▬▬ Notes: Hi guys! I've had a rough draft of this short story for a couple of years now, and I figured I'd finally sit down and write it. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I got a little carried away with the idea, so there will be a few more chapters to come.

This story takes place in early season four. Basically, this is an attempt at showing a more detailed version of what (might have) happened between Stella and Brandon while Mitzi was trying to drive a wedge between them. Based on my own interpretation, imagination and whatnot, of course. There's also this whole engagement thing that never got cleared up, so I'm going to touch upon that as well at some point. That's all. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy if you choose to read onward.

▬▬ Genres: Drama | Romance | Friendship | Hurt/Comfort | Angst

▬▬ Tumblr: liviennette

Only You

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Chapter I

Brandon clenched his jaw at the sight before him. One of Andy's bandmates ── whose name he couldn't bother to remember, and quite frankly couldn't care to know ── had offered to help Stella play the guitar in what seemed like a friendly thing to do. Too friendly for his liking. Brandon had never liked the guy in the first place, if he was being honest. He still remembered the way the tall, lanky male had leaned over Stella, and the sort of longing way he had had in his eyes when he had looked at her when the girls had first arrived at their apartment, needing help in painting the walls. Nothing about the situation had been friendly then, and nothing about it was friendly now.

The pale-skinned and curly-haired guy was standing way too close to Stella, and the way his hands kept sliding down to hers to re-position her fingers over the guitar strings made his blood curdle. It was at that goddamn moment that Brandon detected a faint blush creeping upon Stella's cheeks at the gesture, and he suddenly felt an immense urge to go up that stage and strangle the nameless boy with his bare hands. Or break his damned hand that had touched hers. Or better yet, punch him in the face and wipe that stupid, foolish grin off his face. Or maybe—

"—anything I just said?" a feminine voice broke him out of his stupor. "Earth to Bran—"

"What?" Brandon bit back irritably, unaware of the way the simple reply had tumbled out of his mouth until he swivelled around and saw the stunned expression on the face of the person sitting across him. Brandon immediately regretted the harsh tone he had unintentionally used and let out an agitated sigh. "Sorry, Musa. I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, shaking his head in order to clear his mind. "It's just been a long day. What were you saying again?"

From her seat, Musa peered up at him over her milkshake with a raised eyebrow. By the looks of it, she looked far more concerned than offended at the fact that he had failed to keep up with her musings.

"Nothing important," she waved him off, casual, but her indifferent tone held a note of concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Brandon straightened up in his seat, folding his arms on the table. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Musa shot him an unimpressed look. "Is that why you were staring daggers at Mark?"

"I—what?" Brandon stammered dumbly. Gradually, his astonishment melted into one of realization. Brandon closed his mouth and cleared his throat, trying to appear nonchalant. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're not fooling anyone, Brandon," Musa stated simply, seeing right through him. Brandon deflated a little in his seat, not even bothering to protest. After all, Musa was like a little sister that he never had — one that could always be honest with him and call on his bullshit, and throughout the years of their friendship both of them had gotten good at reading one another. He'd be lying if he said he was surprised by her reaction. "Mark is only helping her out with the guitar. You don't have to worry about him."

"Who said I was worried?" Brandon shot back.

"Alright, then," Musa relented, sipping on her strawberry milkshake. Brandon could tell by her dismissive attitude that Musa didn't believe one bit of it, but she didn't pester him about it either, which did surprise him. "When do you think you're gonna talk to Stella?"

Ah, there it was.

Brandon scoffed. "You think I haven't tried? She has been avoiding me like plague this whole time," he answered grimly.

"That's only because you hurt her feelings," Musa reasoned, and his brown eyes looked up to meet her navy ones, curious, concerned, coaxing her for more details — a reason that would finally explain why Stella was ignoring him all this time. Daintily, Musa set her milkshake on the table. "You know how she is, Brandon. For better or worse, Stella puts on a tough face but deep inside she's hurting. I think she's upset because she thinks there might be something going on with you and Mitzi."

Mouth hanging in disbelief, Brandon said, "You're kidding me, right?" and continued to stare at Musa like she was some wild specimen under a microscope. "Are you for real?" he had to ask again, not able to wrap his head around the idea that Stella would seriously feel that way. "Why the hell would she think that?"

