I wish we couldāve seen more of the grey Branch and Poppy dynamic. They were living in different worlds at the time, so I wrote this little scene. (This is old art, if you couldnāt tell.)
When the calendar flipped to Hug Day, Poppy went all in. Glitter cannons, rainbow cupcakes, hug timers set to go off every thirty minutesāshe wasnāt about to throw just a party. This one had to radiate joy. If it didnāt scream happiness, it didnāt make the cut.
Except someone hadnāt RSVPād.
She stood outside Branchās bunker, clipboard in hand, frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Branch," she called, tapping her foot. "Come on. Itās Hug Day!"
She leaned closer to the cold rock door. Inside, he was probably reorganizing his emergency supplies. Or silently judging a flower for daring to exist.
"I made lemon berry poppers," she tried again. "Extra crunch. Your favorite!"
She drummed her pencil gently on the wall. "Look, I get it. You think parties are too loud, too risky, too... everything. Butā"
His voice cut through the stillness, low and unimpressed. "They are everything. Loud, risky, and pointless."
A smile tugged at her lips. He was listening, at least.
"But theyāre also fun," she said. "Remember fun?"
That stopped her. Usually, heād hit her with something sarcastic. But this didnāt sound sharp. It sounded... drained.
Poppy clutched her clipboard tighter, unsure how to answer that kind of honesty.
"Branch, I know thereās happiness in you. Maybe itās buried deepālike, really deepābut itās there. I can feel it."
She stood still for a second longer, the party noise fading behind her. Maybe it wasnāt buried. Maybe it had been taken. But she wasnāt ready to believe that. Not yet.
So she did what she always didāshe smiled.
"Anyway," she said, backing away, "youāre invited whether you like it or not."
But as the music from the celebration drifted back into her ears, she skipped away, telling herself: One day. One day heāll remember how to be happy.
