This is not fair. This is not fair, this is not fair, this is just absolutely, positively, utterly, unquestionably, unbelievably not fair, Poppy can't even believe how not fair it is – it's the most not fair thing from here to Bergentown, and maybe farther – and then it gets worse.

Well, it doesn't get worse, Branch makes it worse – because apparently it's not bad enough that he's half-naked in the middle of the forest, patched shorts riding low on his hips, dripping with sweat and wash-water, face scrunched up in that familiar, endearing combination of concentration and frustration as he scrubs at his vest, muttering something about stubbornness and grass stains, nope, he just has to go and whip his hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head, sending thick cobalt strands swooping suddenly through the air, momentarily framing his face in a way Poppy's never seen before, and can't possibly be expected to withstand.

As his hair stills again atop his head, he lifts a hand, swiping a bead of sweat from his brow, and turns his attention back to his soaked vest, muscular torso still flecked with water; he eyes the garment critically for several long moments, pursing his lips slightly, and something about the way he does it makes it next to impossible for Poppy to tear her eyes from his mouth, and it'd take a stronger will than her own to keep from wondering how it tastes.

Branch must be satisfied with the state of his vest, because he rises to his feet and lifts the heap of fabric up over his head – his muscles ripple with the motion, and Poppy's face floods with sudden heat, but she barely has the time to wonder if her cheeks are turning red or if it's just really, really warm in this part of the woods when Branch gives the leafy, green cloth in his hands a twist or two until the excess water is cascading down the sides of his face, until it's running in tiny rivulets over his bare chest, and a low, husky sound of pleasure leaves his lips, and dear God, it's so sexy, Poppy's sure she's about to implode.

She must be crazy. Yeah, that's it, she's going crazy, that's all, she's spent too much time alone with her scrapbooks lately, she just needs to clear her head, and maybe scream into an endless void for several hours because there is just no way she actually just used Branch and sexy in the same sentence – he's her friend, and friends don't call other friends sexy, even if they happen to be, which they aren't, because they're just friends, and just friends do not think about other just friends like this, just friends do not think about how good other just friends look while they're half-naked, come on, stop it—!

"Poppy?"

Okay, in hindsight, just him calling her name probably really doesn't warrant the scream that tumbles from her tongue, or the clumsy, staggering step – okay, step is being pretty generous, it's more a stumble, if she's being honest – she takes away from him, and she has to throw her hands out, flailing a little, to keep from falling, and then a strong and steady arm finds her waist, and she tells herself his fingers are still cool from the water, and that's why her skin prickles at his touch because just friends can touch other just friends and he's just trying to stop her from falling, which is totally normal, right? Right?

Poppy has barely a second to notice Branch's vest is back around his shoulders, and tell herself firmly that just friends aren't disappointed because other just friends happen to be fully clothed, before he speaks again, voice quiet and tinged with concern.

"Hey, are you okay? You seem pretty spooked."

He still hasn't let go of her waist, which is fine, because just friends can touch other just friends and it's no big deal and it's totally normal, and Poppy refuses to let her thoughts go any farther because he's staring at her and he asked her a question and just friends can ask other just friends a question and just friends can answer other just friends' questions and okay, she's just done thinking about this forever.

"I—I'm fine," she shoots him the brightest smile she can muster. "I'm good! Totally good! It's all good! It's all good in the Poppy-hood!"

Branch raises an eyebrow. "Uhh…okay?"

Poppy keeps nodding and smiling at him for several long seconds, because just friends can smile at other just friends, and it's totally fine and it's totally normal, and she's not thinking about the way the water clung to his bare torso, definitely not, because just friends don't think about other just friends like that, and he's looking at her kind of weird, and she realizes she's probably freaking him out, and then her brain grinds back into action, and – "Oh!" – she remembers why she went off in search of him in the first place.

She reaches up and tugs a large, colorful card from her hair, more shoving it at than Branch than holding it out to him but it's okay because he got the point, and just friends can invite other just friends to things, right?

"Satin and Chenille are having a fashion show, and they're gonna show off some of their newest designs, and also—" I saw you half-naked and now I can't stop thinking about how much I want to see it again. "Nova Swift will be there, and it's at eight—" And your hand is still on my waist, and holy Troll Tree, I never noticed before how nice your eyes look when the sun hits them, "it'll be really fun, you should come!" She forces another little smile at the end, pointing to the Satin and Chenille cutouts on the front of the card. "I'll save you a seat right up front next to me!" Friends can do that, right? Right?

"Oh, cool," Branch takes the card from her, and she tries not to think about how his fingers briefly brush hers, "that sounds great! Nova Swift's that big designer, right? Must be a pretty big deal for the twins." He smiles, and wow, it's a really, really nice smile, but that's fine, because just friends can think about how other just friends have nice smiles, right? Right?

"Yeah! Yep, yep," Poppy bobs her head so hard her hair quivers. "Big designer! Real big designer! Big deal for Satin and Chenille! Big designer! Big deal! Yep!"

"Yeah, I'll see you there," Branch's hand falls from her waist, and she's not disappointed. "Thanks, Poppy."

"Mm-hm." She's almost able to convince herself that just friends can really, really like the way other just friends say their name. She needs to get out of here – there's an endless void and a few thousand screams calling her name right about now. "W-well, okay, bye! I'll see you at the show! As friends! Because you're my friend! My really, really great friend!"

"Uh…" Branch blinks. "Yeah. Okay."

"Yep!" She nods again, cheeks beginning to ache from how hard she's smiling, and then she turns and walks away – she does not run, she does not run, she absolutely does not run, because just friends don't have to run from other just friends, no matter how nice the other just friends happen to look.

Because just friends can think other just friends look nice, right? Just friends can think other just friends look nice, and just friends can really like the way other just friends say their name, and just friends can really, really like the way other just friends look when they don't have a shirt on, and that's totally normal, right? Right?

Oh, God.

She's screwed.

A/N: This is the dumbest thing I've ever written, but I was laughing so hard during the shirtless Branch bit, I just had to write SOMETHING xD ((disclaimer: i am not attracted to an animated troll.))