chapter one: a dream is a wish your heart makes

It's the soft pink glow that illuminates in the distance—a kiss, a promise, a something that sings of new beginnings. A sunrise where pink spans the sky, the rosy rays glistening as he takes one step forward, then shuffles two steps back. The nothingness in his dream is long gone, replaced by gilded something and swells in his chest.

A beat, a thud, a—is it maybe fate perhaps? Reaching out, palm face up with hope that there is no danger lurking in its touch. An outline of a mouth forms, a smile even, leans forwards and presses its lips to his forehead.

You're mine, it whispers. Mine.

They reverberate through his veins, down his spine, into his very soul.

Yours, he says. Yours.

And he means it.

He's floating, the clouds hazing their world as he takes their hand, the fingers slim as they lace theirs with his. He's tugged into a dance, into a simple waltz, following the flow of a calm breeze. Music echoes as they twirl together, bliss blooming, almost as if his heart is going to spill out of his chest.

Warmth seeps from their touch, sinking into his bloodstream, his head feeling light. They dance as the sun rises, the pinks reaching out, painting the sky a subtle lavender as it crawls closer tonight. Stars pepper the twilight sky, the moon and sun existing in the same moment as the two of them do.

Branch and —-—-.

(A name, one that he knows, on the tip of his tongue, on the tip of his soul.)

His dream bubble pops and Branch wakes up, swallowing a deep breath. Burning holly perfumes the air, the scent of ash and flame lingering as he blinks himself to the present. His heart hammers in his chest, unwilling to forget the gentleness of his premonition. Love , he thinks. That's what love is.

He swallows again.

I don't know what kind of love...but that was...that was love.

(Reminds him of when he was a child, back when the world was bright and pure.)

He lets reality settle back into his bones as he looks at his peers as seconds tick. One breath, then two; in then out. It's rare that everyone gathers for lessons now that they are older. They are adults crafting their own magic, their own paths in the world, however—

Not all magic can be learned alone. Nor can it be performed alone.

(Dream bubbles continue to gleam, keep people in what ifs and maybes and perhapses.)

Leaning back in his seat, Branch surveys the room, curious to know about everyone else's dream bubbles. They're odd—bright things that glow with worlds unknown. Whatever his peers dream about, he's not too sure, but he knows that the future is what they see.

Branch still feels like he's back in school with loud classmates and uncomfortable seats, the hard plastic making his belt dig into his skin. He waits for the teacher as he finished the assignment faster again compared to everyone else. He feels weird, a tightness pulling him in every direction as the past seems to repeat. He swallows again, ignoring the unease that's enveloped him and lets his mind wander towards something more palatable.

He thinks back to the pink of the dream, the soft glow that was kind and sweet. Gentle, loving, caring—it squeezes his heart, a tight feeling in his chest, the idea of that possibility because—well, no.

He won't let himself hope.

Can't.

Damn if he doesn't look over to her anyway. She's sitting right across from him after all. She looks peaceful. Her dream bubble is a stormy blue, shifting shades of deep nights and sunny seas, much like the fluffy dress she wears.

For there is no one more caring and kind and sweet and bright as Poppy King. Doused in glitter from head to toe, bright pink hair, boisterous laughter, freckles across the bridge of her nose are only a few trademarks to give her. She doesn't have the exact softness that his dream had, her edges rough and bold, yet her smile does, the way she never forgets him, the way—

(She hands him an invitation a thousand times and he declines a thousand times but treasures them anyway. A memory that's a motion, one known by the muscles in his frame, because if he were to say "yes" one day—if he were to say "yes" one day…would that...would that be okay?)

Okay. Wow. He's done. This train of thought is completely disgusting and over. Just. No. Nope. That dream was not about Poppy, he tells himself. Not one bit.

Won't.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he chalks up his unusual feelings to the dream bubble. Because there is no way in hell he's going to publically moon over Poppy King. Nope. No way.

(That's what poetry's for.)

Branch is about to ignore the world, fall wayside to daydreams when he hears her gasp. His eyes snap open and there is Poppy grinning madly, in total joy at her premonition. She obviously wants to shout, but bites her lip to keep herself quiet, flailing her hands wildly as she attempts to contain herself in her seat. The bells at her wrists, her ankles, and ears still ring with her every movement.

