Hi everyone! I don't usually do prequels, but this one I had to. All credit for the story goes to my friend, though. We were pantomiming stories about Trolls and this one came completely out of her imagination. I'm just the one who typed it up. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please read and review! :)

Kissing.

Creepy was kissing.

At least, that's what Branch thought as he watched Poppy, on her stomach on the forest floor, that sickeningly sweet beautiful smile on her face, scrapbooking an image of her and her crush kissing passionately.

"Creepy" was just the couple name Branch had managed to make up for the two of them. It made him feel slightly better about himself in situations like this.

"Hmm, hmm-hmm," the princess hummed softly as she scrapbooked, adding extra glitter around her and Creek's figures, as though they were glowing from the magic of the kiss.

It would be more accurate if she could scrapbook him in the background, throwing up from the nastiness of the kiss.

Branch set the sticks he'd been collecting on the ground and walked up to Poppy, his arms folded as he looked over her shoulder. "What are you doing, Poppy?"

She looked up at him, abruptly stopping her scrapbooking. She flashed him a smile even brighter than her current one, making it look false—which it probably was, knowing who she was talking to. Quickly she slammed the book shut. "Oh, you know, just scrapbooking and singing! A great day, like always!"

Branch smirked. "Well, it looked like you were scrapbooking something to do with Creek."

"I wasn— I mean, yeah, he's my friend. Why wouldn't I scrapbook him?"

"Something to do with you and Creek."

"Like I said, he's my friend!" Poppy said, her voice just slightly too cheerful to be real. She pushed herself up to her knees—

"Can I see?" Branch asked, smirking, already reaching for the book.

"NO!" Poppy exclaimed, reaching out for her scrapbook. It became caught between their hands, flopping open to a random page that just so happened to be the kissing page. It was only a moment, but at that moment, as the book was caught between their two opposing forces, it ripped apart right at the spine, leaving half the book in Poppy's hands and half in Branch's hands.

Given that Poppy and Creek had been right in the middle of the book, ripping the book meant separating them right down the middle. Branch felt a short rush of pleasure seeing the two figures pulled apart, but then instantly felt guilty when he saw the princess' face.

It was crumpling with tears, leaving trails of liquid glitter down her face as she looked at the ruined scrapbook. Branch's heart felt the same way. He'd never seen Poppy cry before. In fact, he was unsure if Poppy had ever seen Poppy cry before.

Before he realized what he was doing, before he remembered that he had a reputation to retain, Branch had knelt down beside her and was asking, "Poppy, are you okay?" with real concern in his voice.

Quickly she wiped away the tears, leaving her hands glittery, before she looked up at him. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," she said, but everything about her suggested the exact opposite. "I'll just need to redo my scrapbook, that's all. It'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Because I think, maybe, we could fix this one—" Branch stopped mid-sentence. That was when the realization hit him that this went against everything he was known for in the village, and especially in Poppy's mind: cruelty, misery, trying to make everyone else miserable, blandness . . . He had a reputation and it needed to be upheld.

But there was still a voice in the back of his mind, and it was getting louder: Help Poppy.

He nearly shook his head right in front of her. No.

But you love her.

The truth stung him hard, even though he'd admitted it to himself before. He tried to find a way around that one, but the choice didn't even seem like a choice anymore. He had to help Poppy, especially with the way her eyes were filling with glittery tears again—

"Maybe we could fix this one," he repeated aloud. "You have glue in your scrapbook supplies, right?"

She nodded, wiping away another bout of tears. "Only glue sticks, though."

"Well that's convenient," Branch said sarcastically before he could stop himself. Not that he would've tried to in the first place. He knew full well that a glue stick wouldn't mend a whole scrapbook.

She glared at him through her tears. "We can try it, can't we?"

He swept an arm through the air in front of her. "Be my guest."

He watched her as she attempted to glue the two halves of the book together with nothing but a glue stick. It wasn't working at all, but at least it was working better than he'd thought it would. After her fifth try, Branch reached for both halves of the book. "My turn."

Poppy nodded, still looking upset. "O-okay," she sniffled.

Branch tried not to focus on the picture he was mending as he pulled a bottle of super glue out of his hair and tried to stick the halves together. Then, when he was done, he carefully handed it back to Poppy. "Wait for it to—no!"

Poppy had picked it up by one side, but the glue wasn't dry yet. The other side fell to the ground with a thump, and glitter ran down her cheeks once more.

