I wish we could’ve 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 couldn’t tell.)
When the calendar flipped to Hug Day, Poppy went all in. Glitter cannons, rainbow cupcakes, hug timers set to go off every thirty minutes—she wasn’t about to throw just a party. This one had to radiate joy. If it didn’t scream happiness, it didn’t make the cut.
Except someone hadn’t RSVP’d.
She stood outside Branch’s bunker, clipboard in hand, frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Branch," she called, tapping her foot. "Come on. It’s 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. But—"
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 they’re also fun," she said. "Remember fun?"
That stopped her. Usually, he’d hit her with something sarcastic. But this didn’t sound sharp. It sounded... drained.
Poppy clutched her clipboard tighter, unsure how to answer that kind of honesty.
"Branch, I know there’s happiness in you. Maybe it’s buried deep—like, really deep—but it’s there. I can feel it."
She stood still for a second longer, the party noise fading behind her. Maybe it wasn’t buried. Maybe it had been taken. But she wasn’t ready to believe that. Not yet.
So she did what she always did—she smiled.
"Anyway," she said, backing away, "you’re 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 he’ll remember how to be happy.