Most of their other peers are still trapped in their bubbles when Poppy makes eye contact with him, her bright pink eyes sparkling with magic as she shifts in her chair, her glossy lips curving in the most radiant grin.

"That was amazing!" she mouths and Branch is able to hear it perfectly. The pitch of her voice, the squeal, the cadence as she explodes with emotion that punches every damn syllable.

He raises a brow and shrugs, his hand waving in a so-so motion.

And waits.

She takes a deep breath, stunned then Poppy's eyes become huge, red flushing her cheeks, completely outraged. She silently squawks in her seat, scolding him across the way about how he's completely wrong. Hands this way, hands that way, a terrible attempt at a menacing looking directly face on. Branch does everything in his power to remain neutral, though a part of him at least wants to smile at her antics. It's part of the game they play. Don't give in or death.

Okay. Not death per say, but the one time he lost, she wouldn't shut up about it for weeks afterward.

He puts a finger to his lips and quietly shushes her. Counting one, two, three and—

She practically vibrates in her seat, with either fury or excitement, or both. Branch feels like it's both. Both explains Poppy pretty well.

She looks at him like he's crazy, like how could this not be the most exciting thing to ever happen to them. And well, granted... This is most likely the most exciting thing to happen to her today , but Branch doesn't know how he feels about the whole dream bubble pink extravaganza that transpired minutes ago.

It's a bit...out of his norm. Not bunker material. Nowhere was there enforced doors and copious amounts of supplies in case of famine or zombies. Always gotta be prepared for zombies after all. Can't throw a necromancer far, you know.

The undead aside, he felt safe and that's the problem. His safety had nothing to do with his well-thought plans labeled A through Z, numbered one through infinity. He was safe because—dare he say it?—he felt loved.

A glimpse of pink catches his attention, making his heart race as his mind muddles up dreams and reality. He then realizes that he's metaphorically burned a hole in the desk with his intent staring. Looking up, Poppy has been trying to make him pay attention by the way she smiles even broader than possible. She waves enthusiastically, enchanting her hair to do the same, the ringing of her bells finally noticeable.

He scowls. It's simply a knee-jerk reaction to her unmitigated cheer.

She opens her mouth as if she's going to whisper something, but one by one, dream bubbles pop and people gasp, excitement and wonder etched in their voices as they gain the ability to speak again.

It's a symphony to her as she lets out the most relieved and ever appropriate. "That was so awesome! Eeee!"

Glitter shoots from her fingertips, her glee as always manifesting itself one way or another, usually in a way that's flashy. It's contagious, her magic and emotions. Her happiness permeates the room, amping up everyone else as Branch tries to ignore it.

It's a Poppy side effect.

When she's happy, you're happy. It's hard to be other with her sweet siren charm that oozes with her magic. Not that it's malicious. She hopes—wants everyone to be happy.

Unfortunately.

There's complete pandemonium raging, chaos ensuing with glitter sprinkling their peers—somewhat respectable young adults. Where is the dream proctor in this mess? Though, not that he expects any organization from Harper. She'd most likely join in on the mess, paint bombs and all.

Bright yellow comes into view, making his way towards Poppy with lackadaisical flip flops and an open shirt despite the fact that they are currently taking a preliminary examination. Or, as the Registrar likes to say, a "fun" training day.

Fun being loosely defined as something along the lines that Branch doesn't like. Like bonding activities when he could back home away from the hustle and bustle of superficial witch and wizard and mystical networking. Because apparently forming strong bonds helps create a better tomorrow. Something along those lines. It's on a pamphlet he's pretty sure.

Creek crouches by Poppy's desk, saying something most likely plagiarized from a wellness magazine. Something about auras and good dreams and the forces of the universe's state, blah blah blah. She giggles loudly and he taps her nose, doing his ever famous "boop".

Branch grimaces, more than disgusted at the display in front of him. He's. Yeah. He's done. Time to go home. Tapping his foot, he wonders for the umpteenth time, where is the dream proctor? He's not a praying man, but for the love of all that is good and sane, someone please send help.

Eyes cast to the heavens, he gives it a shot anyway. What's the worse that could happen?

"Branch! Branch, are you okay? You look like you want to die more than usual!"

Wrong help.

Rolling his eyes, a smartass remark about to roll off his tongue, Branch startles when he realizes that Poppy is now right in front of his desk crouching, her face nestled neatly in the crook of her arms as she leans on the table. The desk shakes for a moment, but she's unfazed by the jerking motion. She blinks and gives him a happy smile, their previous disagreement forgotten.

