“You’re Lucky. You’ve fallen in love with your best friend. The person who accepts you at your worst, The person who laughs at your stupid jokes, The person who knows you better than you know yourself.”
Buttercup and Butch would wear similar clothing all the time and it would be completely by accident. They’d see each other at school and just think “not again” because they’re both wearing black bomber jackets and green shirts and black jeans AND “NO WE DIDNT PLAN THIS !!!” and one day they’re both wearing green hoodies and the second Buttercup sees Butch she’s ripping off her sweater and he’s just dying because “it’s not even that bad c’mon so what we’re matching”.
She caught Butch’s eye. As was customary now, he was seated with her old friends, all of whom were furtively watching as she passed. She didn’t know if Butch was telling anybody they were kind of… not wanting to kill each other anymore, but whatever, it wasn’t like there was any need to publicize that—
“Hey, Buttercup,” Butch said, raising his hand, and she stalled, looking at him.
All the boys at the table were shell-shocked, their attention torn between Buttercup and Butch. She stared at him, trying to read his expression.
After a long moment where he merely stared back, Buttercup said warily, “Hey.”
Another long silence passed between the group. Butch inclined his head politely. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going,” she said, cracking a smile against her better judgment and secretly enjoying the stunned looks everyone was giving them.
If Buttercup smiling was a shocker, Butch blew that out of the water when he nodded at the empty seat next to him and offered, “You want to sit?”
About five guys were suddenly preoccupied with picking their jaws up off the floor, and a bewildered Buttercup darted a brief glance at Mitch, seated on Butch’s other side. He blinked away his shocked expression, averted his eyes, and stared at the table.
Butch waited, expectant. She’d been standing there awhile now, and several other folks were turning to stare.
It was hard to tell who smirked first. In any case, both of them were by the time Buttercup cast a final glance around the cafeteria, shrugged, and accepted.
Butch stared at her, letting the image soak into his brain, into his memory. It would be a false one. It wasn’t his; he hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there for any of these. He stared and stared, drilling that expression, that smile into his brain until it burned…