Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Helga is not used to being perceived. I mean, seriously, her father has called her the wrong name since the moment she was born, her house is brimming with pictures of her adored sister, Olga, and she barely has her baby pictures. The only person in the world who pays her any mind and knows her better than herself is her best friend, Phoebe Heyerdahl. 

That's how it's always been, that's how it'll always be. 

…At least, that's what she thought until recently. 

Enter Arnold Shortman, the first person to really look at her. Not just look at her, but notice her. He saw the way she shivered in that relentless storm, eyes holding so much sadness, and offered her shelter and kindness under his blue umbrella. Though that moment meant the entire world to her, they were teenagers now, and Arnold didn't know her, really. 

Sure, they were sorta friends. They hung out together, mostly because of Gerald and Phoebe, but they did enjoy each other's company— or she enjoyed his, at least. The point being, Arnold wasn't incredibly close to her, as much as she'd like that to be the case. 

She was just the best friend of the girl his best friend was dating. Someone to hold a polite relationship with because it made the four of them going to the movies together easier. 

Helga wanted to hold onto that fact harder than anything— Arnold and her are not close. They're barely friends— but the credibility of that was slipping out of her fingers like a bar of soap. 

The first time it happened, it was a warm summer day. Arnold, Phoebe, and her were sitting out on the boarding house steps while Gerald was on his way over to bring some refreshing snacks. A plastic bag rustling as Gerald pulled out a plethora of things; Popsicles, chilled sodas, oranges, and… 

Before she could even register the box of red fruit, it was being smacked out of the boy's hand, spilling all over the street. Helga and Phoebe gaped at Arnold, as Gerald stood there flabbergasted. 

“ Dude!?” He gestured down at his strawberries, scattered over the dirty asphalt— ruined. “What was that for?” 

Arnold looked uncharacteristically unashamed of his actions, and in a stern tone, he hissed, “I told you Helga's allergic .” 

There was an audible record scratch that, although imaginary, Helga knew the three of them heard. 

A beat of shocked silence passed when Gerald spoke up, looking a little guilty, “Oh. Right. Sorry, I… forgot.” 

Helga would've thought Arnold would apologize right about now, but without skipping even a beat he told Gerald to be more careful next time.

Which of the two was more bizarre? That Arnold not only knew of her allergy, but just violently murdered a dozen innocent strawberries, or that Gerald seemed genuine in an apology directed at Helga. 

“It's… alright.” She dismissed quietly. 

He went inside to see if they had different snacks that weren't cross contaminated, then came back with a Mr. Fudgy Bar and some cold juice for Helga. 

Despite assaulting his best friend and his strawberries, Arnold simply grabbed a can of soda as if nothing weird had transpired. Just like that, the situation was resolved (but was it really?), and they all slowly moved past it. 

Everyone else moved past it, you mean, because Helga definitely didn't. Nothing comes up when she tries to think hard about how Arnold even found out she was allergic to strawberries. Not even her family remembers it half the time and she has a collection of hospital bracelets to prove it. 

Arnold probably just didn't want her to suffocate on his stoop, she thought. Lots of legal issues surrounding allergic reactions on a rented property. In order to avoid that mess, he probably knows all his friends’ allergies. It's nothing to be shocked over.

No way Arnold Shortman pays her any mind and that's that.

That certainly wasn't that.

They'd been left alone together in the Packard. Gerald had been driving, Arnold in the passenger seat, and Phoebe and Helga in the back. Unsurprisingly, the tall-hair-boy forgot something in his house. After Phoebe's door shut, the awkward silence was already palpable. 

Helga wasn't one for making conversation, and Arnold didn't seem to want to talk at all, so she'd settled on watching the cars drive past outside. The scene made it clear just how not close they were, since they couldn't even come up with anything to talk about when their best friends were MIA. 

After five long minutes, Arnold turned back to her, “Would you mind if I played some music?” 

Being addressed all of a sudden startled her, “Huh? Oh… uh, sure, Arnold. Knock yourself out.” 