His heart speeds up again, fright clutching hold as he tries to soothe the erratic beating in his chest.

"Jesus Christ, Poppy," he breaths. "Can you not?"

She scrunches her nose, looking completely pleased. "I cannot not."

Creek saunters over and places his hands on Poppy's shoulders. "Poppy, love. Leave the poor bloke alone."

She tips her head back and shakes her head playfully. "Can't. I gotta bother him. I gotta. I love him, you know."

And he's dead. Goodbye. His life was alright, but please let it be known that Poppy King murdered him where he sits because she throws declarations of love so casually. And the worse part is that she means it. She loves him. He can feel it. Her emotions tasting like warm cookies his grandma used to bake for him.

Why does she have to be so nice all the time?

Creek pats her head, giving a tight wide smile, obviously being as blasted by her mood as he is. "Now, Poppy—I know you mean well, but Branch is well...branch-like. Like one with thorns. He's evolved to need to be alone."

Seriously? This guy. Can he. Not? Like yes, he's not wrong. Branch is pretty prickly, but how can he— If Poppy wasn't perched on his desk, Branch knows for a fact that he would be table flipping. Instead, he tries a more diplomatic and less violent approach.

Branch stiffly says, "Thanks, man. Either way, stop treating her like a little kid."

Voicing his "unique perspectives" have always been his strong suit anyway. He has to have one.

Creek's smile falls immediately, his hands smoothing over Poppy's shoulders as if to remain grounded. "I never—"

Branch cuts him off, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting him a glare. "Yeah, well, your posture says otherwise. Either way," he says, jabbing a finger in Creek's direction, "you can get lost. Poppy can stay if she wants."

Poppy purses her lips together. "Branch."

Ugh, does she have to say it so...sternly? Where in the world is this dream proctor? He wants to go home.

It's—well, it's an understatement that he dislikes Creek. That much is true. If he had Poppy powers, Branch knows for a fact that the air would reek and taste of shit anytime he saw the yoga loving would-be wizard. There's...something about him that's not right.

He doesn't back down though. "What? It's true. If you don't like it, you can leave too."

He looks the other way as Poppy stands and puts her hands on her hips.

In most normal situations, he's usually able to retreat and let her stew on his words. It's ...how he is. He's pretty abrasive and harsh. So he can't right now. He's trapped in a room with a good amount of people and there's no way out until he's given the signal to go. Rules and regulations and all that.

Not when he's waiting for the next step of the prelims so that he can finally go up a rank and finally start selling spell patents. That's all he wants. To sell safety spell patents. He wants to go up a rank too. There's more freedom higher the rank, the less he has to come into town and report to the Registrar. Is that so wrong? Come on. He's suffering with all these people.

Creek tugs on Poppy's arm, fed up with Branch's attitude, trying to steer her back to her seat. A part of Branch wants to reach out and snatch her hand, hold her close with him instead of letting her go and letting Creek win. Which, of course, is the exact opposite of what he said before but—

(All scent of childhood gone, Poppy suppressing her powers. She always does when she feels something less than one thousand percent positive.)

Poppy is her own person. She can do whatever she likes with whomever she likes. That's more than true enough.

Freedom comes when the dream proctor returns. A young woman with paint smudges all over her face, her hands, her body. Helps her better predict fortunes she says. Branch isn't sure if that's true, but he's not one to argue with Harper. She's the latest oracle in a long lineage of powerful women.

"Ah, sorry about that guys," she laughs. "Had to talk to some of the higher ups about some assignment management. Can everyone get back to their seats and I'll give you the rundown about your placements?

Poppy gives him a hard look before returning to her seat, Creek at her side as Harper begins, sending him a secretive satisfied sneer out of Poppy's view.

"I know today has been pretty informal because of the whole dream bubble thing. Going up rank isn't always a big deal. Sometimes all it takes are simple steps, you know. But I have to be honest— those weren't true premonitions but projections ."

The room murmurs, questions running rampant as someone in the back asks, "What do you mean?"

Harper smiles and hops to sit on her desk. "Well, in reality, your dream bubbles helped us see exactly what you want in your heart of hearts. Things you'd be completely unaware of, you know. So. They're like premonitions of your desires and not the real future, but that doesn't mean they can't be true one day! Which—" she beams, "is perfect for this next step! It's rather new, but—you'll find out tonight your next task! So be on the lookout for something magical in your future."

