a long moment. “And what do you feel right now?”

Bruce drew a deep breath. “In general? Like my life is upside down. My sisters keep me from getting completely lost.”

“And with me?”

Bruce held her gaze. “I like being with you. More than I expected. From the first day I saw you… there was something. Maybe that’s why I offered to help you choose a salad dressing.” He chuckled softly. “Don’t ask me to explain it, because I still can’t. Just know that your company does me good. That’s… new for me. Strange, but good.”

Brandy’s smile warmed. She leaned in and rested her head on Bruce’s shoulder. “You don’t have to explain, Brianna. Let’s just… enjoy the moment. How does that sound?”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, breathing in the faint raspberry scent of Brandy’s hair. “Sounds perfect.”

Birdsong rose and fell with the wind through the trees. Brandy stayed against Bruce’s shoulder, her body settling closer with every passing minute. Bruce didn’t dare move, afraid to shatter the fragile peace.

“Are you always this quiet when you’re comfortable?” Brandy murmured.

A small laugh escaped him. “No. Only when I don’t want to ruin something perfect.”

Brandy turned her face, cheek brushing Bruce’s shoulder. “Do you realize that was almost a movie line?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” he replied with a crooked smile. “But if it gets me points, I’ll take them.”

“Hmm… maybe half a point,” she teased.

They stayed like that until Brandy reached into the basket, pulling out a cookie.

“Dessert?” she asked, breaking it in two.

“With you? Always.”

They ate quietly, crumbs on their fingers, and then Brandy stretched out on the blanket, eyes tracing the clouds. Bruce watched the wind stir her hair, sunlight catching in it.

“Doesn’t it scare you?” he asked softly. “That all this could be too good to be true?”

Brandy was quiet a beat. “Yes. But I’ve learned to hold on to good things while they last. Life doesn’t hand out many pauses.”

Bruce nodded, understanding more than the words themselves.

Brandy rolled onto her side, resting her head on his arm. “What do you want, Brianna?” she whispered.

He blinked. “In the long term?”

“No. Right now.”

He looked down at his hands, then back at her. “Right now… I want this to last. Just a little longer. I want to stay here with you, without the world interrupting.”

Brandy’s smile softened, as if he’d given the only answer she hoped for. “Then stay. Only promise me you won’t fall in love with me this very second.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.

Bruce laughed. “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

Brandy parted her lips as if to reply, then closed them again, her smile turning quiet, tender.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Not even a little.” He finally lay down beside her.

Their fingers brushed, hesitant, then lingered. Neither pulled away.

The sunset spread over them, painting the world gold. Bruce didn’t know how long the spell would hold, or how soon reality would intrude. But as long as Brandy kept smiling at her like that—like the whole world had stopped to be in this moment—nothing else mattered. Not the curse. Not the countdown. Not the uncertainty.

Only Brandy.

Only now.

And the hope it could last just a little longer.

Chapter Text

John approached Floyd’s room and knocked softly. The door opened almost at once, Floyd leaning casually on the frame with a relaxed smile.

“What’s up, JD?” he asked, curious.

“Well, not much.” John shrugged as he stepped in, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was reading this article, and it says women tend to have more strength in their legs than in their arms. Or at least they find it easier to work out that area and—”

“And now you want to hit the gym and test it out?” Floyd cut in, one eyebrow arched, lips tugging into a mocking smile.

John snapped his fingers. “Exactly! Think about it—if what the article says is true and I can’t punch the culprit behind all this”—he raised his fists theatrically—“at least I’ll be able to kick him unconscious.”

Floyd chuckled, shaking his head. “Into thin air, of course… just in case the culprit turns out to be fate.”

“Whatever you say, Floyd Valtren.” John grinned. “The point is—can I trust you to keep an eye on the aggressive spoon-throwing missus and the sensitive missus?”

That did it—Floyd burst out laughing at the nicknames for Branch and Clay. “Go on. Viva’s still with Clay, and I think Branch knocked out—I haven’t heard a single grumble in a while. Besides, Bruce should be back soon.”

“That’s why I love you!” John said, pulling her into a quick, fierce hug before bouncing back toward the hallway.

“Take care, JD!” Floyd called after her.

“The ones who should take care are everyone else—from me!” John shouted dramatically, earning another peal of laughter.

Out on the street, the lightheartedness ebbed. The sky had deepened into a heavy indigo, clouds smudging out the last trace of daylight. John frowned, the unease prickling at her skin.

“The gym’s close, nothing’s going to happen,” he told himself.

Still, she threaded her keys between her fingers, an improvised weapon. She slid her headphones on, the volume low—enough to hear the music but not drown out the world.

A couple of blocks later, a sharp whistle sliced through the quiet. John stopped, shoulders stiffening. Footsteps followed, too quick, too deliberate. She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose in exasperation.

“I know, I know…” he muttered under his breath. “I’m irresistible as a man and apparently as a woman too. But this is the second time this has happened to me! Is it too much to ask for a walk without getting harassed?”

Her jaw tightened as she turned, brow furrowed, to face the man ruining her night.

“Hey, beautiful.” The stranger’s voice was low, oily. He leaned against the lamppost, eyes crawling over her. “Out here all alone at this hour? Brave… or stupid.”

John’s grip on his keys tightened until the metal bit into his palm. “That’s none of your business. Why don’t you do something useful and disappear?”

He chuckled, the sound sharp and joyless, and pushed off the lamppost to close the distance. “Disappear? Nah. Not when the night hands me something this tempting.” His gaze dragged deliberately down her frame before locking on her eyes again. “Bet you’d be even prettier scared.”

John’s stomach twisted, but he locked his jaw. Don’t give him that satisfaction. Keep him at a distance. “Last warning, creep. Back. Off.”

Instead of listening, he tilted his head, smiling wider—too wide. “You’ve got fire. I like that.” He reached out as though to brush her arm.

John’s body screamed with tension, every muscle taut. She shifted a step back, keys biting harder into her fist. If he touches me, I swing. Doesn’t matter if I miss, just make it loud, make it messy. She opened her mouth to snap back—

A low, rolling growl cut through the night.

Her breath caught. The sound was deep enough that it vibrated in her chest.

The man froze mid-step. “What the hell…?” His head whipped left, right, eyes darting. He barked a laugh, but it cracked, trembling at the edges. “Somebody’s mutt, that’s all.”

The growl deepened, closer now, followed by a single sharp bark. Metal screeched as if a fence had been shoved aside.

John felt the hair on her neck rise. Shadows shifted in the bushes—a hulking silhouette, slow, deliberate.

The man’s bravado shattered. “That… that’s no dog,” he whispered, stumbling back.

The figure edged into the lamplight—eyes gleaming yellow, jaws clacking as the growl rattled the silence.

John’s breath caught again. His mind raced: Too big. Too heavy. Am I safer with him… or with that?

“Stay back!” he screeched, flailing his arms as though that would keep it away. When the shadow lunged a step forward, he shrieked—high and panicked—before bolting down the street. His curses scattered into the wind as he tripped, scrambled up, and vanished without looking back.

The growling stopped. Silence. Just John’s thundering heartbeat and the faint rustle of leaves.

Then—padding out of the darkness—came a small, scruffy white puppy with floppy ears. Her tail wagged so hard her whole body wagged with it.

“…What?” John blinked, his mouth falling open. “You? All of that came from you?” 

The puppy tilted her head with a proud little huff, then trotted up and licked John’s hand like a knight claiming victory.

John’s laugh exploded, sharp and half-hysterical at first, then dissolving into pure amusement. She bent down and scooped the pup into her arms.

“You little legend. Scared him half to death, didn’t you? My new hero.”

The pup yipped, then launched into a flurry of face-licks. John burst out laughing, cradling her protectively.

“You know…” she said between laughs, holding the puppy up to meet her eyes, “you just stole Hickory’s job as my official harasser-savior. And honestly? You’re way prettier than that cowboy, too.”

The puppy barked, tail still wagging like a propeller. John pressed her forehead against the pup’s, letting her last bit of tension melt away. With care, she set her back down on the pavement.

“Are you lost, precious?”

Another bark answered her, and for a fleeting second John could’ve sworn the pup shook her head. Smiling despite herself, she crouched lower, running her hands through the messy fur in search of a tag or collar. Nothing. Up close, she noticed twigs caught behind the floppy ears, dirt clinging to her coat.

John’s brows furrowed. “You don’t have a home, do you?” The words came out softer, almost protective. “That won’t do. You’re way too cute to be left on the streets.”

The puppy licked her hand gently, and something in John’s chest melted to liquid warmth.

“My brothers are going to kill me if I show up with a dog,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the pup. Then he chuckled. “But hey, you saved me. They’ll just have to deal with it. Besides, we already adopted one stray—what’s another? You’re definitely more adorable than Ablaze.”

The pup barked sharply, as if agreeing wholeheartedly.

John grinned. “All right, all right. But first—you need a name.” He crouched eye-level with her, tilting his head as if he were interviewing the little creature.

They locked eyes, unblinking. John tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Athena? Nah… too serious. Though you are a warrior. Silver? Pretty, but doesn’t feel right… Rhonda?”

The puppy barked instantly and showered her hand with licks.

John blinked, then laughed in surprise. “Rhonda? Really? You picked it yourself, huh?” His grin widened. “Well then—welcome to the Valtren family, my brave Rhonda.”

She scratched behind her ears until Rhonda melted into her touch, then John stood carefully, still smiling.

“Forget the gym. We’ve got more important business—vet first, family introductions second.” He pulled out his phone, smirking. “And maybe a little fun on the way.”

The pup barked again, as if cheering the idea.

John dialed a number, waiting until the line clicked. “Hello?” Hickory’s voice came through, alert.

“Cowboy, get your boots on,” John said cheerfully. “You’re coming with me for some errands.”

A pause. “What? Why? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Better than fine, actually. I was just rescued by a fierce and beautiful creature… and now I have a daughter.”

“...What?”

“Her name is Rhonda. And she barks.”

On the other end came silence, then a low laugh. “Johanna… you rescued a dog, didn’t you?”

“No,” John corrected proudly. “A dog rescued me. So you’ll show some respect when you meet her. I’m sending you my location. Don’t take too long—or Rhonda and I might find trouble without you.”

She hung up, her sly smile lingering. Looking down, she found Rhonda wagging her tail, eyes bright as if ready for the next adventure.

“Okay, champ,” John murmured, ruffling her ears. “Let’s go steal some more hearts.”

******

Twenty minutes later, a pickup truck rolled to a stop at the curb where John was sitting, Rhonda curled up in her lap like she already owned the block. The puppy lifted her head at the sound of the engine, tail thumping against John’s leg as if announcing the arrival of something important.

Hickory climbed out, hat tilted just so, moving with that easy gait of his — relaxed, but sharp-eyed, like he never stopped scanning his surroundings. The instant his boots hit the pavement, Rhonda barked in delighted recognition.

“So… this is the fierce little beast who saved my mousie,” Hickory drawled, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he closed the distance.

“Meet Rhonda,” John said, scratching under the pup’s chin. “My official hero.”

Hickory crouched down, letting Rhonda sniff his hand. She licked his fingers without hesitation, tail wagging furiously.

“She’s braver than you,” he teased, glancing up.

John arched a brow. “And better company than you.”

Hickory chuckled, low and warm, before reaching into his vest. He pulled out a neatly folded red bandana patterned with little white diamonds.

“Every hero needs a cape,” he said, holding it up with a flourish.

John tilted his head, smiling sideways. “And where exactly did you get that?”

“A cowboy never reveals his secrets,” he said, winking as he carefully tied it around Rhonda’s neck.

The puppy spun in a quick circle, then sat tall as if she understood the gravity of the gift. John laughed softly, her smile refusing to fade.

“Look at her,” Hickory murmured, rubbing Rhonda’s ears. “Already ready to cover for me when I can’t protect our stubborn mousie.”

John crossed his arms, feigning exaggerated pride. “Rhonda, guardian of the night, hunter of fools… and obviously, a fashion icon.”

“And she hasn’t even had her first vet visit,” Hickory said as he stood.

They climbed into the truck. Rhonda immediately clambered back onto John’s lap, planting her little paw possessively on her arm as if claiming her territory. She stuck her nose to the window, surveying her kingdom-in-motion.

“Do your sisters know yet?” Hickory asked while adjusting the wheel.

“Not yet,” John admitted, noticing his phone had died in his pocket. “I was going to break the news with tact. Like sending a picture captioned: ‘We have a new princess. Complaints will be ignored.’”

Hickory gave her a sidelong smile. “Think they’ll accept her?”

John looked at the pup. Rhonda lifted her paw higher, as if punctuating the answer for her.

“How could they not? Even you surrendered in five seconds flat.”

Rhonda barked once in agreement, earning another laugh from Hickory.

The rest of the drive passed in quiet contentment. John stroked the silky fur atop Rhonda’s head, while Hickory drove with that calm, steady smile.

At the vet’s office, the hum of the air conditioner filled the still waiting room. John sat with Rhonda still nestled in her arms, while Hickory flipped absently through a glossy magazine about exotic birds.

Across from them, an elderly lady with a fluffy white cat in a carrier studied them with a kind expression.

“What a precious little puppy,” she said softly. “What’s her name?”

“Rhonda,” John answered, pride lacing his voice. “Today she made her hero debut.”

The lady chuckled, though her cat hissed from inside the carrier, ears flattened in disapproval.

The door opened, and a young veterinarian stepped out, thin-rimmed glasses catching the light, his smock scattered with little bones and hearts.

“Rhonda?”

John rose at once, cradling the puppy against her chest. Rhonda dangled in her arms like a plush toy brought to life, tail wagging proudly. The vet chuckled at the sight.

“Well, looks like someone didn’t come alone. She brought her own fan club,” he said, gesturing them inside.

The check-up was quick but thorough. Rhonda submitted to the weighing, the poking, and even the prick of the vaccine needle with only the softest whimper, her little body pressed close to John’s hand for reassurance. Hickory murmured something low and encouraging from his spot near the counter, as if the pup could understand every word.

“She’s a good weight,” the veterinarian said after finishing his check. “A little dirty, but nothing serious. Healthy, strong.” He brushed a hand down the pup’s back, thoughtful. “Still… it’s surprising. From her condition, I’d guess she’s been on the streets for a while—maybe even born there.” His expression softened as the puppy pressed deeper into John’s arms, as though the world outside no longer mattered. The vet let out a small smile, then glanced at John. “If you’d like, you can leave her here, and I’ll try to find someone interested in adopting her, giving her a proper home.” He hesitated, then added gently, “But honestly? The way she clings to you… I think she’s already decided where she belongs.”

John looked down. The pup shifted in her arms, the red bandana slipping loose as Rhonda nestled against her chest, letting out a long, contented sigh. For a moment, it felt less like John was holding her, and more like Rhonda was anchoring her.

His throat tightened. He stroked between her ears, steadying his voice, though it came out softer than he intended. “Yeah… she has. And I’m not letting her go.”

Chapter Text

They left the vet. John carried Rhonda in her arms, the pup’s new collar with a tag glinting faintly under the streetlight. Hickory, meanwhile, had his hands full with bags crammed with toys, bowls, and food. The cowboy’s truck was waiting, and soon enough they were both inside—John settling with Rhonda in her lap while Hickory started the engine.