She watched as he opened up the glovebox and went through the small catalogue of tapes like he already knew which one he wanted to play. A triumphant smile spread on his face as he plucked out a tape. Helga didn't catch any details that gave away what kind of music it was, only that there was some pink on it. 

As soon as it started playing, her ears perked up with recognition. 

“You like this song, don't you?” Arnold called back to her, grinning. 

The shocked expression on her face was one she couldn't prevent. Realizing she's just been gawking at him like a weirdo instead of saying anything, she nodded, “Yeah, I… do.” 

That question felt more like a statement. Almost like Arnold actually knew that this was one of her favorite songs, which was obviously crazy. How could he possibly know that? Yes, maybe he'd gotten a glimpse of the CD when she'd put it in her walkman, but why would he remember that? 

Remembering an allergy made sense, but a song? Arnold had no reason to know that about her. It's ridiculous. It is.

The song was just a coincidence. 

“I was about to put up posters,” she said when their missing friends finally returned— noticeably empty handed. 

A very strange situation transpired when they'd been out walking one day. As always, Gerald and Phoebe walked ahead being all lovey dovey, leaving Arnold and Helga to trail behind them. Halfway through making a gesture of disgust at Arnold because the couple in front of them kept smooching, she noticed Arnold got a weird look across his face.

His eyes were looking ahead and she watched them widen slightly. Before she could turn to look, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to look at him, giving her a total heart attack, might she add— on top of making her arms feel all tingly. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

To her surprise, he didn't acknowledge her. Instead, he kept staring ahead and gestured something with his wide eyes. After that, she heard the loud clang of aluminum, and only then did he let go of her. Helga had no idea what just happened. Obviously, she demanded an explanation, but he only apologized for grabbing her without permission, shooting her a guilty smile. It made any questions shrivel up in her throat. 

Neither Gerald nor Phoebe brought up the odd situation. They continued walking, avoiding eye contact with her. It almost felt like they all knew something she didn't, but only for that moment. 

Eventually, after many hours spent bugging Phoebe, she found out what actually happened. There was a gigantic rat in the middle of the very sidewalk they'd been walking on. Luckily, Gerald had scared it off by kicking a trash can. She kinda regretted asking that, a shiver creeping up her spine at the new context– though, it made everything make sense.

Arnold had been shielding her away from it. It only made sense that he probably knew she had a phobia of them. That was the only explanation for him suddenly grabbing her that way, but… How did Arnold remember that? 

There was a vague memory of Helga mentioning it years ago when they were kids. She didn't have enough encounters with rats— if any, thank God— for Arnold to pick up on that recently. Arnold must've remembered. 

Helga banged her head against her pillow over and over. She wanted nothing more than to believe Arnold Shortman, her beloved, cared enough to remember these details about her; that he noticed things about her that other people didn't even try to. But Helga had been a victim of her own delusions before. If she was looking too deep into this and filling her head with false hopes… 

Maybe Arnold picked up on these things because they'd spent so much time together. And sure, her parents had been around her literally her whole life, but Arnold was a thoughtful person! He always noticed if other people were having problems. Arnold was just nosy, Helga wasn't special to him. That wouldn't happen in a million years.

Helga was sitting under the shade of a tree. It was lunch time and she’d had a particularly exhausting day at school. Just as she was going to rest her eyes, something solid was placed on her head. When she whipped her head up to see what kind of brainless idiot had the guts to–

Oh, it was Arnold. 

It was rare that he'd seek her out without Gerald or Phoebe around. 

He grinned down at her and her eyes trailed over to the object currently being held on her head. It looked like… some sort of small book. With a quirked brow, Helga moved her hand up to grab it, defibrillating her heart when her fingers brushed against his. 

“What's this?” She asked, pulling it into her view. It was a journal bound in some nice, dark magenta faux leather with a strap that kept it shut. 

“A journal.” Arnold responded, with a smartass tone. 

Helga rolled her eyes, “Well, no shit, Football Head. I mean why did you put it on my head like you're training me for a ball?” 