Branch wants to slam his head on his desk for many reasons. One: really? Why the secrets? Is that really needed? Who runs this place. Actually, nevermind. That's a stupid question. It's a socks with no shoes wearing cloud. And two: he does not want to dwell on what his dream bubble meant because—because—oh god, she's sitting right across from him and he's not crazy prepared to accept that yet this time.

Heart of hearts, right? Yeah. In his heart of hearts, he doesn't actually want to sell stupid safety patents.

"And—" Harper continues. "Next time I see you all, it'll be for your actual exam and that's when you should all worry. I might be easy going, but don't worry kiddos, when the exam comes, you know what's up. See you in a few months!"

She disappears in a cloud of colorful smoke with the snap of her fingers.

It's...completely anti-climatic. The entire day wasted. From the dream bubble projections to the deja vu of school to the moment, everyone starts to shuffle out of their seats. Like. He's 24. Can't this whole process be more? Formalized?

Poppy and Creek whisper to each other, things somewhat not going either of their ways. Doesn't know what it's about, but Branch knows for a fact that there is no one more stubborn or determined than Poppy.

Maybe save him. He's kinda gotten the whole dig your heels into the ground thing down to an artform.

But he doesn't care. Pulling out his phone, he's been here for about two hours and he's tapped out. No more people time today.

Grabbing his bag, he checks that he has everything on his person before heading over to the Corridor of Doors. A ridiculous name for their instant transportation, but hey. The door network works. Strange, different, but it works.

He refuses to look over his shoulder, digs his keys out of his pocket, and heads home.

"Poppy, I don't know why you like him," Creek says. "He's toxic. Negative vibes in every direction."

She rolls her eyes. While she adores Creek, haven't they been over this enough? Everyone in the Snack Pack asks the same thing and can't they see that Branch is more than doom, gloom, and apocalypses?

"Everyone deserves to be happy, Creek. Even grumps like Branch."

Creek gives her a hard stare, looking completely unimpressed with her reasoning. In the past, he's been quick to defend Branch in front of everyone else, but getting some attitude from said grump placed Creek in a sour mood. Of all days, couldn't she have understanding Creek in lieu of namaste-and-fight-me-in-the-pit Creek?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Branch makes his way to the Corridor and she now knows there's a time limit ticking. She flashes Creek an apologetic smile and he sighs with exasperation before returning one of his one.

He taps her on the nose again and leans forward, leaving a quick peck on her cheek. "Off with you."

Laughter bubbles within her, feeling content as she grabs her things. Things are—well, they are interesting to say with Creek. Pretty not serious, but interesting. Who knows?

She does like flirting with him if anything. She's still unsure if she wants to upset the dynamic of the Snack Pack. The harmony of everyone right now is perfect. A good balance of play and fun with lots of flirting between all them here and there. No strings attached in a romantic sense, but a sturdy group built on foundations of love.

A part of her doesn't know why either, but she always ends up trailing after Branch. That's part of the problem too. She can't help herself. He's. Branch. And she's Poppy. She has to go to him or the world would end. At least in one universe. There's how many again? Uncountable, infinite?

She spots his deep rich blue backpack not too far ahead. A few paces away as he gets caught at a corner trying to get to the Corridor. The color resonates with her, her heartbeat quickening. She's reminded of her dream bubble, the memory of it replaying instantly as she trudges forward.

She's warm, in the sea. Caught in the currents of life's vitality. Deep blue and rich teal fill her vision as she swims towards the surface, towards the golden sun of newness. She's searching, longing for something, for someone, praying that she can find them.

Who, she doesn't know, but she has to find them. Has to protect them. Has to love them.

Wings sprout from her back as she breaks free from the water and the sky filled with pink clouds and rosy sunrise. Happiness propels her upwards and laughter tears from her soul.

Whoever she's looking for, she's going to find them, she knows it. She flies into the clouds and finds an outline of the someone she's been hoping to see. She races forward, her wings speeding her along and heart never more full, never wanting anything else all along.

The longing she felt remained after she woke up, her dream bubble popping. If her mind when straight to Creek, that would have been easy. Sometimes—a part of her likes easy. Creek is simple, straightforward in his care and his attitude with others. Mysterious, yes, but understandable.