Through her eyelashes, Musa studied Brandon for a moment until she shrugged and said, "Well, you did kind of brush her off that day when you saved Mitzi," she told him. "Also, let's be honest, you can be a bit of a flirt."

Brandon narrowed his eyes at the last bit. "Okay, first of all, Stella completely misread the whole situation. I didn't even know who Mitzi was until I rescued her," Brandon defended, recalling the events of the day Mitzi had kissed him on the cheek for saving her. Somehow Stella had misinterpreted the whole situation, thinking she had seen them kissing, which led her to go off on both him and Mitzi. To his defence, he wasn't just going to stand there and watch her accuse him of something that he never did. At that time, he didn't think Mitzi deserved to be yelled at either, thinking she was just a helpless girl. In the end, the whole fiasco had ended with Stella crying, and Brandon had been too mad to go after her. It was something he later regretted.

Letting out an agitated sigh, Brandon raked a hand through his brown hair. "And yeah, I admit I could've probably handled the situation better and tried to talk to Stella right after it, but things were already strained between you girls and us, and I just . . . I don't know, I guess I was pissed. But I can assure you there is absolutely nothing between Mitzi and I," Brandon said in a firm tone. "Hell, I've been trying to get rid of her. You can even ask the other guys."

"I believe you, Brandon," Musa assured in earnest, giving him a sympathetic smile in return. "Like I said, you just need to find a way to crack through her and talk to her. I'm sure she'll come around eventually."

"Yeah, I hope so," Brandon sighed, stealing yet another furtive glance at Stella who seemed to be enjoying herself on the stage with Mark and Flora. While Brandon was happy that Stella was happy, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the fact that it had to be the scrawny-looking guy that was making her smile instead of him. "I really hope so."

Fighting back a yawn, Stella leaned forward and rested her hand against her cheek while lazily drumming her perfectly polished nails on the countertop. With undisguised relief etched across her face, Stella watched as the last group of customers exited the magical pet shop. About time. The bell over the door rang, signalling an end of her long, exhausting shift — and the beginning of her much-needed and well-deserved bubble bath that she had anticipated since the early afternoon.

Just as Stella was about to stretch out her limbs and breathe a sigh of content, a sound of click-clack heels jarred her away from her plans of the relaxed evening, and her shoulders sagged. Groaning internally, Stella could only hope that it was not one of those unrelenting moms in their late fifties that demanded getting a trim for their pets — or, more specifically, the pets that belonged to their disgruntled children who were too scared to ask for anything after the closing hours. Little did Stella know that she would have welcomed those annoying customers any day over the person who stood behind her.

"Hello, Stella."

Stella whirled around, spotting a very familiar and very unwanted raven-haired girl standing right behind her. Recognition filled her expression, followed by a hardened face. "I'm sorry, but we're closed, Mitzi. Come back tomorrow. Or better yet, never."

Mitzi was not deterred in the slightest. "Oh, I'm not here for any of those stupid pets," Mitzi dismissed easily with a wave of her hand. "I came to see you."

The blonde arched a suspicious eyebrow at other girl, taking in her pathetic excuse for an attire with a slightly curled upper lip. Khaki caprices with a horrid green tank top — such a tasteless combination. Not to mention her high-wedged cream sandals that practically screamed trashy. Like hello — everyone knew you could not pair khaki caprices with a pair of platform sandals. Under any other circumstances, Stella would have offered the poor soul some tips on proper dress etiquette and fashion, but not this girl. Not the girl that tried to steal her boyfriend. Not the girl who tried to plot against her and her friends. No — there was no way Stella was going to grace Mitzi with any of her kindness or generosity. Mitzi could rot in hell for all she cared. Straightening her posture, Stella let her eyes slide back up to her tacky glasses.

"And what, pray tell, brought you here to see me?" Stella asked in a mocking tone, folding her arms across her chest.

Pale orange lips quirked up into a sly smirk — one that eerily reminded Stella of a certain cheshire cat with a mischievous grin. Taking two long strides, the raven-haired girl crossed the space between the two of them until she was facing the sun fairy. "I came to see how you were holding up," Mitzi offered airily, "You see, I couldn't help but notice that your relationship with Brandon seems a little . . . strained. Is everything alright?" Mitzi inquired in an overly sweet voice, her brows drawn together in faux concern.

"I'm flattered you've taken an interest in my life," Stella said, forcing her voice to sound light and cheery, though it was clear she was being sarcastic given the circumstances, "but I'm afraid my relationship is none of your business."