A snort was hidden behind his hand, “My dad taught me how to make them, and–”

She glanced at the object on her lap, then back up at Arnold, “Wait. You made this?” 

“Yeah,” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn't sure if you'd like the color… or if the pages would suit what you write, but… I thought you'd still appreciate it.”

“You made this… for me ?” Helga unclasped the strap, pulling it open. The pages were a nice, light pink with evenly spaced lines. It was perfect for writing poetry in. 

When did Arnold notice her writing? Usually, she only wrote in her journals when she was sure no one would pay attention to her. Was he stalking her or something?

“Yeah, it was my second try at making one, so it's not perfect…”His foot tapped over and over on the grass. When Helga didn't say anything, he continued, “Um, if you don't like this one, I could try making another…” 

“ No. It's perfect.” Helga blurted out, pulling the journal to her chest. “I mean… it's… I'll use it. Thanks.”

There was a faint rosiness to Arnold's cheeks and he beamed, “I'm glad you like it… I hope you'll show me what you write someday.”

Arnold walked away before she could really respond. For days after that, she didn't write in the journal because it felt too precious to vandalize with words. But thinking about all the work Arnold put into making that for her made her feel guilty, so she used it. 

Speaking of that, what was up with that? He saw her writing in a book once and made her a journal from scratch!? If she didn't know any better, she might think he…

But she did know better, and she knew thinking that way was dangerous. Her heart was taking over logic, and that's dangerous. Arnold was just a weird, nosy, upstanding citizen that did things like that sometimes. 

Helga just wasn't used to having someone other than Phoebe notice things about her. It was nothing to look into… right? 

Right. Nothing. 

Chapter Text

More things surfaced and it was getting harder to make up excuses to calm her hopeful heart. It was Arnold knowing her complicated ice cream order, Arnold pointing out more music she enjoyed, Arnold noticing they’d messed up her order and put pickles in her burger, and so on and so on. It was all becoming too much to ignore!

How was she supposed to tell herself the possibility of Arnold liking her was absolutely ridiculous if he kept doing things that disproved her facts!? Helga couldn’t help feeling angry. She was angry at Arnold and she was angry at herself. He kept feeding her delusions and she continued to allow it. If he looked at her that way— like he knew all the little things that made up Helga —she was going to explode. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back happened when they’d been waiting for Phoebe and Gerald to finish their last class so they could all go hang out. The teacher didn’t show up in her and Arnold’s shared class so they were free. Just what she didn’t want— to spend time, alone, with Arnold. Her brain was still in Googooland, thinking he might actually have a crush on her. How is she supposed to talk to him like that? 

“Have you… written anything in the journal?” Arnold broke the silence Helga had been cultivating for the past ten minutes. “Not that you’re obligated to use it, of course. I was just… wondering.” He added.

Trying not to fall for his charm more than she already had, she sighed and gave a short answer, “Yep.”

He smiled like he’d won an award or something, “That’s great!” 

Helga nodded silently, trying not to add his excitement to the “Proof Arnold Totally Likes You” folder.

“What… do you write?” He was hesitant to ask, like he knew the things Helga wrote in her journals were for her eyes and for her eyes only. 

For a moment, she considered lying, telling him that she’d fill the pages with ways she’d defeat her enemies… 

“...Poetry.”

Why he seemed to perk up at that, she didn’t know. The way he looked at her made her chest feel weird. It was like she was the most interesting person he could be talking to and he’d just discovered something new about her. To be fair, he had , but she expected him to look more… incredulous of the fact that Helga G. Pataki wrote poems. 

Everything felt like it was in slow motion as his eyes changed from interest to curiosity. As his mouth opened to speak, she already knew the question on his tongue, “Could you show me?” 

The thought of showing Arnold Shortman all the poetry she wrote about him made her ears buzz and her heart thump against her chest. In what world would she show that to him? Not even Phoebe read her poetry. 

Wanting a way out of this, she resorted to what she did best: Get angry. 