The hum of the road filled the silence. John gazed out the window, absently stroking the pup’s ears, until she noticed the turns were unfamiliar. She frowned and glanced sideways. Hickory kept both hands on the wheel, that half-smile tugging at his mouth—serene, unreadable. The kind of smile that always left her guessing.

“Not heading home?” John asked, scratching Rhonda’s neck as the pup yawned and curled tighter against him.

“Not yet,” Hickory said. He flicked her a sidelong look, brief but enough to send a ripple of curiosity through her. “Rhonda deserves a first adventure. And maybe you do too.”

John tilted her head at him, studying the way he leaned so casually against the wheel, the quiet confidence in his voice. She didn’t press for answers. Instead, she shifted in her seat, letting the mystery carry her forward.

The truck rolled to a stop at a wide pier. Picnic tables stood abandoned under the starlight, and beyond them stretched a pale ribbon of sand that melted into the dark sea. The night was hushed, except for the hush of waves and the faint hum of crickets.

Hickory cut the engine. “C’mon.”

As soon as her paws hit the ground, Rhonda bolted ahead, her little bandana fluttering in the sea breeze. She barked with delight when she discovered a stick and pranced in circles with it.

“Don’t go too far, brave girl!” John called after her, laughter softening her voice.

Hickory followed at an easy pace, hands buried in his pockets, eyes lingering on John more often than the puppy. There was amusement in his gaze, yes—but also something warmer, quieter.

“She’s got all those toys you bought her,” he chuckled, “and what does she pick? A stick.”

John arched a brow, lips curving. “She likes the wild things. Like her mother.”

The cowboy’s smile deepened. With a low whistle, he crouched, and Rhonda came bounding to him. Soon, the two of them were locked in a simple game: Hickory throwing the stick, the puppy bringing it back, her tail wagging furiously every time.

John dropped into the sand, hugging her knees to her chest, watching them. For a fleeting moment, the sight tugged at something unguarded in her—like watching a picture of a family she hadn’t realized she wanted.

Without missing a beat in the game, Hickory lowered himself beside her, brushing the grains of sand from his palms. His tone shifted, gentler, carrying weight. “So… what happened, really?”

John’s smile faltered. “I was on my way to the gym. Some jerk wouldn’t leave me alone. Then Rhonda just… showed up. Scared him to death. Protected me.”

Hickory’s jaw tightened, though his gaze stayed on the puppy. “At least now you’ve got backup when I’m not there. That eases my mind some.”

“I can take care of myself.” John didn’t bristle, just spoke it quietly, like a truth he needed to be heard.

“I know,” Hickory said at once, his voice steady. Then softer: “But it helps knowing she’ll be looking out for you too.”

Rhonda, worn out from the chase, plopped against Hickory’s legs with a sigh. He reached down automatically, rubbing behind her ears, tenderness flowing through the gesture as naturally as breath. The puppy yipped once, then wriggled stubbornly until she wedged herself right between them.

John burst out laughing, and Hickory joined in, their shoulders brushing as the pup nestled happily in the space she had claimed. For a heartbeat, the three of them stayed like that—warm, close, and easy—as though the night itself had conspired to draw them together.

“I’m curious,” Hickory said, still smiling as Rhonda wriggled into the space between them. “How’s everyone at your house going to react? Unless you’ve already sent pictures?”

“No.” John shook his head. “My phone died before I could. But I can already guess—Brianna and Flo will melt the second they see her. Branch and Clara… they’ll probably put on that ‘we don’t need more chaos’ face. But Rhonda won’t give them much choice.”

Hickory’s brows lifted mischievously. “And Ablaze and Boom?”

John let out a small laugh. “Ablaze is basically our stray dog, so yeah, he’ll definitely be jealous. Boom will adore her. But they're both off on a mini tour, promoting a new single of theirs that they are planning to release soon. So, Rhonda will have to wait to meet them.”

“Right. The famous ones.” Hickory’s smile tilted, teasing. “How—”

“How is it that they still get along with mere mortals like us?” John cut in, one eyebrow arched, lips quirking. “I’ve known them since they were in diapers. They’re Branch’s best friends. And honestly, if it weren't for them, my sisters and I could be strangers today.”

Hickory didn’t jump in with a question. He just watched her, quiet, leaving the space open. John felt the weight of that silence, felt Hickory’s eyes on her, and for a moment, she hesitated. How much could I really give this cowboy? How much of myself is safe to share?

She chose a half-truth. Enough to open a window without tearing down the walls.

“Years ago, my sisters and I tried to form a band. I was a teenager, but I insisted on managing everything myself. At first, it worked. Then… I forgot how to be their sister. I pushed too hard. Demanded too much. At Branch’s first big concert, it all blew apart. We fought, said terrible things, and split. Branch stayed with our grandmother.” He paused, looking out at the waves, letting the sound fill the cracks. “When Kismet realized we weren’t going to fix it on our own, they stepped in—with Grandma’s help. They dragged us back together. Made us sit down, talk. That night we cried until our throats hurt. But it saved us.”

Her mouth softened into a nostalgic smile. She left out the rest—the new manager, how close BroZone had come to unraveling completely.

“Kismet was always close to Branch, but after that, they became… family. Adoptive brothers, really. Except for Boom and Floyd, of course. Those two—” he laughed “—they’re their own case. Love at first sight, turned into friendship, and now we’re all just waiting for them to admit it’s more.”

Her laughter carried lightly, and Hickory found himself smiling just watching her. Without thinking, he reached out, placing his arm around her shoulders. John didn’t resist. She let herself ease against his shoulder. Between them, Rhonda breathed softly, the perfect little bridge.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The stars blinked above, as if conspiring to guard a moment too fragile for words.

Then Rhonda popped up suddenly and barked, tail thumping the sand.

“You want to play, little one?” John asked with a fond laugh.

The puppy wagged furiously, clearly demanding. Hickory chuckled and stood, brushing sand from his jeans. He held out his hand to John.

“Come on. Before Rhonda takes charge of the rest of our night.”

John slipped her hand into his. Their fingers lingered, held just a second longer than needed. She met his eyes as she stood, the smile tugging at her lips betraying more than she meant to. And then, without another word, they were running after Rhonda—two shadows chasing laughter under the stars.

The salty sea air wrapped around them as Rhonda dashed across the sand, tail high, a stick clenched proudly in her jaws.

Hickory was the first to throw, the stick flying in a clean arc.

“Not bad,” John remarked, folding his arms. “For someone who throws like a grandma.”

“Oh yeah?” Hickory shot her a lopsided smile and held out the stick. “Then show me how it’s done, mousie.”

John took it with mock solemnity, rolling her shoulders like an athlete about to compete. With an exaggerated grunt, she hurled the stick as far as she could. It landed just a few meters beyond Hickory’s throw.

“Aha. What were you saying?” John teased, chin tilted proudly.

“Beginner’s luck,” Hickory muttered, though a laugh betrayed him as Rhonda bolted after the stick like a streak of white.

They kept playing, laughter bouncing between them, the competition quickly shifting from distance to speed. Before long, they were racing the puppy herself.

“First one to the next stick wins!” John shouted, taking off without warning.

“That’s cheating!” Hickory laughed, sprinting after her.

Their feet sank into damp sand, wind whipping their hair, Rhonda zigzagging gleefully between them. In her excitement, the puppy cut across John’s path just as she surged forward.

“Rhonda, no!” he cried, stumbling.

Hickory caught her mid-fall, but momentum dragged them both down in a tangle, rolling onto the sand.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled—the crash of waves, their ragged breathing, the puppy trotting back proudly with the stick. John’s gaze locked with Hickory’s. Their faces hovered inches apart, breaths mingling, grains of sand clinging to her cheek.

“Nice catch, cowboy,” he murmured, his palm resting against Hickory’s chest.

She could feel the steady hammer of his heart beneath her fingers.

“I’ve had practice handling wild creatures,” Hickory replied, his smile softer now, less teasing and more—something else.

John's brow arched faintly. “You calling me wild?”

“Wild,” he echoed quietly, his voice low. “And impossible to resist.”

The words hung between them. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to the space they shared—the warmth of his breath, the way his eyes searched hers. John didn’t move. Neither did he. It would be so easy, so natural, to close the distance.

Rhonda yipped then, dropping the stick proudly at their side. The spell broke with a laugh from both of them, the sound a little breathless, a little unsteady.

John sat up slowly, brushing sand from his arms, though his smile lingered. “You owe me a rematch. And this time, no sabotage from Rhonda.”

Hickory rose with her, his grin crooked but his eyes still carrying the echo of the moment. “Deal. But next time, if you fall, I’m not letting go so fast.”

She shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to disguise the warmth creeping up her neck.

Rhonda barked, wagging furiously, urging them back into the game.

“On three,” Hickory said, winding up the throw. “And try not to fall helplessly into my arms this time.”

John's eyes met Hickory's, a spark of interest evident. “Don’t get your hopes up, cowboy.”

And the game resumed—laughter, barks, and a charge in the air neither of them could quite shake.

******************************

Bruce paced tight circles in the living room, her restless energy making the silence unbearable. Branch and Clay sat with untouched mugs in hand, sipping as if the ritual could pass for calm. Floyd, meanwhile, couldn’t stop worrying at her fingers, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“Would you stop pacing!?” Clay burst out, finally breaking. “You’re not just making me dizzy—you’re making me more nervous.”

Bruce threw his hands up. “And I think the fact that JD left hours ago and still isn’t back is reason enough for us to be nervous.”

“It’s John,” Branch corrected, his voice steadier than he felt. “He’s always been an explorer. We shouldn’t—” he hesitated, then forced the word, “—worry. Not yet.”

Bruce gave her a look. “Maybe. But you’re forgetting one small, major detail: our brother is in the body of a girl. That makes him a target. Vulnerable.”

Floyd’s voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have let him go out alone. But he was so excited about that article...”

Clay immediately set his mug aside and drew her into his arms, murmuring, “Hey, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped him.”

The argument fizzled into a tense quiet, broken only by the sound of Bruce’s pacing. Then—

Click. The rattle of a key in the lock froze them all.

Every head snapped toward the door. It creaked open, and there stood John Dory, arms weighed down with shopping bags.

Floyd shot forward before anyone else could move, nearly knocking the bags from her arms as she hugged her tight.

John laughed, startled. “I missed you too!”

Relief hit Branch like a wave, but he masked it by crossing his arms. “Where were you?”

“What?” John blinked at her.

Bruce stepped in before she could answer, anger spilling out in place of fear. “Do you have any idea what time it is?! You told Floyd you were going to the gym. When I got back from my date and you weren’t home, I checked the place myself—you weren’t there! You had us all losing our damn minds!”

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Clay pressed.

“The battery died,” John admitted, gaze dropping. “Sorry for worrying you… Nothing bad happened. We were with Hickory the whole time.”

“With Hickory?” Floyd echoed, pulling back from the hug just enough to flash a mischievous grin. “Ohhh, wait until Boom hears about this—”

“Hold it.” Branch cut in, narrowing his eyes. “Why did you say ‘we’?”

John’s mouth twitched as she set the bags down carefully by the door, clearly fighting back a grin.

“Okay, yes… I planned to hit the gym, but… things happened. I asked Hickory for help before my phone died. I figured you were all busy—”

“Help? What happened? Were you hurt?” Bruce demanded, stepping closer and scanning John like she’d walked through a battlefield.

John laughed and pushed her hands away. “No, relax. I’m fine.”

“You’re still dodging the ‘we’ part, John Dory Valtren,” Branch pressed, arms folded, suspicion sharp in his voice.

“So impatient,” John teased, throwing them a look that was half-amused, half-resigned. “Alright. I’ll spill—mainly because I don’t want Hickory and company waiting in the car all night.”

She straightened, savoring the moment, then spread her arms like a magician about to reveal her final trick.

“Congratulations,” he announced, grin wide. “You’re uncles!”

“Uncles?” Clay echoed, completely lost.

“To a beautiful, brave girl,” John said warmly, his voice brimming with pride.

Floyd blinked hard, then let out a strangled noise of frustration. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. It took Boom months to kiss me half-asleep, and that damn cowboy—” He threw his hands up. “—already got you pregnant?!”

“Pregnant?!” Bruce’s face drained of color. “Wait—can we even get pregnant like this?”

“Considering we’re in female bodies… technically, yes,” Clay muttered, deadpan.

Branch groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have never been so grateful to be temporarily lesbian.”

John threw his hands up. “What?! No! No one’s pregnant!” He pointed toward the door, exasperated. “It’ll be a lot easier if I just introduce you to my daughter.” He leaned out into the night and called, “Hickory! You can bring Rhonda in now!”

A moment later, the redhead appeared in the doorway, cradling a white golden retriever puppy with a red bandana tied neatly around her neck, and a collar with a tag was also present. The instant Rhonda spotted the crowded room, her tail wagged furiously, and she wriggled in Hickory’s arms until he had no choice but to set her down.

Like a furry rocket, Rhonda darted across the room and launched herself at Floyd, tackling her to the ground with excited yips and frantic licks.

“Who’s the most beautiful creature in the world?! Who? Who? You, you, you!” Floyd squealed between helpless laughter as Rhonda covered her face in kisses.

“And she’s down,” John announced with a triumphant grin, folding his arms. “Faster than Boom ever managed.”

Hickory chuckled low from the doorway, enjoying the show.

But Rhonda wasn’t done. She bounded off Floyd and made a beeline for Bruce, stopping to sit primly in front of her with a wagging tail and one paw raised as if introducing herself.

Bruce arched a brow… then sighed and crouched, scratching behind Rhonda’s ears. “...You’re ridiculously adorable,” he murmured, trying not to smile as the pup snuggled against his leg.

John arched his brows, clearly entertained. “So… do you like the idea of being an aunt?”

Bruce shot her a sharp look. “Don’t you dare think this gets you off the hook. What if something had happened? What if you hadn’t come back? What if someone—”

“I’m fine,” John cut in gently, stepping closer to rest a warm hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I scared you. The battery died, I lost track of time… but I’m here. Safe.” His smile grew as he gestured toward the puppy now curled against Bruce’s knee. “Besides, I had backup. My new bodyguard’s braver than she looks—and she’s already proved that she won’t let anything bad happen to me.”

Rhonda barked once as if in agreement, her tail thumping like a drum against the floor.

Chapter Text

Branch and Clay were sitting on the sofa, arms crossed like disapproving parents.

“Very cute,” Branch declared with mock-seriousness, though his eyes kept darting — not subtly — toward Rhonda tumbling around with Floyd. “But pets were not in the cohabitation agreement.”

“Exactly,” Clay chimed in. “A puppy in this house would be chaos. We already have enough problems.”

Branch let out a sharp snort, hastily disguising it as a cough. As if she had been listening for her cue, Rhonda tripped over her paws and wobbled straight toward Branch. She plopped down at her feet, ears drooping, tongue lolling, eyes shining with that devastating, unmistakable puppy plea.

Branch’s frown deepened. “You’re not going to manipulate me with cuteness.”

Rhonda tilted her head.