"Trouble in paradise?" Mitzi crooned, tilting her head to the side, her lips puckered into a pathetic pout. "You know, I never understood what Brandon saw in you. There is nothing special about you."

Stella felt a muscle tick in her jaw. Enough of this stupid chit-chat. The blonde stepped closer, resuming her sass and confidence as she stared down at the other girl. "You'd better watch yourself," Stella bit back, venom dripping in her voice.

"Touchy, touchy," Mitzi was quick to backpedal, placing her hands in a manner of mock surrender in front of her. "I mean, let's be real. It's only a matter of time before he gets bored with you and tosses you aside," she jeered maliciously, leaning closer. Stella stood her ground, staring right into her coil black eyes. She was not going to let some stupid, mousy girl with a terrible sense in fashion get under her skin. "Face it, blondie: you'll be history real soon."

"Oh, yeah?" Stella taunted, scoffing. "You must be delusional if you think he wants anything to do with someone the likes of you."

Annoyance flashed through her black eyes, but it vanished almost as quickly as her scowl turned into a devilish smirk. "You might want to reconsider your words, honey. After all, Brandon and I like to talk," Mitzi declared smugly, shoving her hand in her purse to fish out something — a phone — and punched in some keys before she wiggled it right in front of Stella's face. A familiar number flashed across the screen, and her heart sank. Mitzi leaned in forward, dropping her voice to a whisper as she added in a sickeningly sweet voice, "That's right. We talk. All the time."

Muscles tensed in her body. Blood boiled in her veins. Stella wanted nothing more than to hit the other girl with her five-inch designer high heel — hard. Like really, really hard. Stella could practically feel the biting itch in her hand, and the jolting tingle in her fingertips. She wanted to rip Mitzi's throat out and feed it to the trolls. Never before had she felt an immense urge to hurt someone — not to this extent — and it took every fibre of her being not to let her temper slip.

"You might as well give up now," Mitzi continued to sneer, unaware of the storm that was brewing inside the blonde; unaware of the hand that slowly rose up. "Because it's pretty clear that—"

Mitzi never had the chance to finish her sentence because it was at that moment that Stella's open palm connected with her cheek, firm and tight, causing Mitzi to gasp and her head to jerk to the side. A loud sound of a slap echoed throughout the quiet apartment. Wide-eyed, Mitzi stared at Stella as her mouth hung open and her hand cradled the part of her face that was slowly turning bright red.

"You're pathetic. I don't know what your problem is, but you don't want to pick a fight with me. Because if you do, I swear I'll turn you into something worse than a toad," Stella snarled, her eyes blazing. Turning on her heels, Stella forced her feet to carry her to the front door before she did something she might truly regret. "Oh, and by the way," Stella purred, determined to have one last jab at the girl. "Your roots are showing."

Taking great pleasure at hearing Mitzi gasp at her remark, Stella plastered a tight smile on her face and raised her chin high in the air, standing a little taller. It might have been petty, but Stella didn't care. Not one bit. That tramp deserved it. With a flick of her long blonde hair, Stella stalked out of the pet shop with her pride perfectly intact, but her heart a little heavier.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The street lamps were dimly lit, and the air was quiet and calm, save for a couple of cars and a few passers-by. Stella was not sure how long she had been wandering around the streets of Gardenia, but her anger had subsided the longer she had walked. (In high heels, no less. Stella ought to get some recognition.) Still, she was not able to shake off the churning doubt in the pit of her stomach that she felt every time she thought of Brandon giving his number to the little witch. It was clear that the vindictive viper was relentless and would not leave him alone for a second, but it was the idiot of her boyfriend who did nothing about it. Fury and hurt ignited again, causing Stella to curl her fingers inside her palms, her nails digging into her soft, smooth skin.

"Stella?"

Stella froze in mid-stride, and her heart slammed in her chest at the sound of his voice — Brandon's voice. Great — just her luck; fate clearly had it out for her today. Swallowing thickly, Stella re-adjusted the bright pink strap of her tote bag, pulling it tighter against her shoulder before she pivoted on her heels and carried on walking briskly. Amidst the sound of her heels clicking, she heard Brandon call out to her again, but she refused to slow down; refused to turn back; refused to even acknowledge his presence. She was too hurt. All she wanted was to be left alone.