Like the wind blowing on sunny days. You don't know where it comes from as it circles around you, but it ruffles your hair and caresses your skin with affection. Poppy doesn't need to know why a summer breeze does what it does, but she's thankful that she can experience it all the same.

Sometimes—things are less than easy and more on the complicated side. A complexity she doesn't like to follow per say. But it's hard when the epitome of her opposite challenges her every step of the way. There's an allure in what she doesn't know, in what she doesn't understand, in the murkiness of Branch.

He's irritating and infuriating and—unpredictable if given the chance. The one that goes against the grain, the one who proves her wrong, the one who she can't pin down. Elusive water that slips between her fingertips. Kind. And thoughtful. When she least expects it.

(She forgot to breathe a second when her bubble popped, her eyes landing on Branch. The silhouette of her dream echoing in real life.)

The crowd before him starts to disperse, time kicking forward again as she leaps forward, not wanting to miss her chance. She pounces on him from behind, his backpack cutting into her gut. He staggers forward them, her arms circling around his neck to hold him in place.

"Hug time!" she sings, feeling proud that he caught him unaware for once. Which is hard to do because she's eye catching and ear catching. With bright clothes and brighter hair and jingle-jangling bells.

Branch freezes, making a choking sound. She takes mercy on him and lets him go, taking one large step forward to stand beside him. Which is nicer than she usually is. He smells like soap rather than dirt. She's greeted by a glare automatically.

His fingers rub this throat, adjusting the collar of his gray shirt. "How many times—" he starts to scold.

Poppy clicks her tongue and places her hands behind her back. "Yeah, yeah. You say you don't like hugs, but I know you do. Deep down. Sometimes."

He grunts. "Yeah, well not today."

"So other days, then?"

He pauses and raises a brow. "Don't push your luck."

She beams up at him, inching closer. Branch coughs and rubs the back of his neck, looking elsewhere that isn't her. Poppy giggles and lets the moment stretch.

His lips press together, disgruntled and he fixes the shoulder strap of his bag. With a sigh, he looks away, wondering. "What do you want?"

She fights off smiling more. They have an odd friendship, to say the least. She's thankful for it though. He's a good guy. He humors her at least which is always better than completely ignoring her. Not that he ignores her, she notes. He complains loudly the entire time, much to her amusement.

"I don't know," she shrugs, matching his stride as he makes his ways to the doors. "To chat. We didn't get to earlier," she says simply. She leaves out the part that she hasn't seen him in a while and kinda missed him. That would be too direct. But then realization strikes. "Oh, oh! What was your dream bubble projection premonition thing about? I didn't get to see the color of it!"

He seems stunned at her question, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to decide what to say. She wonders what it could be then, something that makes him clam up like this. Is it something unexpected? Something different?

Branch swivels his head, looking straight ahead, his knuckles white as he grasps the strap of his bag. "Black. And how I'm happy alone."

Poppy squints at him, tugging on his sleeve, making him turn around. "And that's what's in your heart of hearts? Being alone forever?"

He tears out of her hold. "Yep. Alone. Forever. Just the way I want to be. Why does that surprise you?"

She groans. "Branch, my man. C'mon. That's so...lame."

And a lie. A complete lie. If that was the case, he wouldn't have hesitated. Whatever it is, it's something he plans on keeping guarded to himself. She wants to tear out her hair. Anytime she feels like she makes progress with him, he sets them two steps back. Like if she gets too close, he'll break.

"Well, Poppy," he stresses. "The world isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. I like my world. It's mine. And if you don't mind, I want to go home now."

He moves to the doors again and she snags his jacket once more.

"Wait, wait, wait! You didn't ask what mine was about, Branch!"

He turns back around and leans against the nearby wall, slightly exasperated, but smirking. "Ah, forgive my manners, Princess. What was your dream bubble about?"

She pats him playfully on the arm. "See, was that so hard? And look! We're chatting now!"

"Uh-huh, c'mon. Get on with it. Grace me with your heart's desires."

These are also moments that Poppy can't figure Branch out either. For one, he's looking rather cool propped up against the wall in that lazy sort of way. Maybe it's the jeans, they look nice today—not being caked in mud or having holes at the knees. He's effortless and understated, people have to want to notice him when he's there, but she can't help but always stare at him. He's captivating. In that way, he doesn't even realize that he is nice to look at. Despite his odd cockiness, it never has to do with his looks. Which is good, she thinks.