Branch inhaled through her nose, steady… steady… then, almost against her will, decided to sit on the floor. That was all the invitation Rhonda needed — she bounded forward with a sharp bark and launched into licks.

“No! Don’t kiss me—ugh! No—agh, she licked my neck!” Branch half-laughed, half-protested, squirming away with a mixture of horror and helpless giggles.

Clay watched the chaos unfold with stone-faced silence. Until Rhonda pivoted and toddled toward her. The puppy stood on her two paws next to Clay and gave a gentle tap on her knee, staring up at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

“…I am not going to get fond of you,” Clay muttered under his breath, almost as if convincing herself.

Rhonda responded by resting her entire head on Clay’s leg, sighing contentedly.

One beat.

Two.

Clay’s shoulders sagged. With a long exhale, he caved, slipping a cautious hand down to stroke her fur. “This is not me getting attached,” he said flatly, though his fingers never stopped moving.

“And down go the last defenses,” John announced from the doorway, grinning broadly.

“I never said I didn’t like dogs,” Clay argued, still petting. Rhonda was already half-asleep in his lap, the very picture of smug victory. “Although… I suppose we can add her to the chaos.”

Leaning against the doorway, Hickory chuckled low in his chest. “Your family is wonderful.”

“And utterly chaotic,” John agreed, folding his arms with a satisfied smile.

On the floor, Floyd was still cooing in a whisper, calling Rhonda “my furry niece” and suggesting she needed a tiara.

Branch, still toweling off her face, muttered under her breath about “unhygienic displays of affection.” Meanwhile, Bruce had already pulled out her phone and was snapping photos like a paparazzi on assignment.

“Does anyone else want to deny this is the best thing that’s happened to us all week?” John asked, triumphant.

No one answered.

Rhonda snored.

And the whole room dissolved into laughter.

******************************

A few days had passed. Poppy and Branch were curled up side by side on the bed, cushions piled around them, a light blanket draped over their legs. Morning light filtered through the window, soft and golden. Poppy was scrolling quickly through her phone, narrating half to herself, while Branch just watched her — arms loosely crossed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

“Thanks for coming,” Branch murmured at last, breaking the quiet.

Poppy tilted her head slightly but didn’t look up from the screen. “Why are you thanking me?”

Branch hesitated, then shrugged with a small laugh. “I don’t know… it just feels good having you here.”

This time Poppy glanced at her, eyes bright, before returning to her search. “Well, then I’ll keep showing up. No problem.” A teasing grin touched her mouth, but her tone was sincere.

Branch’s smile deepened.

“By the way…” he started carefully, “sorry for not wanting to see you a few days ago. I—”

“Hey,” Poppy interrupted softly, still scrolling but her free hand tugged the blanket a little closer over Branch’s legs. “Don’t apologize. I know what those days are like. Sometimes they just… take over.”

Branch exhaled, relief flickering across her face. She nodded.

“Did the tea Viva made help?” Poppy asked.

“Yes,” Branch said, chuckling. “So much that Clara and I passed out right after drinking it. It was like someone flipped our ‘off’ switch.”

Poppy laughed. “That’s exactly what happens with that tea. Viva made it for cramps — you crash for a while, but you wake up brand new. Almost magical.”

“Mm, definitely magical,” Branch admitted, settling deeper against the cushions.

Just then Poppy gasped, sitting straighter. “Found it!” She shoved the phone toward Branch, eyes shining. “You have to see this — Kismet’s latest interview!”

Branch slipped on the headphones, the blanket shifting as their shoulders pressed closer. The screen lit up with familiar faces: the guys laughing, trading jokes, talking about their new song “Soda Pop” and when they were planning to release the whole music video.

Branch tried not to mouth along with every answer she already knew by heart. Instead, she just let herself smile, stealing glances at Poppy’s excitement out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s a shame Branch isn’t in it,” Poppy said, eyes still on the phone. “I would’ve loved to see him too.”

Branch blinked, stealing a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yes. He has this… special energy. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you listen. With BroZone on break, I thought maybe he’d join Kismet for a bit. I miss him.”

Branch shifted slightly, forcing a neutral tone. “Well… he’s BroZone, really. With Kismet he’s more of a special guest than a member.”

“I know.” Poppy sighed. “It’s just… I’d love to see something new. His smile alone makes my day. It’s like he speaks without saying anything.”

Branch stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the screen, though her jaw tightened.

“And his voice…” Poppy went on softly, almost dreamily. “I’ve been listening to it a lot lately. It makes me feel like everything’s in its place.”

“That’s… nice,” Branch muttered, sharper than he meant. Clearing his throat, he added, “I mean—good for him, that his voice can do that.”

Poppy finally looked at her. “Does it bother you when I talk about him?”

“No,” Branch blurted, too fast. “It’s just—people idealize him too much.”

“Idealize?”

“Yeah. They forget he’s human too. Bad moods, insecurities… sometimes he just shuts the world out.”

Poppy tilted her head, surprised. “You really do know him.”

Branch hesitated, then said quietly, “We’ve been through similar things. It’s easy to recognize the same cracks in someone else.”

Poppy’s smile this time was soft but tinged with melancholy. “Maybe that’s why I like him. Even when he feels broken, his music never sounds defeated. It sounds… alive.”

A silence followed — not uncomfortable, but charged. The video had long since ended, but neither moved.

Without a word, Poppy let her head rest on Branch’s shoulder, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Branch froze, heart hammering, until Poppy murmured, almost teasing:

“Are you sure you’re not a little jealous?”

Branch’s lips curved faintly. “Jealous of Branch? Because people admire him?”

“No.” Poppy tilted her face up, her smile mischievous. “Jealous that I admire him.”

Branch turned toward her, just close enough that a breath bridged the gap. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“A little bit?” Poppy pressed, eyes sparkling.

Branch exhaled through his nose, amused. “Maybe it just annoys me you waste so many compliments on him… when someone just as talented is sitting right here.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” Branch’s gaze lingered. “Or are you not going to compliment me too?”

Poppy laughed softly, her cheek brushing Branch's shoulder. “You want me to say you’ve got a smile that lights me up… and a voice that calms me down?”

“Yes,” Branch whispered, eyes lowering with a smirk. “Say it.”

Poppy tilted her head, playful but tender. “Earn it.”

Branch raised a brow. “And how do I do that?”

“Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

Branch’s lips curved, the fight gone from his posture. “That… I can do.”

They sank deeper into the cushions, not touching more than necessary, but closer all the same. The air between them was heavy with words unsaid, warm with possibility. Outside, the day carried on — but in that room, time itself seemed to pause.

Just the way they wanted it.

***************************

The guys shuffled down the carpeted hallway toward their presidential suite, moving like zombies after the long day.

“Hear that? That’s the bed calling my name,” Boom mumbled, eyes half-shut.

Ablaze caught him by the shoulders before he collided with the wall. “Easy there, sleeping beauty. Floyd would kill me if you dented yourself.”

Trickee snorted. “Please. Knowing him, he’d bill us for repairs like Boom was brand new.”

“Hey!” Boom protested, still trudging forward. “I’m way easier to deal with than Hype.”

“I’ll let that slide,” Hype yawned dramatically, “only because I’m about to collapse.”

“This whole tour’s happening because of you!” Boom groaned, dragging his feet louder for emphasis. “You don’t get to complain.”

“Don’t get dramatic just because I cut into your honeymoon,” Hype shot back, flashing a grin. “You’ll see your not-boyfriend soon enough.”

Trickee threw his arms up. “When are you finally going to tell Floyd how you feel? Spare us this slow-burn torture! Neither of you says anything and it’s killing me!”

Boom turned red, hand shooting to his neck as if he could rub away the memory of that too-brief, accidental kiss. “…Soon,” he muttered.

Hype puffed out his cheeks. “Ugh. Speaking of missing people—why didn’t Branch come with us?”

“Because he’s on break with BroZone,” Ablaze said quickly.

“So? He’s on break with them, not with us.”

“People are allowed to rest, Hype!” Boom snapped, stumbling but refusing to stop. “Not our fault you don’t understand the concept.”

Ablaze shrugged. “Besides, his stomach’s been a mess. Better he stays home and recovers.”

Hype arched his brows in mock innocence. “You’re not still mad I leaked the music video sneak peek, are you?”

“Yes!” Boom and Ablaze barked at the same time.

Trickee narrowed his eyes. “Okay, but what exactly happened at the guys’ place that makes you two so cagey?”

Boom and Ablaze traded a too-quick glance. “Nothing,” they chorused.

“I just… liked the peace and quiet,” Ablaze offered stiffly.

“And I liked seeing Floyd without cameras in our faces,” Boom added, shrugging like it was no big deal.

Hype pulled out his phone, stretching lazily. “We should call them. Check in.”

“No!” Boom and Ablaze almost tripped over each other spinning around.

“They said their throats were sore this morning,” Ablaze added in a grave tone. “Best to let them rest.”

“Yeah,” Boom nodded solemnly. “Full rest. Vocal. Emotional. Spiritual.”

Trickee slowed, one brow arched, watching them both quicken their pace toward their suite. “Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Neither of them answered.

Trickee followed in silence, a sly look on his face that said more than words: This isn’t over.

Once they had all collapsed, exhausted among the pillows and blankets, Trickee stayed awake, eyes glinting in the dim light. Branch often kept late hours, and though the clock hadn’t struck midnight yet, it felt like the perfect time to make his move.

He slipped out of the room he shared with Hype, careful not to disturb the steady breathing from the other bed. The carpet muffled his steps as he crossed into the hallway, Boom and Ablaze’s door just a few paces away.

He tried Branch first.

Voicemail.

Then the rest of the Valtren brothers.

Nothing.

Trickee’s brow furrowed. He padded to Boom and Ablaze’s room, cracking the door open just enough to slip inside. Ablaze's phone glowed faintly on the bed, still in his hand, his chest rising and falling in deep, oblivious sleep.

Trickee crouched low, every movement deliberate. With the precision of a thief, he slid the phone from Ablaze’s loose grip. For a tense second, Ablaze stirred, muttering something half-asleep. Trickee froze, heart in his throat, then grinned when the snoring resumed.

Slipping back into the hall, he dialed Branch’s contact from Ablaze’s phone. If it went to voicemail, fine. But if not…

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times—

Just as he was about to hang up, someone answered.

“To be calling at this hour, it had better be important,” said a female voice, sharp but weary.

Trickee blinked, pulling the phone away to double-check. Branch’s number. No mistake.

“Ablaze? Are you there?” the woman asked again, softer now, almost familiar. She sighed. “That idiot must have dialed by accident.”

The line went dead.

Trickee stood frozen in the suite hallway, the phone still pressed to his ear, his thoughts colliding all at once.

A woman had answered Branch’s phone.

At night.

Casual. Familiar.

And she knew Ablaze.

His shock slowly unraveled into a grin.

“Branch has a girlfriend,” he whispered to himself, triumphant. “That explains everything.”

The theory locked into place, neat and perfect. And if Boom and Ablaze already knew, but he and Hype didn’t… well, that wasn’t just news. That was betrayal.

“How long have they been hiding it? Who is she? Why the secrets? And why didn’t they tell me?”

Too many questions. Only one mission: find out everything.

He slipped back into Boom and Ablaze’s room, returned the phone to its rightful place with a flourish, and padded back toward his own. Once under his blankets, he lit up his own screen.

He opened his chat with Hype, fingers flying:

I have high-importance information/theories. We talk tomorrow. Don’t die. 🦊

Trickee set the phone down, smirk tugging at his lips as he settled under the sheets.

The game had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Viva let out a laugh that mixed curiosity with bubbling excitement as Clay guided her forward, her palms gently covering Viva's eyes.

“Where are we going?” she asked for the second time, her grin widening even though she couldn’t see a thing.

“I promise you’re going to love it. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” she answered without hesitation.

“Then just keep walking. I won’t let anything happen to you,” Clay assured her in a protective tone. After a beat, he added with a crooked smile she couldn’t see, “Well… at least until I take my hands away. Once your energy takes over, I’ll do my best to protect you—but something tells me you won’t make it easy.”

Viva burst out laughing. “You’ve got that right.”

Carefully, she guided Viva up a few steps, her every movement cautious to keep her from stumbling. Viva felt how steady and patient Clay was, and for a moment, her heart beat a little faster. Finally, Clay removed her hands.

Viva blinked as her eyes adjusted, then widened with delight. “Wait… are we—?”

Clay scratched the back of his neck, smiling nervously. “At a dance class. Latin rhythms. I thought… maybe we could try it together. I know I’m more of a reader than a dancer, but I remember you saying you love it, so… here we are.”

Her face lit up as though she had just handed her a wrapped present. “Oh my God, Clara! This is perfect!” She threw her arms around her, squeezing tightly.

Clay chuckled, holding her close. “I’m glad you like the surprise.”

“Like it? I love it!” Viva declared, giving her an even tighter squeeze before pulling back, eyes sparkling. “Hope you’re ready, because we’re about to own the dance floor.”

The music kicked in with an infectious salsa rhythm. The instructor, a lively woman with a Caribbean accent, clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.

“Welcome, everyone! Today we’ll start with the basics. Loosen up, smile… and don’t be shy about moving those hips!”

Viva arched a playful eyebrow at Clay. “Move my hips? Please, I was born for this.”

Clay gave a sheepish grin, lowering his gaze for just a second before meeting her eyes again. “I believe you. But let’s take it step by step, okay? I’d hate to see you spin yourself straight into a wall.”

“No promises,” she laughed, slipping into place beside him, her grin daring Clay to keep up.

The class began. One, two, back, forward. Clay moved with quiet confidence, her steps fluid, her posture elegant—like the rhythm had always lived inside her. Beside her, Viva was more like a tropical storm: dazzling, energetic… and just a little chaotic.

“Oops!” she blurted after spinning the wrong way and ending up face-to-face with a stranger instead of Clay.

“I’m over here,” Clay said, fighting back a laugh as he reached for Viva’s hand and steered her back into place.

“Thank you. At this rate, I’m going to graduate with two skills: dancing… and apologizing in five different languages.”

“You’re doing better than you think,” Clay encouraged, his voice steady but warm. “You just need to stop fighting the rhythm… and listen to it.”

“What if I just listen to yours instead?” Viva winked, wobbling on the next step.

Clay’s hand shot out to steady Viva by the waist, her cheeks warming at the unexpected closeness. Words failed her, and that silence spoke louder than anything.

“Stay close,” Viva teased, leaning just slightly toward her. “Just in case I ‘trip’ again.”

They both laughed, and the class carried on with turns, light corrections from Clay, and a Viva who never stopped smiling—even when her steps tangled.

By the time the instructor called for a water break, Viva collapsed into a chair with theatrical flair.

“How do you make it look so easy? Do you have springs hidden in your ankles?”

“Years of practice,” Clay replied, handing her a bottle of water.

Viva took it, her grin never fading. “I didn’t know you were such a good dancer… or that you could be so bossy.”

“Only when I care about someone getting it right,” Clay retorted softly, nudging her shoulder in return.

Viva leaned back, eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, if you’re serious about teaching me, you’d better get used to more classes. Because I love this… even if my feet are staging a rebellion.”

“I accept the challenge,” Clay said, smiling. “As long as you don’t lose that eagerness and energy, everything else can be polished.”