Branch's heart lurched. This was his fault. Every time this happened. Every time, he was punished. This is why you should stay in your bunker, where you belong. Interacting with other Trolls only brought them pain.

"Hey, listen, Poppy," he said, voice gentle again. "Maybe I can fix it if you close your eyes."

She looked at him skeptically, but slowly nodded and shut her eyes. "Okay."

"Don't worry," he told her. "I'll fix your book."

Although her eyes were closed and her face was tear-stained, she laughed. "Did Branch just tell me not to worry?"

Branch pressed his lips into a firm line. He didn't need her teasing right now. "Does it matter?" he said through clenched teeth, forcing himself not to glance at her in case his words upset her.

Suddenly he realized he couldn't fix the scrapbook without supplies from his bunker. And he couldn't leave Poppy alone in the forest while he went to get them—it was already getting dark out.

So he reached over and hid the pieces of the book behind a bush, then said, "You can open your eyes now."

Her eyes popped open and she twisted her torso to face him. "Is it fixed?"

Branch shrugged, cringing at his own bad acting. "I, um, lost it." Yeah, right, like she'll believe that.

"Oh . . ." She trailed off, her gaze lowering to the ground. Then she looked back up at him, a perky smile on her face despite the remaining tear stains. "Well, do you know where it might be?"

He stared at her. Did she seriously believe that?

"Hello? Branch?"

"Oh, right," he said, snapping back to attention as he silently chastised himself. It was a blessing that she believed his horrible lying skills and he wasn't going to take that for granted. He looked around, wondering what to say next.

And there was Creek, as though he'd magically appeared just to solve Branch's problem. The gray Troll had never been so happy to see his enemy. "I think Creek has it!" he said, abruptly pointing at the yogi.

"Oh, thanks!" She jumped up and started running for her crush—then turned around, gave Branch a quick hug, and went straight back to running for Creek.

Such a quick hug that he hadn't had time to shove her away.

He was destroying his reputation.

No time to think about that now, though. Once he knew Poppy wouldn't see, he leaned down and picked up her ruined scrapbook, taking it back the short distance to his bunker. After he was inside, he examined her scrapbook.

With a grimace, he realized there wasn't a way to fix it and pushed an image of Poppy sobbing out of his mind. But what could he do? It wasn't like he could just hand the scrapbook back and say, "Sorry, it's ruined." Her wails would haunt him for the rest of his life—as though he wasn't haunted enough already.

His eyes landed on a small curtain covering a cabinet in the wall. Slowly he made his way across the room and pushed it back, revealing a collection of every card and invitation the princess had ever made him. She'd taught him a lot about scrapbooking, even if she didn't know it.

An idea lit up his mind.

He knew what to do.

The resident village grump approached the princess from behind. Her head was in her hands, a glittery substance spilling from her eyes to her hands to the forest floor. Loud sobs escaped her mouth.

"Poppy?" His mouth was dry.

She turned and looked up at him. "Y-yeah?"

Branch pressed his lips together. "I found something for you." Slowly he brought the new scrapbook out from behind his back and presented it to her.

Poppy took it out of his hands, leaving glitter handprints on both covers. She opened the book to the first page. Branch knew she was looking at the same image she'd created earlier of her and Creek kissing, seamlessly glued back together and made into the leading page of this new book.

After staring at it for a moment, she met his eyes again. "You found this?"

He'd never take credit for anything involving her. "Yeah. The rest, um . . . it wasn't salvageable."

"Thanks, Branch," the princess said softly, smiling through her tears. She got to her feet, in no particular rush, and gave him a hug.

He didn't return it, but he didn't even think to push her away.

When she pulled back, she smiled at the book one more time before closing it and putting it in her hair. "Creek gave this to you, didn't he?"

Branch desperately fought off the sinking feeling in his chest. He hadn't even managed to nod before she continued.

"That's such a relief! He was just lying when he said he'd never seen my scrapbook! I knew he would never say something so mean to me. He's so perfect—right, Branch?"

"Yeah, right," Branch huffed, fighting the sarcasm out of his tone. "Well, I'll see you some other time, Poppy. I've got to prepare for the Bergens' inevitable attack, and I suggest you do the same instead of wasting all your time swooning over a hippie. Or will you be throwing a Bergen-attracting party instead?"

She opened her mouth to answer—

"I don't care," he quickly cut her off. Did she really not understand the difference between a normal question and a rhetorical question? "See you some other time, Princess." With that, he turned around, forcing himself to believe those three small words.

I don't care.

But deep down, one question remained dominant—

Then why would you help her?