"Stella," Brandon tried again, the crunching sound of his footsteps advancing toward her, trailing behind the sharp click-clacks of her heels. "Damn it, Stella, would you just slow down for a sec—"

"No," she flung back indignantly, hands balled into tight fists, eyes looking straight ahead of her. "You're the last person I want to talk to right—" Stella began, but Brandon had already caught up to her, his hand circling around her wrist, tugging her backward. Losing her footing, Stella squealed and let out a gasp, her heels scraping against the pavement as she pitched right into Brandon. He easily caught her into his arms before she could collide with the ground and steadied her, locking his hands on her arms and pulling her upright.

As Stella straightened up, she was able to catch the familiar whiff of his scent, and her mind began to swim. He smelled clean, musky and spicy and just so uniquely and intoxicatingly him. Like pines and sandalwood. The calming effects of the familiar, yet comforting scent sent her head reeling, and for a moment all Stella wanted was to wrap her arms around his neck and feel his body next to hers and forget about everything.

But she couldn't. Not after what he did.

"Stella—" Brandon started.

"Don't," Stella cut him off, averting her eyes. Tugging against his hold, Stella clenched her jaw. "Let go of me."

His grip only tightened on her. "I'm not letting you go." His tone was firm and hard, forcing her to look up at him. Her breath left her body in a rush. His broad shoulders were squared in tension, and his usually warm and friendly chocolate-brown eyes were cold as steel. He looked fed up. "I'm done walking on eggshells around you, Stella. I am tired of you constantly ignoring me and pushing me aside. I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask?"

"I already told you that I don't want to talk to you. What part of that don't you understand?" Stella gritted out, trying once more to push against him and pry herself free from his vice-like grasp, but nothing made him loosen his hold on her. He wouldn't even budge an inch. She finally gave up and let out an annoyed huff. "Damn it, Brandon! Let go of me already!"

He held her tighter. "No."

"No?" Stella challenged, her eyes flashing.

"No," Brandon stressed, frustration ringing in his voice. He held her gaze, adamant. "Not until you tell me why you're avoiding me."

Stella's mouth fell open. Resentment coursed through every bone of her body, heating her up from inside out; blood boiling and skin tingling. For the second time today, she wanted to hit someone. "Why am I—you—ugh," Stella sputtered, aggravated. Her eyes narrowed and her pupils dilated, acid rising from her stomach to the tip of her tongue. "I can't believe you. I actually can't believe you," Stella seethed. And then her voice rose in volume, her hands shaking. "You seriously think you can go around kissing that—that—she-devil, and then let her fawn all over you behind my back and assume I would never find about it? And then you have the nerve to ask me why I'm avoiding you?" she spat heatedly.

Brandon blinked, taken aback. "Wait, what?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Stella hissed spitefully.

Brandon looked even more confused and clueless now — if that was even possible. Had Stella not been mad at him, she might have thought he looked adorable.

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about, Stella. You know damn well I never kissed Mitzi. You were there when she kissed me on the cheek for saving her for God's sake. That's it. What the hell is this other stuff about?" Stella could tell that Brandon was starting to lose his patience, and when Stella did not respond, he went on: "What do you expect me to do? I can't control her thoughts or actions, but I've never tried to lead her on. She means nothing to me."

"You've never led her on, huh?" Stella prompted, raising a perfectly trimmed brow in his direction. "How do you explain her getting your number then?"

Brandon's brows creased together. Confusion filled his handsome features again, but then his expression changed and smoothed, contorting into one of realization. Suddenly, Brandon let go of her and took a step back, as if she had burned him. It was a small step, but the distance he put between them felt like miles instead of a few inches, and it made Stella suddenly feel very, very nauseous. Her heart plummeted from her chest at his silent confession, and an unpleasant sensation settled in her guts, twisting at her heart in a mix of anger, betrayal and resentment.

"You can't deny that, now can you?" Stella spat, shoving at his chest, willing him to argue back. To defend himself. To say something. Anything. But, to her utter frustration and dismay, Brandon did not say a word. Furious, Stella began to pound her fists against his chest, but he did not react to it in any way, standing still like a damn statue, and that only fuelled her rage even more. "You asshole! How could you! I trusted you! I should've known something like this would have happened. I should've known!"

Brandon stared at her blankly for a long moment. "Wow," he finally uttered. A low chuckle, harsh and humourless, escaped his lips.