“And do you get polished too,” Viva shot back, “or did you come perfect straight from the factory?”

Clay let out a laugh, ducking his head for just a second. “I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The instructor clapped her hands enthusiastically, breaking into their conversation. “Very good, ladies! Now we’ll work in pairs. One will lead, the other will follow. Ready?”

Viva turned to Clay with a raised brow, her grin mischievous. “Well, Clara… ready to be my spiritual guide and dance master?”

Clay gave a small, nervous smile. “I… guess I could try.”

“Try? Please. You’re like a goddess of rhythm. I’m the one who should be wearing a helmet.”

“You’re not that bad,” Clay said, rubbing his palms together as if shaking out nerves. “You just need to trust.”

“I trust you more than I trust my own feet,” Viva replied, patting her shoulder before slipping her hand into Clay’s without warning. “Come on, teacher.”

Clay swallowed and carefully positioned them: one hand on Viva’s waist, the other threading gently with hers. She left a bit of space at first, uncertain, but Viva leaned closer on her own—her smile daring Clay to pull away.

“Is this okay?” Viva teased softly.

“Yes,” Clay murmured, almost too quietly, before forcing his focus back to the steps.

The music started. Clay led with quiet confidence, her movements firm but careful, while Viva stumbled through the rhythm, laughing at herself with every misstep. She spun late, tripped once, but never lost her grin.

“This is harder than it looks,” Viva admitted between chuckles. “But at least I’ve got a professional guide… who, by the way, smells amazing and saves me from falling on my face.”

Clay laughed under his breath, unsure if he should thank her or vanish into the floor. “You have a good attitude. That helps more than perfect steps.”

Viva’s eyes softened, even as her lips curved playfully. “And what if I told you that attitude is because you’re here? Does that help too?”

Clay’s blush gave him away before his words did. “Maybe,” he whispered.

“Then brace yourself,” Viva said, voice low but teasing. “Because when I like something… I tend to be persistent.”

Clay didn’t answer, but the shy smile tugging at her lips said everything.

When the song ended, their hands lingered for a beat too long before they slowly separated.

“That was beautiful!” the instructor exclaimed, clapping her hands. “You look like you’ve been dancing together your whole lives!”

Viva threw her arms wide with exaggerated flair. “Did you hear that, Clara? She says we have chemistry! Maybe we should take her advice.”

Clay ducked her head, pretending to fuss with a nonexistent shoelace, but the crimson spreading across her cheeks betrayed her completely.

******

Later, as they stepped out of the studio and strolled down the sidewalk, Viva released a satisfied sigh. “I had way too much fun today… thank you.”

Clay let out a soft laugh, his gaze flicking to Viva before darting away. “I just wanted to do something that would make you smile.”

“Mission more than accomplished,” Viva replied, her eyes glittering with mischief. “But fair warning… now you’ve got me curious about what you’ll come up with for our next date.”

Clay’s lips curved into a shy smile, but she looked down instead of answering. Viva, amused, shot her a sideways glance.

“Ooh… you’re thinking too hard. You know what they say: silence speaks—”

“—dances better!” Clay blurted, almost instinctively.

Viva burst out laughing. “Touché, Clara. Touché.”

They walked on, the silence that followed comfortable, their footsteps in sync. Then Viva’s grin returned.

“This makes me wonder what Kismet’s choreography for the festival will be like. The song Soda Pop is so catchy from what they teased. I bet the dance will be just as addictive. Poppy already snagged tickets, of course.” She chuckled. “Think BroZone will surprise us with something new too?”

Clay hesitated, a flicker of worry tugging at her expression. With everything about the curse and… the female chaos at home, we haven’t even settled on anything. And what if we’re not even back in our own bodies by then? She forced a calm smile.

“I guess we’ll have to wait until the festival to find out.”

Viva nodded eagerly. “You’re right. Hey, Clara… would you and Branch like to go with me and Poppy? We could get seats together, same section.”

Clay blinked in surprise. How am I supposed to answer that?

“Ah… thanks, Viva, but the Kismet guys already reserved spots for us before the festival was even announced.”

“Hmm, yes… that sounds like Ablaze.” Viva smirked knowingly. “He wouldn’t let Branch sit just anywhere. Special section for his special girl, right?”

“Exactly!” Clay answered quickly, though he wasn’t entirely sure what Viva meant by special girl. Still, he smiled. “But I could talk to them. Maybe we can make room for you two.”

“That would be fantastic! But if not, don’t worry. Just knowing you’ll be nearby is enough. It’s just… everything feels more fun when you’re around.”

Clay felt heat creep into his cheeks, but this time he didn’t look away. “Thank you, Viva. I… had an incredible time today too.”

They stopped in front of Viva’s house. Before opening the door, Viva turned with a softer smile—no teasing this time.

“Then let’s make it happen again. Soon.”

Clay nodded, his voice quiet but steady. “Yes. I’d love that.”

Viva stepped inside, giving a playful wink as she pulled the door. “See you soon, dance teacher.”

“See you soon… earthquake,” Clay replied before he could stop himself.

Viva’s laugh rang out from behind the door. “See? You do know how to let loose!”

The door closed, leaving Clay on the sidewalk, her heart pounding faster than the salsa beat they’d just danced to.

******************************

“Rhonda, stop looking at me like that! You can’t have chocolate—it’s deadly for you. And those pretty little eyes aren’t going to convince me to share mine,” John scolded, clutching his candy bar like a lifeline.

Rhonda tilted her head and widened her eyes even more, doubling her cuteness attack.

“Stop it!” John exclaimed, pouting. “You have a meat snack right there! Eat that!”

“John Dory Valtren!” a voice thundered from the kitchen. “Did you eat my cake?!”

Floyd marched in, hands on hips, one eyebrow dangerously arched.

John puffed up dramatically. “What are you talking about? Your slice of red velvet? Of course not! Why accuse me? There are plenty of suspects in this house. Honestly, I’m offended you’d point the finger so fast.”

Floyd’s eyes narrowed. “First of all… I never said it was red velvet. And second—” he jabbed a finger at John, “—you still have red frosting all over your hands.”

John slowly looked down. Her eyes widened at the damning evidence.

“Uh… I… I can explain. Rhonda! Yes, Rhonda saw the cake and pounced on it. My fingers got stained while rescuing it from her destructive paws.” He puffed his chest with heroic air. “Technically, I was a savior. By the way, are there more of these chocolate bars? They’re really good.”

Bruce descended the stairs with Branch, both having listened in silence—until Bruce spoke up.

“Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You ate Floyd’s slice, you’re finishing a chocolate bar, and now you want more?”

“I already said Rhonda knocked it down and I cleaned the mess!” John insisted, indignant.

“The slice was in the refrigerator!” Floyd snapped.

“So what?” John shot back.

Branch crossed his arms. “So unless Rhonda’s learned to open the fridge—or you gave her a bath—it’s obvious you ate it. You’re the only one with frosting fingers, JD.”

John sighed dramatically. “Okay, yes! It was me. I’m sorry. I’ll buy you another slice. It’s not a big deal.”

Bruce eyed her suspiciously. “And you’re really going to eat another chocolate bar?”

John arched a brow. “What? You counting my calories now?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I’ve had my fill of that nonsense. The last thing I need is to see you in the hospital with an eating disorder.”

Floyd frowned thoughtfully. “Although… maybe we should all see a therapist once we’re back in our original bodies.”

“I think what Bruce means,” Branch cut in, “is that you don’t even like sweets, John. After me and Clay, you’re the third biggest sugar-avoider in the house. So yeah—it’s weird to see you suddenly craving chocolate like it’s oxygen.”

John shrugged. “Fair point. But I don’t know… lately I’ve just had cravings. Can I please have one more piece of chocolate?”

At that moment, Clay stepped through the door. She didn’t hesitate—she plucked the candy bar right out of John’s hand.

“No. No more sweets.”

John pouted. “Why not?”

“Because we need to rehearse, and I don’t want to hear you whining about a stomach ache. So, no sweets.”

“Rehearse?” Bruce asked, curious.

“Yes, rehearse,” Clay said firmly. “We still haven’t uncovered new clues about the curse, and we don’t know when we’ll be back in our bodies. But one thing is certain: in two and a half weeks, we’re performing at the festival. We need a song, a choreography, and we need to surprise people the way Kismet will.”

John raised her hand like a student. Clay sighed and gave her the floor.

“I must admit, bossy-you is terrifying… but I also love it. And about the festival—Floyd and I have been working on a song. We think it could work.”

All eyes turned to Floyd, who nodded shyly and pulled out his phone. “It’s still rough, but…” He hit play, and a melody filled the room.

Clay’s expression softened into approval. “Good. I already have ideas for choreography.” He snatched the car keys and tossed them to Bruce. “I rented a studio. Let’s polish this properly.”

John opened her mouth, already forming an objection, but Clay cut her off with a knowing look. “Yes, John Dory. The studio’s pet-friendly. Now, let’s move.”

Rhonda barked once in triumph, as if seconding the command.

Chapter Text

The dance studio smelled faintly of polished wood and hair gel. A wall of mirrors reflected the five of them in their athletic gear, water bottles scattered across the floor, and a speaker hooked up to Clay’s phone. In the corner, on a blanket surrounded by toys, Rhonda lounged regally on her intact chew toy—as if she owned the place.

“Alright,” Clay announced, stepping into the center with arms crossed. “Today we’re going to work on rhythm with something… fluid. Something to loosen the body.”

“Like a warm-up?” Floyd asked, tightening his shoelaces.

“More like a coordination test,” Clay corrected with a smile that hinted at menace. “Simple choreography—but it’ll demand control.”

John, stretching half-heartedly in the corner, snorted. “How about we start with something easier? Like wiggling one finger?”

Bruce gave a nasal laugh, already in position. “Come on, drama queen. It’s just moving seductively—like me, obviously.”

“Seductively?” John raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need choreography for that. I come pre-installed.”

“Then prove it, JD,” Floyd teased, smirking at her through the mirror.

Clay started the track. The beat pulsed through the room, and she clapped sharply to set the tempo.

“Five, six, seven, eight! Right hip—turn—cross step—shoulder, shoulder—down, back!”

Branch and Floyd picked up the moves almost immediately, smooth and sharp. Bruce lagged a beat behind, eyes glued to Clay like a hawk mimicking prey. John, however, existed in another galaxy—turning right when everyone turned left, tripping over her own feet, and nearly flattening Rhonda, who chose that exact moment to stroll into the formation.

“RHONDA!!” John shouted, leaping clumsily out of the way.

The puppy blinked at her with angelic innocence before sitting in the dead center of the group, tail wagging as if she’d been waiting for her solo.

Clay stopped the music and shook his head. “That, John Dory, wasn’t my choreography. Looked more like a penguin mating ritual… with traffic hazards.”

“Hey!” John protested. “My feet didn’t get the memo—and Rhonda’s sabotaging me!”

“Your feet need a factory reset,” Branch muttered, rolling his shoulders.

Unimpressed, Rhonda yawned, flopped down in front of the mirror, and admired her reflection like a star awaiting applause.

“Ease up, Clay,” Bruce said, finally hitting the steps with confidence. “Give him ten minutes and a good scare, and JD will dance like he’s being chased by bees.”

“Wait—was that a compliment?” John asked, hopeful.

Bruce smirked. “Not even close.”

Floyd walked over, smile softening. “Come on, JD. Let’s try it together. Step by step.”

With patient precision, Floyd mirrored the moves beside her. John still stumbled, but loosened up, her confidence buoyed by the support. Across the floor, Rhonda tilted her head, tongue lolling, studying them like the troupe’s most discerning critic.

Clay restarted the track. “From the top! And this time—together. I want to see attitude!”

The beat flooded the studio again. One by one, their movements aligned. Bruce had shaken off her hesitation, keeping up with surprising elegance. Branch and Floyd executed every move with near mechanical precision, sharp and smooth. John still stumbled, but instead of grumbling she laughed at herself, and when she nailed the final turn without crashing, she threw both arms up like a champion.

“I did it! The choreography didn’t defeat me!”

Clay crossed his arms. “That was just the first sequence…”

“Don’t ruin my victory.”

Floyd chuckled and patted her on the back. “You did good, JD.”

John puffed out his chest. “When I get my original body back, I’ll get my natural rhythm back too.”

Branch raised a brow, hiding a smirk. “Did that ever exist?”

Before John could retort, Rhonda rose from her blanket, gave two awkward spins, then lifted her front paws in a move eerily similar to the choreography.

Everyone froze.

Bruce let out a laugh. “Okay, I’ll say it. The dog just outdanced you.”

“TREACHERY!” John shouted, clutching his chest like a betrayed hero.

Clay paused the music and took a moment to scribble notes in her journal while the others caught their breath.

“We’re on the right track,” he said at last. “Keep this up, and we’ll be ready to polish the festival choreography in a few days.”

John flopped dramatically onto the cushioned floor. Rhonda trotted over and curled up against her, resting her head on John’s chest like a loyal sidekick.

“I’m going to need chocolate for this.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Clay, Bruce, and Branch said in unison.

John groaned. “This is oppression.”

Bruce smirked. “No, that’s choreography.”

Clay restarted the song, clapping sharply. “Focus! Turn, cross step, hip—down, turn, and up!”

Everyone followed—except John. She froze right after the first turn, stiff as a statue, eyes wide as saucers. She wasn’t even blinking.

Bruce, a couple beats behind, nearly collided with her. “What now?” he grumbled, throwing his hands up.

Rhonda padded over, sniffed John curiously, then sat down at her feet like she was a bodyguard. 

Branch tilted his head. “JD… are you okay?”

John swallowed hard, color flooding her face. She raised a trembling hand, voice breaking with theatrical tragedy.

“I… I think I’ve committed the ultimate betrayal…”

Everyone leaned in.

“I think… I PEED myself!” he wailed, throwing both hands dramatically into the air as if declaring his downfall to the heavens.

Branch blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes!” John cried, pacing in tiny frantic steps. “Right here, in front of my own brothers! In front of witnesses! My bladder has staged a coup, and my reputation is ruined! RUINED!”

Bruce slapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Oh my god…”

Floyd stopped the music with a quick tap and approached carefully, like John was about to explode. “JD. Breathe. Just… turn a little. Let us check.”

John obeyed, spinning halfway with the grace of a condemned prisoner. A dark red stain was visible on the back of her leggings.

Floyd sighed gently. “It’s not pee, JD. It’s your period.”

John froze. “…My what?”

“Your menstruation,” Floyd clarified, voice steady and calm. “Completely normal.”

Branch snapped his fingers. “That explains the sugar cravings,” he muttered with a smirk.

John groaned, clutching his head. “Of course! As if I could possibly anticipate this! I don’t have a biological calendar! I’m still learning how to exist in this body!”

“Shh.” Floyd laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. Here—take this.” Without hesitation, he stripped off his sweatshirt and handed it over. “Tie it around your waist, go to the bathroom. There’s toilet paper there for now. When we get home, I’ll explain everything properly. You’re not alone, JD.”

John clumsily tied the sweatshirt around her waist, cheeks still crimson. Rhonda gave her knee a comforting lick, then trotted back to her blanket as if officially approving her survival.