(Because, well, what would happen if he knew that she thought that he's attractive in a way she can't explain. Not like model attractive, but—handsome all the same.)

And two, does he not realize that a man just can't ask a woman about her heart's desire so easily? Like he says it nonchalantly and—

—yeah, Branch. This guy. He's a hard read.

And wow. Okay. Um.

She swallows, her sight glued to the floor, her heart racing a little faster than anticipated and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. It hits her then that her dream was a bit on the romantic side, if she thinks about it. It made her feel breathless before, but now, when her mind is all muddled with oceans and longing and Branch's eyes are eerily like the sky she saw in it.

"Poppy? You okay?" he asks, concern in his voice rather than annoyance. "You look flushed."

She's still looking downward when feels the back of his hand to her forehead and she forgets to breathe. Again.

This is maddening.

"Hmm. Well, no fever," he mummers. Removing his hand, he sticks it in his pocket. "Everything okay?"

She finally steels herself to look up and his face is open, a rare moment where he's not hiding all his emotions. She nods and laughs a bit on the louder side than intended.

"Oh me? Ha—yeah. Um. I guess I, uh, realized how silly my dream thing was…" she trails.

Branch hums, quirking his head to the side. "Well, if you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. You're the one who wanted me to ask you."

Awkward silence creeps between them. He jingles his keys from his pocket and Poppy rushes to fill the quiet that's taken residence in their conversation.

"I was looking for someone!" she blurts. "Like, like—when my mom was my age, she had dreams where she was looking for someone and then she found my dad so..I think…I think I'm starting to get those dreams too…"

Oh god. Here she goes.

"Ah? Is that, um, normal? For witches?" he asks, similar to when a boy learns about a girl's period for the first time.

"Uh. Kinda? It's complicated. But yeah. It's normal for siren class witches and we—yeah, they're our familiar. Kinda. The person we dream of. It's a two-way street. We give them an extra boost and then they help us channel our magic so we don't have to, you know," she shows off her earrings. She doesn't tell him about the invisible seals on her throat. "Wear so much protective jewelry. For other people's sakes. And stuff."

A part of her wants to knock her head into a hard surface and claim insanity because she has never described the whole dream familiar thing so poorly. It's simple in reality. She only needs someone to help her channel her magic because she has too much. That's all. It's easier to share it with another person than keep it all in her body.

But she couldn't say that, could she? No. She's currently a Poppy imposter trying to be Poppy and failing.

"Huh," Branch says after a thoughtful minute. "I didn't realize—well, I knew you were powerful. Always thought it was because of your dad. Since he's like one of the well-known wizards ever and all." Clearing his throat, he continues. "You're able to affect people's emotions easily, but didn't know it's so, uh, regulated or because of your mom. That's—wow, Poppy, gotta say that's pretty neat. And terrifying."

He says the last part with a sharp smile, like terrifying is more interesting, more unexpected and Poppy tries not to preen under the unusual praise, a blush coloring her cheeks.

"Yep!" she says, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. "And—I guess, I've been thinking a lot about that person! What they'd be like and I was dreaming of him. I think it's him…I…want to meet them and maybe fall in love with them one day. Like how my mom and dad did. That would be—nice!" she babbles.

Branch's eyes widen a fraction and he does that little "mmhmm" people do when they encounter something extremely strange but are too polite to actually say anything about it.

Where is normal firecracker crazy Poppy, she wonders. She likes that version of herself. Not this one, stuttering and red-faced. Not as explosive as she usually is. Well, a different kind of erupting emotions: the embarrassing kind.

She's careful to hide her emotions right now. Knowing that when she's nervous the air smells of stale water. She likes it better when she's happy, when the air has citrus notes. Suppress, suppress, suppress.

"Well, then," Branch says after a moment. "That does sound nice, I guess. I don't know why you were so embarrassed about it. Usually, you're a hyperactive love-vomiting nut."

She laughs, glad for a sense of normalcy.

"Well, it's different when it's about myself than about other people. It's easy to love other people, I'm born to do that. I want everyone happy."

"You make everyone happy, Poppy. Don't worry about that," he says without missing a beat.

It makes her heart feel warm and that maybe this whole tangent of conversation wasn't completely stupid.

She gladly takes the shift in subject change too. "Oh, even you, Branch?"

He huffs and takes a step back. Is that a bit of a blush she sees?