Her hands slammed onto the table, causing Arnold to flinch, “Why do you keep doing that?” 

“Doing what?” He asked, obviously confused because of course he hadn’t been in the audience of Helga’s brain for the past few weeks. 

Helga blew air out of her nose, “Acting like this . Like you’re close to me.” 

The way his face dropped made her regret the choice of words, but it was too late to take them back. 

“I… thought we were.” 

His tone made her falter just for a moment. Did Arnold think they were close friends this whole time? Why? You could count on one hand the amount of times they’d recently spoken without Gerald and Phoebe around, even if the hand was missing a couple of fingers! 

“Well, we aren’t.” Helga said, feeling like she was telling herself more than him. “If Gerald and Phoebe weren’t together, would we even talk to each other?” 

“Maybe you wouldn’t talk to me.” He sounded upset. “But I actually enjoy talking to you, Helga.” 

A sense of shame burned at her cheeks. Of all the times she’d lash out at someone, this one felt like her biggest mistake. 

“If you felt that way, then why did you accept the journal? That’s not the kind of gift I’d make for an acquaintance. That took me two weeks!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It seemed special to you… Was I wrong?” 

She shook her head, not trusting herself with words at the moment seeing as she messed things up whenever she opened her big, fat mouth. 

“And you still think we’re not even friends ?” 

Helga could see Gerald and Phoebe approaching, not giving her time to say what she wanted. They could sense the tense mood, something that used to be the norm for her and Arnold. Now it just felt wrong. The four of them stuck to the plan of hanging out, walking to the nearby arcade without much word from either of the blondes. After an hour or two of playing solo games, Helga excused herself and went home. 

Stubborn, confident, opinionated Helga G. Pataki often had a hard time admitting when she’d been wrong. This wasn’t one of those times.

Days passed with Helga declining any invitations to hang out from Phoebe. She and Arnold hadn’t spoken since their fight. It made her notice that Arnold always reached out to her first. She was too busy feeling sorry for herself to have the guts to approach him herself. It was always him who came up to her during school, who started conversations with her when Gerald and Phoebe ditched them to go flirt or whatever… Why did she think they weren’t friends? 

Arnold had more of a reason to think they weren’t, and even he thought they were close. Wow. If he thought she couldn’t be a worse friend before… 

Obviously, she needed to apologize. Though she was incredibly stupid, even she knew that much. The problem is she doesn’t know how. Helga couldn’t talk to Arnold when they were friends, how was she supposed to talk to him now ? Did he even want to talk to her ever again? 

If she was him, she wouldn't talk to herself. Especially after he’d made her such a thoughtful gift and she all but ripped it to pieces! Her fingers traced over the stitches between the pages, feeling a knot in her chest when she noticed the organic irregularity to them. It really drilled into her head the fact she’d tried not to think too hard about— that Arnold hand sewed this just for her.

Did his fingers cramp as he mend the pages together? How many times did he prick his fingers pushing the needle in and out? Was it two weeks of work including his first attempt? 

Both her heart and her brain slapped the sense into her: Helga G. Pataki was someone special to Arnold, whether she liked it or not. If she was special to him the same way he was special to her, she didn’t dare consider. But she knew enough .

Helga made up her mind as she stared at the pink pages Arnold had measured and picked out just for her. 

Arnold was sitting alone on a bench listening to music. Lunchtime was a much needed break from classes after an exhausting week. Just as he was about to change the CD, a hand was placed on his shoulder. He startled, glancing up to see the culprit was none other than Helga. 

Her initiating any form of contact was rare, especially after the last time they spoke.

Helga was smiling at him. It was a subtle, almost shy smile, but it was a smile nonetheless. When he looked down at her hands, he noticed she was offering him a card. Arnold removed his headphones, gently taking the card.

“What’s this?” He asked, inspecting the teal blue cardstock. Painted in the front of it were white, fluffy clouds.

“A… card.” Helga responded, sounding unsure of her quip. 

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, a common occurrence when Helga was present, “I know that. Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because I want you to read it, doy.” 