Clay snapped his notebook shut. “Rehearsal canceled due to… bloody circumstances.”

Bruce crossed his arms with a grin. “That’s our documentary title right there.”

“Only if it’s in pink font,” Branch shot back, already packing his water bottle.

At the door, John paused, still embarrassed but softening. “Thanks… for not making a big deal out of this.”

Floyd smiled warmly. “A big deal? JD, please. The real big deal is Rhonda—she steals every scene.”

As if on cue, Rhonda stretched, yawned like a diva, and struck a pose in front of the mirror.

Clay chuckled. “I’m serious. We’re putting her in the choreography for the festival.”

Rhonda barked proudly, tail wagging like she already knew she was the star.

******************************

Hype angled his phone in the corner of the hotel’s private gym until it was just right, then queued up the Soda Pop preview track. With two dumbbells in hand, he started shrugging to the beat, improvising a little step as he filmed himself. His expression was pure confidence—until a voice broke his focus.

“What kind of workout is that?”

Hype yelped, dropping the weights and landing flat on the mat with a thud.

“Trickee! Do you want me to die young?! You need a bell—or better yet, maracas!”

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Trickee smirked. “Not my fault you get so focused… on whatever that was.”

Hype huffed, then grinned. “A TikTok. Thought up a step—if it takes off, it could give the song a push before release.”

Trickee raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Sometimes you even use your brain.”

“Rude!” Hype clutched his chest dramatically. “Is that any way to talk to one of your favorite people?”

“There’s the big kid I know,” Trickee teased, before his smile faded into something more serious. “But seriously… we need to talk.”

Hype plopped down cross-legged, curious. “Does this have to do with that cryptic text you sent yesterday? Come on, Detective Trickee—spill.”

“Even you must’ve noticed Boom and Ablaze acting weird lately, right?”

“Yeah… and?”

“I think I know why.”

Hype leaned forward. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging!”

Trickee grinned, savoring it. “Branch Valtren has a girlfriend.”

The room went silent. Hype blinked, then took a long swig from his water bottle. Finally, he wiped his mouth and deadpanned:

“Our Branch? A girlfriend? That’s… comedy gold, Trickee.”

“I’m serious.” Trickee lowered his voice. “Last night, when everyone was asleep… I borrowed Ablaze’s phone and called Branch.”

“You what?!” Hype nearly choked. His eyes went wide. “You lunatic!”

“Shh!” Trickee laughed, fishing a chocolate bar from his jacket and tossing it over. “Relax. No harm done. And no one needs to know.”

Hype caught it midair, narrowed his eyes… then smiled as he unwrapped it. “Lucky for you, this is the flavor I like. Alright—keep talking.”

“Here’s the juicy part.” Trickee leaned in. “A girl answered. And she sounded like she knew Ablaze inside out. Confident. Comfortable. Like she belonged.”

Hype stopped chewing. “…You’re sure it wasn’t just a friend?”

“At that hour? Answering Branch’s phone? Think, Hype. They’re hiding something. And if they won’t tell us, maybe we should… encourage them.”

Slowly, a mischievous grin spread across Hype’s face. “A little chaos in the name of truth? Trickee, your brain is beautiful.”

The two of them laughed softly, that unmistakable laugh of co-conspirators who knew they were about to cause trouble.

They finally left the gym, but before they could rejoin the others, they heard Boom and Ablaze’s voices carrying from down the hall—midway through a hushed phone call.

Hype and Trickee traded a look. No words. Just a wicked spark of agreement. And together, they crept closer to eavesdrop.

Chapter Text

Bruce was in the shower when, amidst the steam and water, she noticed a thin red trickle running down her leg. She let out a resigned sigh.

“At least it’s not in the middle of a rehearsal… like it happened to Johnny. Guess it was my turn.”

She tried to focus on rinsing the shampoo from her hair—until several strands stuck stubbornly to her palms. She frowned, but when she wrung out her mane, her eyes widened in panic: whole locks came loose with shocking ease.

“No. No, no, no!” he gasped, stumbling out of the shower and wrapping a towel tightly around his head as if to hold the strands in place.

With damp hands, she snatched up her phone, cutting off the music to dial. Every ring made her stomach churn until finally—

“Hello?” Boom answered, sounding distracted.

“Boom! Thank all the cosmic forces you picked up! I’m going bald! THE CURSE IS MAKING ME GO BALD!”

“Bald? What are you—”

“I was in the shower!” Bruce interrupted, his tone frantic. “And my hair just started falling out! Boom, you know how much I love my hair. I can’t lose it!”

On the other end, Boom sighed, long-suffering. “I know… sometimes I think you love it more than us. Okay, breathe—inhale, exhale. Why do you think this has to do with… the situation?”

“Because this never happened when I was a man! And besides… apparently, I’m menstruating! Does that have anything to do with it? Please, help me—you’re the expert!”

Boom barked out a laugh. “Since when am I the menstruation expert? In case you forgot, I’m not a woman.”

“But you helped Floyd when it happened to him! You explained everything and made him feel better. Have some compassion for this poor, unfortunate soul!”

“Alright, alright, calm down.” Boom scanned the hallway, then slipped into the small room with the ice and vending machines for privacy. “Ablaze! Brianna and I need backup!”

“Brianna?” Ablaze and Bruce echoed at the same time.

“Yes, Brianna,” Boom said with a shrug. “I don’t know if using your other name feels right at this precise crisis moment.”

Ablaze raised a brow. “What happened?”

“She thinks she’s going bald. I need you to check if menstruation causes hair loss before she spirals into a full breakdown.”

Boom set the phone on speaker. Bruce’s panicked breathing was audible.

“It says here it can happen,” Ablaze reported after a few swipes. “Hormonal changes… stress.”

“And Brianna’s knee-deep in both,” Boom muttered, eyeing the phone knowingly.

“So I’m not going bald?” Bruce asked hopefully.

“No, you’re not going bald,” Ablaze reassured. “But you are overthinking. Distract yourself. Why don’t you go out with Brandy? It might do you good.”

Out in the hallway, Trickee and Hype had been trailing the hushed voices like bloodhounds. They crouched behind a wall, leaning in to eavesdrop.

“Who do you think they’re talking to?” Hype whispered, clutching his water bottle mid-sip.

“Shhh, just listen.” Trickee tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Brandy’s busy today,” Bruce said through the speaker. “Besides, the guys—and especially Branch—and I want to watch your live interview on TV tonight. It's tonight, right?”

“Yes,” Boom and Ablaze answered in unison.

“The last one is next week,” Ablaze added.

Hype’s eyebrows shot up. He leaned toward Trickee. “She’s going to watch the interview… with BroZone?”

Trickee grinned like a cat catching a secret. “She’s going to watch it with our favorite grump. Which means Brianna and Branch are spending an awful lot of time together.”

“We still don’t know if she’s his girlfriend,” Hype pointed out, voice hushed but skeptical.

“No,” Trickee admitted, lowering himself into a crouch. “But the gossip? Delicious.”

“Maybe I’ll agree to go for a walk with Johnny and Rhonda—if JD doesn’t feel too bad about breaking the routine,” Bruce continued.

“Rhonda? Who’s Rhonda?” Ablaze asked, tilting his head.

“And why does she have a routine with Johnny?” Boom cut in sharply. “What happened to my cowboy? He’s supposed to be spending time with JD! Brianna, tell me my ship hasn’t sunk! I refuse to accept it.”

Trickee raised an eyebrow from his hiding spot. “So the girl’s name is Brianna.”

“And now I really want to meet this cowboy,” Hype whispered, eyes wide.

“Calm down, Boom,” Bruce replied. “You don’t have to worry about Rhonda… well, maybe about the attention Floyd gives her.”

Boom squinted at his phone as if trying to burn through the screen. “Should I be jealous of this… girl?”

Bruce chuckled. “I don’t know. But I promise you’ll love Rhonda when you meet her. She’s stolen everyone’s heart here. I’ll say no more—pretty sure John’s dying to surprise you.”

When the call ended, Trickee and Hype slowly crawled out of their hiding spots, staring at each other with wide, gleeful eyes.

“Did you hear that?” Hype hissed.

“Hear it? I recorded it in my brain!” Trickee whispered back with a grin. “The girl’s name is Brianna. Branch watches interviews with her and the others—so she’s in. Then there’s some Rhonda everyone adores… and when we step into that room, Boom and Ablaze had better confess, or we unleash our little prank.”

They marched back down the hallway with exaggerated nonchalance, coughing loudly and stomping like elephants to announce their “totally innocent” presence.

“Guys!” Trickee burst in, throwing his arms up like he was breaking news to the nation. “We desperately need your opinion on a matter of utmost importance.”

Ablaze and Boom exchanged unimpressed looks, clearly not buying it.

“You see…” Trickee planted his hands on his hips, full of fake gravitas. “The big kid and I were discussing potential names for our future children. Hypothetically, of course.”

Boom blinked. “Children? Hype, you can’t even keep a cactus alive.”

“Hey!” Hype protested, hands up in mock surrender. “That cactus was very needy. And besides, I can be responsible… on occasion. Rare occasion. But it’s possible!”

Trickee rolled his eyes and plowed on. “Anyway, I suggested Branch if it’s a boy and Brianna if it’s a girl. Don’t they sound divine together?”

Hype nodded dramatically. “Way too good. Although personally, I lean toward Rhonda. Has a nice ring to it.”

Ablaze narrowed his eyes. “And where exactly did you two get those names?”

“From a TV series,” Trickee said innocently. “Brianna had this whole secret romance with her best friend, and they hid it from everyone. Very scandalous.”

“And I got mine from a fan,” Hype added with a shrug. “She looked like a sweet cowgirl. Very authentic.”

Ablaze and Boom exchanged a quick glance—one of those silent conversations that lasted a second but said everything. They clearly suspected something, but refused to give Trickee and Hype the satisfaction.

Boom folded his arms, fixing them both with a glare. “Uh-huh. TV shows and fans. Sure.”

“I need to actually get a girlfriend before I start thinking about baby names,” Ablaze muttered, mirroring Boom’s crossed arms.

“Same here. But I'm already planning on being Floyd's boyfriend, so I'm kinda winning,” Boom added with a smug grin.

Trickee tilted his head thoughtfully. “You know, Ablaze, the day you finally get a girlfriend will be an event. Right now all we hear is Boom swooning over Floyd. We need some variety in the gossip column.”

“Enjoy your exclusivity while it lasts,” Boom shot back. “Nobody’s dating anybody, so stop stirring.”

Hype leaned in with feigned innocence. “Speaking of stirring… when you were with Bitty, he didn’t happen to mention anyone special, did he?”

Ablaze shook his head with a calm smile. “No, Hype. Officially, Kismet is still one-hundred percent single. There’s nothing to tell.”

Before any more could be said, Bobby, their manager, called out from down the hallway, his voice quite loud, summoning them to review details for that night’s interview.

Boom and Ablaze headed out first, their steps firm, speaking quietly between themselves. Trickee and Hype lagged behind, their own private bubble of mischief.

Trickee turned to him with sudden seriousness. “You’re my witness—I gave them a chance to confess. I was nice.”

Hype snorted. “Nice? Please. But sure, I’ll back you up… though don’t expect them to forgive you when they find out what you’re planning.”

Trickee only shrugged, utterly shameless. “A little stir never hurt anyone. Just a little one.”

“Right,” Hype said, rolling his eyes but grinning. “Just don’t drag me down with you. They're still mad at me for leaking the sneak peek video early.”

Trickee pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry. The only ones I’ll tell are my future kids… when I explain how their dad caused an on-air scandal—with help from their Uncle Hype.”

Both muffled their laughter, quickening their pace to catch up with the others, conspiratorial energy buzzing between them.

*****************************

The Valtren sisters settled into the living room with snacks and drinks, ready for the long-awaited Kismet interview. The second the television flickered on, laughter filled the room. Trivia questions, a speed-eating contest—naturally won by Hype—and a dance-off that Boom demolished with effortless swagger. Their brothers were shining on screen, and the sisters couldn’t stop grinning at every ridiculous antic.

Then came the boxes. Two remained, each hiding either a prize or a consequence. The last to play: Ablaze and Hype.

“In one box is a delicious slice of cake…” the host announced with mock gravity. “And in the other… a challenge to get a tattoo.”

The cameras zoomed in on Hype’s wide-eyed panic. BroZone roared with laughter at his expense.

When Hype finally opened his box and saw the slice of cake inside, his whole face lit up in relief. Ablaze, meanwhile, lifted the lid of his with a suspiciously calm smile.

“What’s with the drama, Hype?” the host teased.

“I’m terrified of needles,” he confessed with a pout. “Food is always the better prize.”

He wasted no time devouring the cake, savoring each bite as though it were victory itself.

Boom shook his head, chuckling. “Seriously, how do you still have space in there?”

“Because,” Hype declared grandly, wiping frosting from his lips, “being this adorable and beautiful burns a lot of calories.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and even the host was grinning as he turned to Ablaze. “And you? Will you go through with the tattoo?”

“After the festival,” Ablaze replied without a hint of hesitation.

The show shifted into a looser Q&A. The guys sprawled on the sofa, trading inside jokes and quick-fire answers that kept the crowd giggling. Everything was smooth sailing—until Trickee slowly raised his hand.

“Before we wrap up,” he said, leaning forward to claim the microphone with a smile that practically screamed trouble, “I’d like to say something.”

The other members exchanged wary looks. The Valtren sisters, watching, sat up straighter.

“Branch,” Trickee said warmly, hands forming a heart for the camera. “If you’re watching this, we love you and miss you.”

The crowd cooed with delight.

But then his voice shifted—playful, sly, too familiar.

“And because I know you, little brother… and I know how shy you can be… I figured I’d help you out. Like the good big brother I am.”

“Uh-oh,” Hype muttered under his breath, earning a nervous laugh from the others.

Trickee carried right on. “Branch told me he’s ready to find love. And really, what could be more romantic than discovering it among his most loyal fans?”

The audience shrieked. The guys winced.

“So, ladies, this is your mission—fill his socials with love, send him sweet little gifts, let him know you’re waiting. Who knows? Next time, maybe we’ll hold a contest where he is the prize. Or better yet, maybe we’ll be announcing a brand-new romance between Branch and one of you.”

The studio exploded in applause and screams.

Trying to rein things back, Ablaze leaned into the mic with a dazzling smile. “We'll see you all at the festival for the official launch of Soda Pop! Remember—the full video drops after the end of the festival. Thank you for loving us as much as we love you. None of this would be possible without you!”

The other members quickly joined in, laughing and waving, throwing hearts and goofy poses as the camera pulled back. The show’s logo filled the screen, leaving the world buzzing—and the Valtren living room frozen.

“What did he just do?” Floyd whispered, eyes wide.

John let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Trickee just auctioned off our baby brother on live TV. Literally.”

“And the worst part… is that it’s working,” Clay added, holding up Branch’s phone, which buzzed like a beehive. Notifications flew across the screen—tags, follow requests on his supposedly private account, fan edits of his face surrounded by hearts.

Bruce, arms crossed, finally spoke, her voice cool and even. She shifted her gaze from the phone to their youngest sister, like someone observing a ticking bomb.