"No comment."

Feeling better, Poppy slaps her hands to her face much, pumped up and letting the anyone in her vicinity smell oranges. No time to feel sad or weird. Today's a happy day.

Branch coughs and laughs. "Holy shit, Poppy. You gotta warn a guy before you decide to give everyone a vitamin C boost." He tries to scowl, but it fails courtesy of good vibes.

Firecracker Poppy is back and dons her best smile. "No way! Where's the fun in that! Oh, oh! One more thing before you go home," she says as she starts to dig through her purse.

Branch blinks and shakes his head. "Whatever it is, it's no. Branch's tapped out for today."

She pouts. "But it's an invite for a kickback."

Branch sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm gonna go easy on you. You gave me a decent dose of cheer and you're having an off day, but no thanks. I want to go home. I'm tired. We're getting our next assignments tonight and I want to focus on that instead. So, please," he emphasizes. "I don't want to argue with you today."

Branch gives her a strained smile and—he's right. He's tired. She usually tries not to her powers around Branch because he's more sensitive than others. And she knows he doesn't like his feelings being so influenced by hers. She. She gets that.

"Fine. This one time I'll let you off the hook," she agrees. "But next time! Next time for sure you're coming."

He looks relaxed, small smile and all. "Fat chance."

With that, he walks over to a free door on the other side of the room and sticks his key into the lock. Saying a spell to himself, he opens it to reveal his darkened living room. He gives her one more curt wave before heading inside, the spell over once the door shuts behind him.

Poppy grabs the end of her ponytail and sighs, feeling emotionally exhausted and slouches against the wall. She wishes she could hide in her hair and blend into the wall. Maybe she got too excited earlier. She wants to rub her eyes, but she's wearing mascara. Reluctantly, she puts her hands on the small of her back, arching herself, letting her bones crack.

"Told you that you should've come to yoga this morning."

She huffs and reaches a hand out for Creek to grab. He tangles his fingers with hers immediately. It's comforting. Knowing what to expect from him. Static, but comforting.

"Yeah, yeah. Next time?"

He kisses the back of her hand. "Did your chat go well? Feel better?"

She nods. "We didn't yell at each other today. So yeah. That's a plus."

Creek laughs. "Whatever you say, love. He's just so," he shrugs, frowning. "Meh."

"He is not!" She scolds and bumps shoulders with him. Grabbing her key and sticking it into one of the doors. "You know what's not so meh?"

"What?"

"A case of cider and some good ol' awful B movies."

With their clasped hands, Creek points them forward. "Lead the way, my lady."

Branch stretches his arms high over his head, aching muscles signifying pride as he finishes drafting a new spell. He lost most of his morning, but made up with the extra gardening he did in the afternoon. The quietness of his bunker fills him with peace, the silence soothing to his ears. No one to get too close, no one to dodge, no one to bother him. It's perfect.

His mind wanders back to the Corridor of Doors when Poppy hugged him, back to the way she said she loves him, back to the dream bubble that made him feel safe. Back to his heart's desires almost becoming real, but not.

They didn't fight today, which was nice. Not that they always fight, but they left on a good note which is on the rarer side. Though he would never admit it, he does appreciate the way she can force him to relax. He's been rather mushy and sentimental since he's been home. He just—doesn't want to abuse it. He knows he's fucked up and using her powers to fix his problems doesn't seem like a good idea.

Tempting, but definitely not a good idea.

He lets out a breath, his mind feeling clearer than this morning too. The dream bubbles put everyone on edge, subconscious desires surfacing when they shouldn't have. Branch isn't sure how the Registrar will be able to interpret them into something useful, but whatever.

Getting up from his desk, he gets for bed. Comfy and tattered sweatpants it is. Glancing at his clock as he sits on his mattress, it's not too late, only a little after midnight. He's sure that Poppy's kickback is still happening. He doesn't mind kickbacks as much. Those are fine.

(What if…what if he just showed up last minute and surprised her? Would that be—would that make her smile?

Nah.)

No big and crazy loud parties. Those he can do without.

He wishes he took her invitation. Too late now though. He can't go up and ask her for it despite that they—mean a lot to him. If he wasn't so tired, he would go through them and read them all again, but decides not to.

His mind drifts to Creek. Creek and Poppy to be more precise. There's something going on there and he isn't stupid. There's something brewing between them. If he wasn't such a coward, maybe things would be different.