Arnold opened the card, glancing at the text inside, “Did you… write this for me?” 

He found himself enjoying the way Helga’s cheeks reddened, “Just read it.” 

Not one to argue, Arnold did as he was told. The first thing he noticed was that it was a poem, a beautiful one, at that. Helga had written poetry just for him. Inside the captivating words and the unique metaphors that could only come from Helga, he found a heartwarming apology. Arnold felt like he finally got a solid look inside Helga’s incredible mind. After reading everything (perhaps more than once), he knew that he was special to the girl standing in front of him, waiting with bated breath for him to finish looking at what her heart poured out inside that cardstock. 

When he turned to look at her, he caught just enough movement to know she totally looked away so he didn’t know she’d been staring at him for the past few minutes. 

“Did you really write… this for me?” Arnold repeated his previous question.

Helga forcefully sat down next to him, the harshness of her actions contrasting perfectly with the sweet gesture he held in his hands, “Isn’t it obvious?” 

And he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him because that was such a Helga way to answer his question. Then he noticed how her head had snapped to look at him, like she thought he’d been laughing at her poem and he felt like he was only just starting to understand Helga G. Pataki. 

“It’s perfect.” Arnold said as he shamelessly held the card close to his chest. “I mean it.”

He noticed many things about Helga, that she likes rock music and chocolate syrup in her ice cream, that she hated rats, and pickles in her burgers, the way the tips of her ears turned pink when he complimented her— the way they were doing now.

“Well,” Helga cleared her throat, “Good. I used up a lot of journal pages writing it.” 

“Then, I guess I better start working on another one.” He shot her a grin.

When Helga was surprised, she gripped the bottom hem of her shirt, he noted.

“Are you actually going to?”

Although he shrugged like it was something that could go either way, they both knew he was definitely making her a new journal. 

Helga sighed and averted her eyes, “I’m… sorry I didn’t realize we were… close.” 

“You really didn’t know?”

“I know. What an idiot, right?” She gave a halfhearted chuckle. 

“You’re not an idiot. You just… didn’t catch up.” Arnold cringed at the way that came out, moving to apologize.

Helga threw her head back and laughed, loud and unapologetic. “Is… Is that how you call someone an idiot?” She gasped out between laughs.

It was Arnold’s turn to blush, whether it was for his blunder or because of how pretty Helga’s laugh was. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He buried his face in his hands. 

“Even your insults are cute, Football Head.” The words left her mouth so naturally, like she’d always thought of him that way. When he peeked at her through his fingers, she was blushing too. 

Arnold slowly took his hands away from his face, one of them moving down to rest over Helga’s, “We both like each other, right?”

“Uh… yeah? Didn’t we establish that?” She sounded dazed, staring down at their hands. 

“I mean… not like friends.” 

“... best friends?” Helga offered, unhelpfully.

“ Helga.” He sighed. “You’re not catching up.”

“Oh.” A look of realization crossed her face, “ Oh.” 

“You need me to say it out loud for you, don’t you?” 

“...Well, you didn’t have to say it like that.” She squeezed his hand for emphasis. 

Despite himself, he smiled, “Helga Geraldine Pataki, I’m saying I’m in love with you.” 

Another little known fact about Helga. 

There was relief present on her face, “Okay, so you did mean it like that. That’s what I thought I just didn’t– Wait, you called me an idiot again!” 

Arnold broke out in laughter, moving to sit closer to her, “You’re impossible.”

Shortly after that, the bell rang, calling everyone to go back to class. 

The next time they hung out with Gerald and Phoebe, Arnold and Helga were a couple. Though they might have acted like they were still upset at each other just to mess with them. It only worked until Arnold broke character and burst out laughing after Helga stuck her tongue out at him when their friends weren’t looking. She refused to take the blame for that, of course. Their friends didn’t find it as funny as they did. And now, Gerald and Phoebe got to experience the awkwardness of their best friends flirting like they weren’t sitting right next to them. Everything is as it should be. 

The End