“I don’t think Kismet is going to make it to the festival for their new song’s premiere.”

“Why do you say that?” Floyd asked nervously.

Bruce tilted her head toward Branch, as if presenting Exhibit A.

“Because Bitty’s going to murder them all before they even set foot on stage. Trickee was the only one with a chance of survival… but after tonight? He’ll be the star of the first coffin in the show.”

The room fell into uneasy silence.

All four pairs of eyes turned to Branch. Fury radiated from her like heat off pavement—the furrowed brow, the clenched jaw, the twitch in her left eye. Her grip on the remote was so tight it looked like she was moments from hurling it through the TV.

“Bitty…?” Clay tried gently, as if speaking to a wild animal.

No answer. Not even a blink. Her glare stayed locked on the darkened screen, as though sheer willpower could still vaporize Trickee where he sat miles away.

John sighed, rubbing his temples. “Go on, Rhonda. Do your thing before Bitty commits mass homicide.” He gave the puppy a little nudge.

Rhonda bounded up onto the sofa and wriggled into Branch’s lap, smothering her face with determined licks.

It worked. The spell cracked.

Branch blinked, finally looking down. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he stroked the pup’s ears. “Hey there, little one. Thanks for worrying about me.”

But when her gaze lifted again, it wasn’t softened—it was sharpened. Her expression shifted to something calm, deliberate… lethal.

“Not even you can save them, Rhonda,” he said quietly, his tone carrying the weight of a promise. “Those idiots just signed their own death certificates.”

Chapter Text

Bruce finished getting dressed, silently thanking the universe that her period had ended just in time for her date with Brandy. Sure, there were ways to go swimming during those bloody days, but she decided that the traumatic tampon experience was better off skipped.

She double-checked her backpack: change of clothes, sunscreen, snacks. All in order.

When she came downstairs, the sight before her was pure chaos in the most domestic way possible. Floyd and John were sprawled on the floor, showering Rhonda with affection as if she were royalty. Clay was flipping through a book like a bored scholar, and Branch sat cross-legged on the floor, completely absorbed in a puzzle.

“I’m off. I’ll be back later,” Bruce announced, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “If you get hungry, I left the number for the pizza place on the table. Please—please—don’t burn the house down trying to cook.”

Floyd pouted instantly. “One time! I flood the house one time and you never let me live it down.”

Without even glancing up, Branch murmured, “Once was enough to almost leave us homeless.”

Clay chuckled dryly. “Kind of ironic, considering we’re technically rich enough to buy three new houses.”

John shook his head, still stroking Rhonda’s fur. “Correction: BroZone,  the famous BOYband is rich. Right now, we’re five emotionally unstable brothers trapped in female bodies, trying to survive mood swings, cramps and this curse.”

Clay blinked. “I honestly can’t tell if that’s depressing or profound.”

Bruce groaned. “JD, you’re getting way too philosophical for my taste. I’m leaving. Keep an eye on Floyd, for goodness’ sake.”

“No problem,” Branch replied with a sly smile. “We’ll tie him to the sofa. Problem solved.”

“Bitty!” Floyd gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Relax,” John said with a grin. “I won’t let them. Brucie, don’t worry—everyone will behave. Just like when I go out later with Hickory.”

That earned a chorus of knowing looks. Floyd’s lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I’ll be an angel, I swear. I can’t ruin Boom’s ship.”

Bruce snorted, walking to the door and grabbing the car keys. “You’d better not.” He gave them one last look, soft but full of affection. “Love you, idiots.”

“We love you too!” they chorused.

Bruce stepped outside with a smile tugging at her lips. The afternoon sun bathed everything in a warm light, and just the thought of seeing Brandy made her heart flutter like frantic butterflies.

******

Brandy was waiting outside her house, dressed in a flowing yellow beach dress that shimmered under the sun. When she spotted Bruce’s car, she lifted a hand and waved, her smile as radiant as the cloudless sky.

“Hey, gorgeous!” she greeted, sliding into the passenger seat without breaking eye contact. “Ready to tame some waves?”

Bruce leaned over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek, his heart doing a small, traitorous leap. “Ready since I woke up.”

Brandy tilted her head, studying her with that soft, perceptive gaze. “You sure you’re okay? Don’t push yourself with the water if you’re not comfortable.”

Bruce laughed lightly, waving a hand as if brushing the thought away. “Luckily, I’m done with that, so nothing can ruin today... unless Flo decides to burn the house down.”

Brandy’s eyes widened. “Burn down the house?”

“Long story,” Bruce said with a smirk. “Let’s just say sometimes Flo’s a danger to humanity.”

They burst into laughter as the car rolled toward the beach, windows down, the breeze tangling their hair. For once, it felt like the world had shrunk to just them, the promise of salt air, and the slow rhythm of the road ahead.

The beach wasn’t too crowded — just the right amount of life without chaos. Bruce and Brandy walked barefoot on the warm sand, their shadows stretching long beside them. They searched for a spot close enough to the water to hear the waves but far enough for a bit of shade.

“This spot’s perfect,” Brandy declared, laying down her towel with an effortless grace that made Bruce’s pulse stutter.

Bruce nodded, pretending calm while her palms grew slick with nervous sweat. She was alone with Brandy. At the beach. In a swimsuit she’d agonized over for days — not because of vanity, but because every choice felt like reclaiming or redefining herself in this body that still didn’t fully feel like hers.

The suit she’d chosen was practical yet quietly bold: a fitted top with a front zipper and a black and white floral design, the sleeves a striking turquoise that caught the light. Her shorts were soft blue with purple trim, the colors bright but grounded — like her. A silver headband kept her purple hair from her face, though a few rebellious strands escaped anyway. Her bracelets chimed softly when she moved, catching Brandy’s attention more than once.

And beneath all that, the secret of who she truly was — the truth she still couldn’t bring herself to share — pressed against her ribs like an unspoken confession.

“Want something before we get in?” Bruce asked, opening his backpack. “I’ve got cookies, fruit... even spicy peanuts.”

Brandy’s face lit up. “Spicy peanuts? You’re my kind of person!” She plopped down on her towel, laughing. “Now that’s beach energy.”

Bruce grinned, handing her a packet before discreetly pulling out the sunscreen. “Want some?” he asked, trying for casual as he held up the bottle.

Brandy turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “Will you put it on me?” Her tone was teasing, but her eyes searched Bruce’s face — half daring, half gentle.

Bruce’s throat went dry. “Sure… if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Brandy murmured, shifting the strap of her dress aside and turning her back. “Just don’t go overboard, or I’ll have to accuse you of being a beach witch.”

Bruce chuckled softly, trying to focus on the task and not on the warmth of Brandy’s skin under her fingertips. The scent of sunscreen mingled with sea salt and the faint sweetness of her perfume. Her hands moved carefully — reverent, almost — afraid that if she lingered too long, her heartbeat would give her away.

“There,” Bruce said at last, his voice a little lower than usual.

Brandy turned her head slightly, a smile ghosting her lips. “Perfect. Now come on — let’s see who survives the first wave.”

Bruce laughed, grateful for the playful tone, and followed her toward the water.

The sea was warm, the foam rushing up to their knees with teasing insistence. They splashed, dodged waves, and laughed until Bruce’s cheeks ached. Every now and then, she caught Brandy glancing her way — not with intensity, but curiosity and quiet fondness.

After swimming for a while and laughing until their cheeks ached, Brandy made her way toward the shore, brushing the saltwater from her face. Bruce followed, still grinning from a private joke that only the two of them would ever understand.

“What do you say, Bri?” Brandy asked, nodding toward the surfers cutting through the waves like silver blades. “Feel like riding a few?”

Bruce tilted his head, lips curving into a teasing half-smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They headed toward the rental shack. No instructors, no hesitation—just two women who already knew what they were doing. Each chose a board that felt right in her hands, and together they walked back toward the shore, sunbeams gliding over wet skin, the sand clinging to their ankles.

The water welcomed them again, cooler now, the breeze brushing their shoulders. The waves rose with a steady rhythm—challenging, but kind.

Brandy took the first wave, her body moving with effortless grace. Bruce watched, momentarily distracted by the sight—the way Brandy’s balance seemed born from instinct, how she glided along the crest as if the ocean itself bowed to her.

Then it was Bruce’s turn. She pushed off with power, rose smoothly, and cut through the water as though she’d been made for it. As she passed Brandy, she threw her a confident wink.

“Not bad for an undercover chef!” Brandy shouted over the surf, laughing.

Bruce turned his head and called back, “Did you think I couldn’t surf?!” before catching another wave, his laughter carried by the wind.

They kept at it—racing, teasing, brushing past each other in the water with playful nudges and “accidental” shoulder bumps. Between waves, they floated close, eyes bright, smiles unguarded. Neither said much, but their laughter filled every pause, every rise and fall of the sea.

After nearly an hour, they returned to shore, boards under their arms, their bodies glistening and hair tangled by salt and wind.

“I’ve missed this,” Brandy murmured, almost to herself. “The sea. The quiet. Feeling... good with someone.”

Bruce turned his head toward her, heart skipping at the softness in her tone. “Me too,” he said quietly. “It’s rare to find company that doesn’t drain you.”

Brandy smiled faintly, the corners of her eyes warm. They reached their spot on the sand, drying off before wrapping themselves in a light blanket. The world had slowed down—no rush to leave, no need to fill the silence. Just the two of them, legs still sandy, skin warmed by the sun, and the sound of waves breathing steadily nearby.

After a long pause, Brandy spoke again, her voice low, almost vulnerable. “Have you ever felt like you want to know someone deeply because you can tell they’re becoming... someone important? But you’re afraid of ruining it by moving too fast?”

Bruce didn’t even have to think. “Yes,” he admitted softly, eyes fixed on Brandy’s profile. “It’s happening to me right now.”

Brandy turned to meet her gaze, her expression open and tender. She didn’t say a word—just slid her hand closer until her fingers brushed Bruce’s, then intertwined them gently. It wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. Just warmth, quiet understanding, and skin against skin.

They stayed like that, watching the sun melt into gold and rose over the sea. Wrapped in the same blanket, sharing the kind of silence that only exists between two people who are perfectly at ease with each other.

There were no kisses, no declarations, no need for anything loud or certain. The connection was already there—growing slow and steady, like the tide.

And both of them knew it.

****************************

While Bruce was enjoying her date, the rest of her sisters were still gathered in the living room. Hunger had finally defeated laziness an hour ago, and after a heated debate about just how dangerous their combined cooking skills were, they’d followed Bruce’s advice and ordered pizza.

Now, the room was a comfortable mess of half-empty boxes, soda cans, and scattered cushions.

Branch had finished her puzzle hours earlier. She was now hunched over the coffee table, scribbling furiously on a crumpled sheet of paper, brow furrowed like a detective solving a conspiracy. For the past four days, her phone hadn’t stopped vibrating — fans from everywhere were flooding her inbox with résumés, videos, even handwritten letters describing why they were the perfect match for “Branch Valtren.” All because Trickee, during that disastrous interview, had smiled like the devil and declared she was “looking for a girlfriend.”

At the other end of the room, John and Floyd were trying to teach Rhonda new tricks. The puppy sat obediently, tail wagging, clearly the smartest one in the trio. Clay watched from the couch with a furrowed brow, analyzing their “training session” as if it were a scientific experiment.

“If Rhonda learns a few tricks and we manage to convince Bobby,” Clay mused, “we could include her in the festival choreography. She’d be our secret weapon.”

John’s face lit up. “Convince Bobby? Please. The second he sees her eyes, he’ll make her the sixth member of BroZone.”

Floyd laughed, throwing his head back. “Would we still be BroZone then, or officially SisZone? Wait—no—better yet: BoneZone.”

Clay groaned. “You cannot say that on camera.”

Branch, without looking up, muttered, “Forget the festival. We’re still trapped in these bodies with zero clues about how to change back. No answers, no plan, no hope. Just chaos.”

“Doesn’t mean we should stop rehearsing,” Clay countered. “The stage is still ours, no matter what we look like.”

Floyd pointed dramatically with a slice of pizza. “Exactly! Besides, think of this like a movie. There’s always chaos before the climax — then, bam! Everything’s fine. Magical resolution, epic music, fade-out.”

“Yeah, but in the movies, they learn something,” Clay said, leaning back with a thoughtful hum. “What lesson are we supposed to learn?”

John puffed his chest proudly. “None. We’re perfect.”

Branch finally looked up, deadpan. “You need an intensive course in humility. Though, to be fair, for an idiot, your heart’s mostly in the right place.”

John gasped theatrically. “Mostly? Excuse you! This idiot happens to be your older brother. Show some respect, you little gremlin.”

Branch rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out.

Clay clicked his tongue, steering the conversation back. “Anyway… if this is some kind of cosmic punishment, it’d make more sense for Bruce to be the target. Maybe it’s karma for his whole... ‘flirt-with-anything-that-moves’ phase. You know — to make him learn to value women beyond appearances.”

Floyd tilted his head, curious. “Okay, fair. But then why all of us? Besides, he’s totally falling for Brandy. Doesn’t that count as redemption?”

Branch hummed distractedly, going back to his furious writing. “Maybe. But I’d rather focus on something actually productive — like getting revenge on Kismet.”

John blinked. “Productive?”

Branch smirked without looking up. “I’m planning the kind of prank people will tell stories about. Epic. Legendary.”

John stretched out on the carpet and yawned. “Okay, serious question: aside from Trickee pimping you to the world, what exactly did the others do? I can't remember their ‘crimes.’”

Branch held up a hand and began counting on his fingers, each accusation sharper than the last. “Ablaze ruined my date with Poppy — he gets a point for apologizing, so maybe mercy later. Boom ditched Floyd after that accidental kiss; I get it, pressure and all, so he’s on probation.”

“Thank you,” Floyd breathed, voice small and grateful.

“But Trickee and Hype?” Branch’s expression hardened. “No mercy. Trickee for obvious reasons — impish, Machiavellian smile and zero boundaries. Hype well... he's the cause of Kismet's mini promotion tour because he can't sit still and let people rest.”

Clay snorted. “So… how are the revenge plans coming, Evil Genius?”

Branch put the pencil down with a theatrical groan. “Slow. Too many ideas, none of them ruthless enough. I want something that kind of hurt them but also entertains me.”

Floyd cocked an eyebrow. “What if you use Rhonda?”

John spun around, mock-outraged. “Absolutely not. You’re not corrupting my daughter. She’s a good girl.” He ruffled the pup’s ears as if that settled the debate.

Branch waved a hand. “You two are really not helping.”

Floyd only smiled, fingers buried in Rhonda’s fur. “We’re here to inspire you… or confuse you further. Up to you which.”

Branch glanced at the scrap of paper covered in half-formed schemes and couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his mouth. “Fine. I’m going to make them fall. One by one. They’ll beg for mercy — and maybe I’ll give them candy afterward. But only if they make me laugh.”

Around them, the living room hummed: slices of pizza cooling in their boxes, soda fizzing in half-empty cans. Twilight seeped through the blinds, painting everything in a soft, forgiving gold.