But that means being less of a coward. Not that it—would work out though. Poppy and he are too different. From different worlds entirely and she deserves better than him. Deserves better than Creek too, but that's her choice. Whatever makes her happy.

I …want to meet them and maybe fall in love with them one day. Like how my mom and dad did. That would be—nice!

Turning off the light, he laughs to himself while getting under his covers. Freaking Poppy. Who knew she could get so flustered over a boy she never met? It was adorable. Rosy cheeks, nervous fidgeting. Miles away from the normal, confident girl that stole everyone's attention.

Branch falls asleep thinking of Poppy's laughter, of her smile, of her touch. Of the way she makes the world smell like cookies when she loves someone or citrus when she's joyful. He lets her zeal lull him to sleep, her tenacity to never be less than surprising. Thankful that there are days when he doesn't feel awful because of her.

He doesn't name what he feels, but he whispers her name before dreams take him.

"Goodnight, Poppy."

He stands in a warm ocean, rich blue shifting teal green. The sky's sunrise, sunset, twilight all in one moment. Pink fading into orange slipping into violet. Moon and sun suspended both in East and West—a polarizing image.

Soft pink petals rain down and he looks up, ceasing to breathe as he recognizes her. It was only a hazy outline before, but now Poppy smiles down at him, wings at her back deteriorating as she descends. His heart fills to the brim with happiness—overflowing his veins, saturating his soul. She's never been more gorgeous, her hair loose and a flower crown woven into her pink hair, a rose-colored gown complementing tanned calves.

This ... this is what love is, he thinks.

Branch reaches for her, pulling her close into his orbit, the sun outlining her form in a halo and the world has never been more wonderful. Her fingers graze his palm before lacing with his, his other hand holding her at the waist. It's a perfect fit.

Her arms circle around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "I found you," she whispers, her lips ghosting his skin. Her hair smells of strawberries and sugar.

He holds her close, afraid that if he lets go that she might vanish. "You found me."

He—he doesn't know what else to say, doesn't know how to articulate that he's never wanted anything more than this, doesn't know how to express that this—this is his heart's desire. There is no darkness that lurks, no painful past, just now—just Poppy lighting his world.

She pulls back, pink eyes clear, specks of gold around her pupils. She carefully takes his face in her hands, her touch ever gentle as she leans in close. Her thumbs stroke the apples of his cheeks. Her smile radiates jubilance.

"Mine," she breathes against his lips. "You're mine."

Branch nods. "Yours. I'm yours," he says.

He feels her smile against his mouth before she presses her lips against his. A gentle and nervous kiss, one that promises tomorrows and tomorrows after tomorrows if he'd have them.

He hugs her closer, smiling through her kisses as if that is even a question.

(He'd have as many tomorrows as she's willing to give.)

And he's never had a more happy dream and kisses her again.

Dappled sunlight streams through her curtains, speckling her face with golden rays. Poppy enjoys the extreme warmth, comfortable from a good night's sleep. Blinking herself steadily awake, she smiles at the blue flowers she picked yesterday and placed in the vase on her nightstand. She buries herself back into her pillow, waiting for her alarm to go off any minute, relishing that her blanket feels extra heavy today.

It makes her want to go back to sleep in instant. She can stay here forever, cocooned in bliss.

Her phone chimes a pop song at 6:05 on the dot, smooth singing delighting the air.

She's about to reach over and turn it off when her blanket moves and pats the bed, muttering expletives as it looks for her cell phone. Poppy doesn't mind for a moment, because hey, if her blanket wants to be helpful—

—wait.

She doesn't have an enchanted blanket nor does her blanket have an olive colored arm.

And in hindsight, she should have seen this coming, she did have a rather good dream about meeting her would-be familiar.

But hindsight is late in coming, and that does not stop her from screaming at the top of her lungs and shoving said also screaming person out of her bed

There's a large thud on the ground and more swearing when Poppy snatches her wand and peers over the side of her, ready to blast this fucker into next Tuesday if she has to.

But, she can't, not when—not when—there he sits on the floor of her room, with ratty pajamas and messy black hair, blue eyes blinking up at her with jaw gaping.

Poppy usually knows what to say. In this case, she can barely eke out one syllable beyond the knot in her throat. Can barely make the air come rushing up to say his name.

"Branch?"

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I'm really looking forward to playing with this world.