Stella blinked once, twice — three times. She stopped hitting Brandon, hands falling to her sides, brows knitted together in incredulity. Stella liked to pride herself on being an excellent judge of character; she never had any trouble spotting subtle facial clues from others, but she could not for the life of her figure out what was going on in her boyfriend's mind. Brandon appeared to be agitated and irritated and somehow insulted, and Stella had no idea why. Stella was pretty sure she was the one who was supposed to be mad at him. Not him.

"That's it?" Stella prodded, eyes blazing, riling him further. "You don't have anything else to say for yourself?"

Brandon glared at her. "What do you want me to say, Stella? It's pretty obvious that you have already made up your mind about what happened. Does it matter what I have to say? Because I don't think my story is nearly as good as yours. I mean, how could you even—you know what? It doesn't even matter."

Brandon shook his head, turning his back on her, and her eyes widened. "No!" Stella surged forward, latching onto his arm. "Tell me! Tell me what you were gonna say!"

His shoulders stiffened. Drawing in a deep breath, Brandon shut his eyes and tried to compose himself, but Stella could tell it wasn't working because his muscles were still tensed, and his stance was practically radiating bottled-up aggression. "This insecurity that you have is beyond ridiculous."

Stella recoiled visibly, feeling as though someone had poured a bucket full of ice-cold water on her. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me right," Brandon said firmly. He was towering over her, pinning her with a withering look. "Is it that hard to have little faith in me? Is it my fault that you keep jumping to these ridiculous conclusions? I mean—look at yourself—all it took was for me to give my number to some girl for you to think that I was cheating on you."

"I never said that," Stella denied, her hackles rising.

"You didn't have to," Brandon retorted dryly. "For the record, I only gave my number to Mitzi because she wouldn't take no for an answer. She wouldn't stop pestering about it, and I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I don't even talk to her over the phone. Hell, I don't even have her number saved on my phone," and then Brandon paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes, "But, then again, what would you care? You've clearly created your own theories about what went down."

Silence fell upon the two of them, heavy and uncomfortable. His words kept replaying over and over again in her mind, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Stella did not want to admit it, but his words had stung her more than she had let on. She couldn't believe that Brandon had just insinuated that she was insecure of that—that terrible, terrible dresser, of all people. Please — as if. Stella wanted to scoff at the mere thought. She was not insecure of that little bitch. She was not an insecure person.

It was all Brandon's fault, Stella decided. Brandon should have avoided that tramp in the first place. Brandon should have told her off. Brandon should have done something to make Mitzi leave him alone. But, by the looks of it, he was clearly not doing a very good job at it, which meant that he was at fault. Not her. Stella was so caught up in her feelings that she hadn't even realized she was crying until she felt a tear drop trickle down her cheek and fall to the ground, and she instinctively brought her hand to swipe under her eyes.

"Stella," Brandon began, whisper-soft. He sounded apologetic, beseeching, but Stella did not trust herself nor her judgment to look into those brown eyes. There was a beat of silence, and when Stella did not show any signs of response, she felt a hand on her arm. "Why do you always assume the worst about me?"

His voice struck a chord within her, and Stella was unable to resist lifting her gaze back toward his face, and almost as soon as she met his eyes she wished she hadn't; wish she had fought back. His chocolate-brown eyes were full of hurt and emotion, and her heart lurched at the sight, causing her breath to hitch.

Stella's eyes flickered back to the ground. Like a knife to a heart, she felt a stab of guilt pierce through her. She honestly didn't know what to say, didn't know what to think. Their whole argument had reduced her to an emotional mess. Stella struggled to find a plausible way to make sense of the ball of conflicted emotions that consisted of anger, guilt, pain and confusion and something that weighed heavily like hurt. A lot of hurt. She was still torn between feeling hurt and guilt. Uncertain, she shifted in her spot. "I think I should go."

His hand dropped from her arm, the warmth from his touch leaving her body immediately. "Right," Brandon said in a stiff and detached voice, then looked away from her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Sure, have it your way, princess. Like you always do."

With that, Brandon turned on his heels. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. Stella felt a sharp stab of pain rush through her chest at his words as she watched him leave. One step at a time. It felt as though a piece of her heart shredded with every bounding step he took away from her, the remnants of her heart pooling at her feet as the last sight of his silhouette faded into the depths of the night.