They laughed — the easy, reckless kind that knits people together — and for a moment the curse felt like a bad dream they could still prank their way out of. Bodies might be borrowed and plans might be half-baked, but the core of them was unchanged: absurd ideas, relentless teasing, and a bond that no spell could untie.

Chapter Text

Trickee smirked mischievously when he spotted Boom lounging alone by the pool, soaking up the sun. He wore dark sunglasses and a vibrant swimsuit, looking the picture of relaxation—except for his feet, which were subtly tapping to a rhythm only he could hear. Trickee couldn’t make out the song through Boom’s earbuds, but if he had to guess, it was Soda Pop. Classic Boom. Probably replaying the choreography in his head again.

They all knew that dance by now—even Branch—but perfecting it as a group still needed a few more rehearsals.

Trickee’s eyes flicked around the pool area. No witnesses. Perfect.

He’d known the Kismet boys for years—his brothers in everything but blood—which gave him a useful advantage: he knew exactly where to press. And Boom, bless his big heart, had one fatal flaw. Under pressure, he cracked. And when Boom cracked… he talked.

Trickee exhaled slowly, steeling himself. He had been sure that after his last “little prank,” Ablaze and Boom would finally confess whatever it was they’d been hiding. But no. All it earned him was a furious scolding—until Bobby had stepped in, dramatically praising him for “helping Branch find love.” That, of course, only made things worse. Ablaze and Boom had smiled through gritted teeth, Trickee had perfected his innocent face, and Hype had nearly dislocated something trying not to laugh.

But enough was enough. Trickee needed answers. He couldn’t keep flying blind.

Even after my prank, Branch had still been radio silent. Two possibilities: either he is still mad enough to pretend it never happened, or he's quietly planning his revenge. And if it's the second one… Trickee swallowed hard. Knowing Branch’s calculating brain, that was terrifying.

He squared his shoulders and started toward Boom—only to freeze when he heard footsteps behind him. Please don’t be Ablaze. Or worse… Bobby. But when he turned, his grin returned instantly. Hype was walking up, smirk firmly in place.

“And what exactly are you up to?” Hype asked, eyebrow arched.

Trickee tried—and failed—to look casual. “Just… a friendly chat with Boom.”

Hype folded his arms. “Right. And I’m guessing this friendly chat involves emotional manipulation and mild psychological warfare?”

“Maybe a little,” Trickee admitted with a grin. He tilted his head toward the pool. “Ablaze isn’t here, which means it’s the perfect time to get Boom talking.”

Hype hummed thoughtfully. “Tempting. Mind if I join the interrogation? You know, for moral support.”

Trickee chuckled. “Sure. Between the two of us, he won’t stand a chance.”

Hype’s grin softened into something more conspiratorial. “It’s weird, though, right? They’ve never kept something from us this long.”

“I know,” Trickee said, lowering his voice. “And it’s not a surprise party—we ruled that out after that phone call we spied on.”

Hype nodded gravely, though the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. “So… what’s the plan?”

Trickee smirked. “The plan? We improvise. And if we have to play dirty—”

“—we play really dirty,” Hype finished for him, bumping his shoulder lightly.

Boom didn’t notice them approach. His eyes were closed, head tilted toward the sun, lips silently mouthing lyrics as his feet kept time with the music. He was the perfect picture of calm. Exactly what Trickee planned to ruin.

“Boom,” Hype crooned with mock sweetness as he crouched beside the lounger. “What a coincidence—you here, all alone, looking so… peaceful.”

Boom jumped—literally. One earbud flew off, his sunglasses slipped down his nose, and he blinked up at them in confusion.

“What the heck?!” he exclaimed, sitting up fast. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Can’t a guy sunbathe in peace?”

“And miss this opportunity? Please,” Trickee said, plopping down on the other side with a grin sharp enough to cut glass. “We have questions. You have answers. Let’s not waste time.”

Boom glanced between them, instantly on guard. “Oh no. Not this again. I already told you—there’s no secret.”

“Lie number one,” Hype said smoothly, raising a finger. “And you didn’t even try to make it sound convincing.”

“Come on, Boom,” Trickee pressed, folding his arms. “We’re your friends—basically family. We’re not trying to get anyone in trouble. We just… want to know what’s going on. Because this feels big. Different.”

Boom’s lips tightened. He stared straight ahead, pretending to study the ripples in the pool.

“So there is something,” Trickee said, leaning forward like a cat that had just spotted a twitching tail. “I knew it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Boom muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I’m just tired. The festival, rehearsals, everything—it’s been a lot.”

“Boom,” Hype said gently, but with that tone that made lying impossible, “you don’t get nervous unless something’s up.”

“Unless,” Trickee added, raising a brow, “you’re hiding something… or someone.”

Boom’s mouth opened—then closed again. Trickee pounced before he could answer.

“Does it have to do with Branch? Or maybe with that mysterious week you and Ablaze spent at BroZone’s place? Because you two have been weird ever since. Branch and his brothers aren’t answering calls, you won’t say a thing, and Ablaze acts like he’s training to be a mime. You can’t blame us for wondering what you’re hiding.”

“Is Branch sick?” Hype asked dramatically, widening his eyes. “Did he quit Kismet to join BroZone full-time? Or—hear me out—were they kidnapped and replaced by clones?”

“What?! No!” Boom threw his hands up, exasperated. “None of that! Branch and the guys are fine! And Trickee, did it ever occur to you that maybe—just maybe—Branch is mad at you for that last interview? You know he hates being the center of attention!”

Trickee shook his head. “That would make sense… if Branch hadn’t started ignoring me before the interview.”

That made Hype pause. He frowned, looking down. “We’re… awful friends, aren’t we?”

Boom softened. He slung an arm around Hype’s shoulders. “No, sweet pea. Just… occasionally clueless ones.”

“Occasionally?” Trickee muttered.

Boom smirked. “Okay, frequently clueless. And for the record, yes—Branch is mad at you, Hype. That early release of ‘Soda Pop’ didn’t exactly earn you points.”

Hype winced. “I was just excited!”

Trickee frowned, studying him. “But that doesn’t explain why you and Ablaze were mad too. It wasn’t just Branch. What changed?”

Boom shrugged too quickly. “We were just… enjoying some downtime with the guys, that’s all.”

Trickee nodded slowly, voice dropping. “Right. You already said that. You also said Branch and his brothers were ‘indisposed for various reasons.’” His eyes narrowed. “If they were so unwell, how come you were having the time of your life?”

“Maybe Boom just liked playing nurse with Floyd,” Hype teased, flashing a wicked grin.

Boom laughed and reached over to ruffle Hype’s hair affectionately. “Exactly, sweet pea. Someone's got to make sure my dearest stays hydrated.”

Trickee exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Boom, do you even know why I pulled that interview stunt? I thought if I pushed a little, you’d finally trust me and admit the truth about Branch’s girlfriend.”

“Branch doesn’t have a girlfriend!” Boom shot back instantly.

“Of course he does! I know about Brianna,” Trickee said, crossing his arms with stubborn confidence.

Boom’s brows furrowed. “What do you know about Brianna?”

“Just that she’s his girlfriend, and you’re all too scared to admit it.”

“Brianna is not his girlfriend,” Boom said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t say that again.”

“Then why get so worked up over a harmless prank? And why have Branch and the guys been ghosting us for days?” Trickee’s patience cracked; his voice rose despite himself.

Hype, meanwhile, made a dramatic pout. “I miss talking to Branchie. And Floyd. A lot.”

Boom looked away, his expression tightening. “Because… they really are indisposed. When we see them, they’ll explain everything. Just… have a little patience, okay?”

Hype flopped back dramatically. “Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Boom chuckled and pinched his cheek. “Try, sweet pea.”

Trickee’s voice softened, but his frustration lingered. “You’re still not giving me answers, Boom. I’m not trying to pick a fight—I just hate being left out.”

“Tricks, please,” Boom said, forcing a small smile. “Just… trust me on this one.”

Trickee tilted his head, studying him. “Then tell me why you overreacted to that interview prank. I know it wasn’t just because I put Branch in the spotlight.”

Before Boom could reply, Hype suddenly perked up. “Oh, right! Who’s the cowboy? Does he have horses? Can I ride one?”

“Because Poppy already has enough to deal with Ablaze and his ridiculous attempts to make her jealous by flaunting his ‘closeness’ with Branch—without adding the entire fandom to the mix!” Boom blurted out, his frustration bursting like a shaken soda can.The words hung in the air for a second before he realized what Hype had just said. His eyes widened. Slowly, he turned toward Hype. “Wait… how do you know about Hickory?”

“The cowboy’s name is Hickory?” Hype asked, tilting his head like a curious puppy.

“And who’s Poppy?” Trickee added, leaning forward. “Why would Ablaze want to make her jealous?”

Boom’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Nothing.

His brain had clearly left the chat.

Trickee leaned closer, eyes narrowing with slow, delighted realization. “You so weren’t supposed to say that.”

Hype squinted, his tone thoughtful now. “Why would Poppy be jealous of Ablaze and Branch’s bromance? The fandom lives for bromances. Unless…” He paused dramatically. “…Poppy isn’t a fan. Is that it? Is that why Branch likes her? Because she didn’t know who he was?”

Trickee let out a sharp snort. “How cliché. But… it actually sounds believable.”

“Guys!”

The shout made all three of them jump. They turned toward the voice—Ablaze was walking over, his expression dark, scanning their faces like he already knew exactly what had happened.

“What are you doing?” he asked once he reached them, voice calm but heavy with warning.

“Boom was just telling us all about Poppy and Hickory,” Hype said cheerfully, as if announcing a new tour date.

Ablaze’s gaze slid slowly to Boom, one eyebrow raised. Boom froze under it.

“I—uh—I wasn’t—” he stammered.

Ablaze’s frown deepened. “Boom, Bobby’s been looking for you.”

Boom leapt to his feet. “Right! Yeah! I’ll go right now!”

Ablaze nodded curtly, wrapping an arm around Boom’s shoulders. Before turning away, he looked at Trickee and Hype—no words, just a silent don’t. Then he shook his head in quiet disappointment and walked off with Boom.

Silence fell like a weight over the poolside.

Trickee let out a long sigh. “We were close. So close.”

Hype winced. “Yeah, but we also nearly blew it. Blazie looked… scary.”

Trickee rubbed the back of his neck, guilt flickering across his face. “Yeah. I know. We crossed a line. Maybe it wasn’t the best way to handle things… but it hurts that they don’t trust us. I don’t want Branch—or any of them—to feel like they can’t count on us. I just want to help.”

For a moment, Hype just looked at him, his usual playfulness fading into something softer. Then he smiled faintly. “You’re way too good at this friendship thing. Even if you hide it behind your ‘evil mastermind’ routine.”

Trickee rolled his eyes. “I don’t hide it. I just… add flair.”

Hype laughed quietly. “So… what now, Mr. Flair?”

“I’m not stopping,” Trickee said, his tone calmer but resolute. “One last move. And this time, I'll get my answers.”

Hype groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. “If you say so…”

Trickee smiled to himself, a spark of mischief returning. “Oh, I do. And this time, I mean it.”

*****************************

John stared at her reflection in the mirror, frowning deeply. For some reason, Floyd had insisted on dressing her for her date with Hickory—and now she was seriously regretting saying yes.

“Floyd…” he began cautiously. “I don’t think going out like this is appropriate. I feel like a—” he hesitated, searching for the least offensive word—“a tart.”

Floyd gasped dramatically. “A tart? Please. You look incredible. You’re wearing jeans, JD. Jeans! You’re showing less than a lifeguard in winter.”

“I can see my skin!”

“It’s three inches of midriff!” Floyd waved a dismissive hand. “And those are high-waisted. That barely qualifies as rebellion.”

“I’m not going out wearing underwear!”

“It’s not underwear, it’s a corset-style top. There’s a difference.”

“Years ago, corsets were underwear,” John argued, crossing his arms.

“Years ago, people thought bathing too often was deadly,” Floyd shot back. “Welcome to the present.”

“The top shows too much up top.”

“It doesn’t show, it flatters. Show off what you've got, JD. But if you're uncomfortable, we can add a jacket.” Floyd grinned, then turned to dig through the closet. “Now, boots. Black ones. Boom said you had to wear them.”

John groaned. “Since when does Boom dictate my footwear?”

“Since he became emotionally invested in your love life,” Floyd replied, holding out the boots like an offering. “Now put them on before I text him you’re being difficult.”

John sighed and started to raise a hand to her face, but Floyd caught her wrist.

“Johnny, no!” he said. “You’ll smudge the eyeliner. I didn’t spend half an hour on it just for you to ruin it!”

John reluctantly lowered his hand and turned to the boots. “Floyd, these have heels! Are you trying to make me break a leg before my date even starts?”

“Chunky heels, sweetheart. Not death traps.” Floyd stepped back to admire her. “Take a few steps. See? You’re fine. Elegant, even.”

John walked hesitantly across the room, waiting to trip—but didn’t. “My feet are going to hate me tomorrow,” he muttered.

“But Hickory won’t,” Floyd said with a smirk.

John glared, fighting a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” Floyd said, clapping his hands together, “you’re letting me style you. Which means I win. Boom will be thrilled to hear you admitted I was right.”

John rolled her eyes and followed Floyd downstairs. The rich scent of something sizzling on the stove greeted them. Bruce stood at the cooktop, spatula in hand, while Clay and Branch were locked in a silent chess match.

At the sound of their footsteps, all three looked up... and froze.

Bruce broke the silence with a low whistle, raising his spatula like a scepter. “Well, hot damn. You look sexy.”

Floyd grinned like a proud stylist. John groaned but muttered an awkward, “Thanks,” brushing a strand of hair behind his ear.

Branch and Clay exchanged uncertain glances—half impressed, half protective.

Clay leaned back slightly, frowning. “You’re really going out like that? I mean, you look great, but—”

“Hickory’s a good guy,” Floyd cut in, waving a dismissive hand. “JD’s in excellent hands. You can all unclench now.”

Branch crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Still, if anything weird happens, call us. We’ll come get you. No questions asked.”

John’s lips curved into a fond smile. “Relax, Bitty. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder, flipping whatever was in the pan. “Where are you two going anyway?”

“To a bar,” John said. “A few beers, maybe some dancing. Nothing wild.”

“Just… don’t drink too much,” Bruce warned.

“I won’t. I can take care of myself.”

“I know,” he said softly, meeting her eyes. “But we still worry.”

John exhaled, touched despite himself. “Love you guys too, little brothers.”

Before anyone could reply, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Floyd called, dashing off with suspicious enthusiasm.

A brief silence fell over the kitchen—everyone exchanging knowing looks—until Floyd returned with a grin that could light up the house.

“Your prince has arrived,” he announced dramatically, stepping aside.

Hickory entered behind her, the picture of casual cool in a fitted black shirt and dark jeans, with Rhonda cradled comfortably in his arms. His crooked smile was ready, a default charm—but it vanished the instant he saw John. His expression melted, the easy charm replaced by pure, unguarded admiration.

A slow, soft breath escaped him. “Wow.” His eyes traveled over her once, as if committing the sight to memory. “You look… incredible.”

John blinked, heat rushing to her cheeks. Behind her, she could feel her sisters' gazes narrowing in unison like a firing squad.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice quieter than he intended. “You’re not so bad yourself, cowboy.”

Hickory’s chuckle was a warm, low sound. He carefully set Rhonda down and offered his arm. “Ready?”

John hesitated for just a second—until Clay murmured behind her, “Anything… you know.”

He turned back with a small, reassuring smile. “I know. I’m fine.”

Then, squaring her shoulders as if facing a gale, she looped her arm through Hickory’s. Together, they headed for the door, under the watchful eyes of her sisters—protective, proud, and more than a little sentimental.

Chapter Text

The bar was full, but not crowded. Warm strings of light hung from the ceiling, mingling with colored spotlights that pulsed to the rhythm of the music. Onstage, a funk band played a tune that made it impossible not to move. Several couples danced in front of them—laughing, spinning, and stumbling through improvised steps—while at the back, near the bar, high tables and stools offered a more relaxed refuge for those who preferred to drink and watch.

Hickory entered first, guiding John with a hand at her lower back. It wasn’t quite a caress, but it wasn’t purely directional either. It was that kind of touch that said “I’ve got you”—subtle, deliberate, and enough to make her pulse skip.

John walked beside him, surprisingly at ease in the boots she’d sworn she’d never wear. They gave her stride a hint of swagger, and Hickory noticed.

“That spot looks good,” he said, nodding toward a table by the brick wall with a clear view of the stage.

They sat. John exhaled, smiling as she unbuttoned the jacket Floyd had made her wear.

“What are you in the mood for?” Hickory leaned in to be heard over the band.

John arched an eyebrow, his smile curving. “To drink… or in general?”

He chuckled, lowering his gaze to her lips. “Let’s start simple. One step at a time—so my hands can keep up.”

John laughed, leaning back with an amused, challenging glint in his eyes. “Start with what you can afford.”

A server appeared. They ordered beers; Hickory added something stronger.

“To your health,” John said when the drinks arrived, raising his glass.

“To your jeans,” Hickory countered smoothly, “which do a remarkable job of drawing attention to more than your waist.”

“Jerk.”

“Sexy.”

She kicked his leg lightly under the table, laughing despite herself.

The band picked up the pace, and the dance floor filled again. The singer urged the crowd on, the lights dimming until the air itself seemed to hum.

“Do you like to dance?” Hickory asked, taking a sip of beer.

John tilted his head. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re the type who says no, but dances like rhythm’s a secret you only share when no one’s looking.”

He met his eyes, glass halfway to his lips. “I think you talk too much.”

“And you like it.”

His smile deepened as he bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh. “If I dance, will you shut up?”

“If you dance,” Hickory said without missing a beat, “I’ll fall in love.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then finished her drink in one swallow. Standing, she took his offered hand.

“Then get ready to be left speechless.”

Hickory grinned as she pulled him toward the crowd, the heat and music rising around them. The night was just beginning

The dance floor pulsed with the rhythm of the bass and the bright shimmer of guitar chords. The band had turned up the energy—an irresistibly fun groove that made even the shyest sway. Warm lights flickered above the crowd, glinting off glasses, smiles, and the occasional twirl. Amid the laughter, clumsy spins, and playful collisions, John and Hickory slipped into the rhythm like they belonged there.

“Don’t look at me like that,” John said, spinning with surprising grace before flashing him a tilted smile. “I’m not a show for you to critique in silence.”

“Who said I’m critiquing?” Hickory replied, keeping the beat, eyes never leaving her. “I’m marveling.”

They found an easy rhythm—nothing elaborate, just a natural flow. John moved with understated confidence, hips keeping time, shoulders loose, her laughter mixing with the music.

After a few songs, Hickory leaned close, his voice brushing her ear. “I’m getting something to drink. Don’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t want more beer. Something sweet… but with dubious intentions,” John said, lifting an eyebrow.

“A lemonade with a bad reputation. Got it.”

He made his way through the crowd while John kept swaying, her movements softer now, the music pulling her in. When Hickory returned, he offered a glass garnished with a slice of lemon and a twisted straw.

“What’s this?”

“Lemonade with vodka. Looks innocent, lies beautifully.”

John tasted it and his eyes lit up. “Dangerously delicious.”

“Like you,” Hickory murmured.

John didn’t answer—just smiled and kept dancing. The first glass vanished between one song and the next. Hickory replaced it with another. The rhythm grew wilder; so did her smile.

“My feet feel lighter,” John said, spinning again. “And my head feels… floaty.”

“That’s the music.”

“That’s the lemonade,” he corrected, sipping again. “This should come with a warning.”

“I did warn you. Sweet and ill-intentioned.”

With the second drink almost gone, John’s movements turned freer, her laughter brighter. She raised her arms, swayed closer to him, then away again—an unspoken dare in every step.

“You know what surprises me?” he asked, leaning close enough for the cowboy to feel his breath. “You haven’t tried to kiss me yet.”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me I can,” Hickory said softly, brushing his lips against her cheek. He lingered a moment too long.

“Rogue,” John muttered, his cheeks burning.

“Beautiful,” he countered.

John laughed, twirling dramatically—and nearly lost his balance. “Whoa!”

“You okay?”

“Yes… it’s just that the floor moved,” John said with mock seriousness. “I’m filing a complaint with the manager.”

“You’re adorable when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said, wagging a finger. “I need at least two more lemonades before that.”

“Maybe. But you’re definitely not sober. I like this version of you.”

“Shh. Be quiet and dance with me, cowboy.”

She grabbed both his hands and pulled him closer. The band launched into another song, and the crowd around them blurred into color and sound. John danced as if the night belonged to her—free, radiant, and untouchable—while Hickory couldn’t take his eyes off her.

After several songs, they decided to sit down again—breathless, a little sweaty, and glowing with genuine smiles.

“I’ll grab more drinks,” Hickory said, tugging his damp shirt from his chest. “All that dancing left me thirsty.”

“Get me another lemonade?” John asked, giving him a pout that could’ve won an award.

“Mmm… no,” he said with a laugh. “I want you to sober up a little, not end up carrying you out of here like a prize.”

John rolled his eyes, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Boring. I’m not even the designated driver tonight.”

“I’m taking care of you, mousie. Your sisters said if anything happens to you, they’ll crucify me. Literally.”

“I know,” he said, laughing softly. This time his smile was honest, not performative.

When Hickory came back, he handed her a glass of ice water. John accepted it with mock resignation, taking a sip before looking up again—calmer, but still with that spark in her eyes.

“Why are you dating me?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught him off guard. Hickory blinked, then smiled, leaning an elbow on the table. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Are you seriously answering my question with another question?” John arched a brow, torn between amusement and disbelief.

“Alright,” he said, settling back. His gaze softened. “Because you’re beautiful. That part’s obvious. But that’s not why. The first time I saw you, I couldn’t help myself—I had to walk up to you. And when I saw you again, soaked to your socks trying to fix that toilet like you were auditioning for a tragic soap opera plumber—that’s when I knew I couldn’t just walk away.”

John tried to suppress a smile, eyes dropping to her glass.

“And you challenge me,” he continued. “You’re stubborn, unpredictable… you never make things easy, but you make them interesting. I never know what you’ll say next—but I always want to find out.”

John tilted his head, resting his cheek on his palm with a faint smile. “You wouldn’t say that if I were a worm.”

Hickory burst out laughing. “And you expect me to believe you’re not drunk?”

“I’m not drunk! I’m being philosophical.”

“Right, Mrs. Worm. If you were one, I’d keep you in the best terrarium, feed you premium organic leaves, and talk to you every day so you wouldn’t get lonely.”

John laughed, eyes closed. “What if I were a fly?”

“I’d keep you far away from Rhonda before she ate you—but I’d give you sugar on a tiny colored dish.”

“And if I were a stink bug?”

He thought for a moment. “Then you’d smell awful, but I’d still care about you. Maybe from a distance. With tweezers. But lovingly.”

John laughed, leaning back in her chair. Her laughter faded slowly, replaced by a quiet smile. She spun her straw between her fingers before speaking, her voice softer, almost hesitant.

“What if I were a boy?”

Hickory tilted his head, a mischievous smile forming. “Seriously, how do you expect me to believe you’re not drunk when you ask me things like that?”

John forced a laugh, but her gaze dropped to the melting ice in her glass. She rolled her eyes, though not in annoyance—just trying to mask the sting in her chest, the ache of hearing him laugh at a truth he didn’t know.

“I already told you, I need more lemonade to actually get drunk,” he said, pushing back his chair. “Behave yourself, cowboy. I'll be right back. I need to use the restroom.”

“Hurry back. I’m getting lonely already.”

John paused and shot the cowboy a grin over his shoulder. “An eternity, you say? Your wish is my command.”

“Johanna Dory!” Hickory protested, laughing, as he watched her walk away.

John walked toward the restroom with feigned confidence. The moment the door shut behind her, the act fell away — shoulders sagging, breath uneven. She leaned back against the door for a second, eyes fluttering closed, before pushing herself toward the sink. Her hands gripped the counter like an anchor.

“Of course he wouldn’t be interested in me as a boy,” he murmured, his reflection blurring in the mirror. “He wants Johanna… not John.”

She exhaled through her nose and reached for a paper towel. Floyd’s voice echoed faintly in her head — pat, don’t wipe, or you’ll ruin it — and she followed the advice, dabbing away the shine from her forehead and cheeks.

Then came the soft creak of a stall door opening.

John looked up. In the mirror’s reflection, a woman with silver hair stepped out and approached the sink beside her. She didn’t look at her at first — just washed her hands, calm and deliberate.

“It isn’t right to assume other people’s feelings for them, John Dory Valtren,” she said, her tone smooth, almost melodic. “Better to ask the source than build castles in your head. Who knows? You might be surprised by the answer.”

“Easier said than done,” he bit out, the words rough. But then he froze. The sound of his full name—his real name—sent his heart into his throat. “Wait… how did you—”

He turned sharply.

The woman was gone. The stalls were empty. Only silence — and her own reflection — stared back.

A chill crawled up her spine.

John rubbed his temples. “Great,” he muttered. “Maybe I should listen to Hickory about those lemonades.”

She ran a hand through her hair, trying to shake off the unease, and pushed out of the restroom.

******

Back at the table, Hickory was watching the stage, arms crossed, thumb tapping to the rhythm.

“What’d I miss?” John asked, masking his unease with a smirk.

“The band wrapped up right after you left,” Hickory replied, nodding toward the stage. “Now that guy’s playing country.”

John followed his gaze and smiled. “Let me guess — you’re enjoying this?”

Hickory’s grin was quick and boyish. “He’s alright… but I could do it better.”

John raised a brow. “Oh, really?”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Prove it, cowboy. You know words aren’t enough for me.”

Hickory leaned back in his chair, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. “Is that a challenge, Johanna?”

“Absolutely.”

He pushed back his chair and extended his hand. “Then come with me.”

John blinked, amused. “Where are we going?”

“To finish checking out the place.”

“What? This isn’t all of it?”

Hickory smirked. “Didn’t you notice the hallway by the restrooms? Leads to another section.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t say I did. I was a little too focused on making it there in time.”

“Then you definitely missed the best part,” Hickory said, stepping closer — close enough that his voice dropped a little. He slid a hand to the small of her back, guiding her gently but confidently.

The touch made John’s pulse jump again. It felt too natural… too easy.

“Come on,” Hickory added with a crooked smile. “Trust me — you’re gonna like this.”

They walked past the restroom area, but instead of stopping there, Hickory veered right. Just as he’d said, a narrow hallway stretched ahead, dimly lit, leading to a wooden door tucked at the end. When he pushed it open, the air inside changed — quieter, warmer, more intimate.

A smaller bar gleamed softly to one side, its counter lined with candles in glass jars. Tables were scattered across the room, most half-filled, their occupants talking over the low hum of music. At the back stood a small stage where a guy was singing an acoustic version of a BroZone song.

John blinked, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Is this… karaoke?”

“Surprise!” Hickory grinned, clearly proud of himself. “Let’s grab a table. That way I can sign up to sing and prove to you I’m better than that guy.”

John laughed under his breath, folding his arms. “Sign me up too. Let’s see who gets more applause.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

They wove through the tables, brushing past groups of laughing strangers and the sweet haze of mixed drinks. The lights were dim enough to make everything feel softer — the edges, the sounds, even the tension between them. It hung in the air like static.

Hickory excused himself to sign their names and pick his song, while John drifted to the bar. She ordered another lemonade, tapping her nails lightly against the counter.

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t drink more after what had happened in the restroom — that eerie encounter still lingered in the back of her mind — but she needed courage. Not just to sing in front of strangers, but to exist in this borrowed body, wrapped in an outfit that Floyd and Boom had clearly chosen for their own amusement.

When Hickory returned, John was finishing her drink and—without hesitation—ordering another.

“You know,” Hickory said, leaning an elbow on the counter beside her, “if you keep drinking, you’re gonna make this competition a piece of cake for me. So I’m not stopping you, mousie.”

John tilted his head, smiling with mock sweetness. “You’re gonna need more than my ‘self-sabotage’ to beat me on that stage, cowboy.”

“Is that so?” Hickory replied, his grin lazy and unconvinced. The way he looked at her lingered just a second too long. “There are five people before us.”

“Then you have five songs to surrender and admit that I’m the best.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Keep dreaming, mousie.”

They watched the brave souls who dared to take the stage. Some surprised everyone with unexpected talent; others could barely stay upright, laughing through the lyrics and forgetting half the words. But that was part of the charm. The place didn’t expect perfection — it expected attitude.

Finally, the host called Hickory’s name. The cowboy stood up with a slow, confident grin, adjusting his hat with theatrical precision.

“Watch and learn,” he said, winking at his date.

John rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her — she was smiling, curious despite herself.

Hickory climbed the steps with an easy swagger, as if he belonged there. The spotlight caught him just as he reached the microphone, his shadow stretching across the small stage. He gave a short bow, earning a few cheers and whistles from nearby tables, then the track started playing.

The first chords broke through the buzz of conversation — a smooth country rhythm with just enough groove to make the crowd start tapping their feet. Hickory’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, it deepened. And when he began to sing, the atmosphere changed completely.

“Gonna stomp my boots in the Georgia mud

Gonna watch you make me fall in love…”

John’s glass halted, frozen mid-sip. The sound that came out of Hickory wasn't just a good voice—it was a low, raspy thing that slipped under the skin. It filled the room, playful and hot, wrapping around her like a slow-burning fuse. There was something undeniably sexy in his precise articulation, in the way his gaze held the audience, in the way he moved to the rhythm with unshakable confidence.

Unconsciously, she pressed her cheek deeper into her propped hand, the lemonade straw going slack between her fingers. The competition was a distant memory. She was just a witness now, surrendering to the damn experience.

“Shake it for the catfish swimmin' down in the creek

For the crickets and the critters and the squirrels...”

The audience started clapping along, a few girls getting up to dance. Even the bartender swayed a little behind the counter. But John barely noticed. Hickory had her full attention — the way he moved, the way the corner of his mouth curved when he hit a note just right, the way confidence rolled off him like he’d been born under a stage light.

“He’s cheating,” John muttered under his breath, unable to keep from smiling. “The damn sexy cowboy is cheating.”