Archive of Our Own

Rodrick Heffley is on a mission.

It all started freshman year at Crossland High while seated in the last row of Mr. Dren’s classroom. It was his first day, and he was already one blink away from slouching across the desk and falling into an early coma. 

At fourteen Rodrick knew he wasn’t meant for things like drones of class lectures, paper packets of tests, and all those cursed school rules about what to wear, how to act, or worst of all, when he can or can’t go to the bathroom.

It’s all bullshit and borderline tyrannical if you ask him.

He’d be damned if he became just another sheep in the herd. 

He didn’t need school anyway, because grades don’t make rock stars.

Music and rebellion do.

So why should he give a crap about classes?

Rodrick slumps his cheek against sleek wood until his lips purse listlessly. His gangly arms lay limp between his legs underneath the desk. 

Blankly, he wonders if falling asleep before class even starts is merit for detention. Then he perks up, thinking of how metal it’d be to get detained on his first day. It could do wonders for his street cred once he starts searching for band members. Once he gains the reputation, then comes the band, then the fame, and then letting school kiss his ass while he goes on a world tour.

Okay, maybe that’s a little impractical, but he’s always been a dreamer. Rodrick didn’t believe in nevers, only not yets.

And maybe that’s why everything happened the way it did.

Funny enough, it all started during the last two minutes before the commencement of class. There came a noise. A clash that reverberated in an ear-splitting strike across his ears. If that pain hadn’t been grating enough, making him wish he had the ability to shrivel back his ears inside out, it was nothing compared to the sharp kick that rammed into his leg. Painful enough to slice up halfway towards his knobby knee. A fiery sting that gnawed into muscle. The ache jerks him up pin straight. He sits back up, slamming into the plastic head of his seat.

“Ow! What the—" He snaps in rabid annoyance, swiveling his head up at the culprit, but any lingering outrage snuffs out just as quickly upon sight of electric blue eyes framed by full, fluttery lashes.

Ruler-straight sandy blonde hair tumbles down her sylphlike shoulders, her slim pouty lips are painted a pink wine, attracting an emphasis to her ivory fair complexion, and the little tawny birthmark peppers her cheekbone.

His saliva bars in his throat, knocking the breath out from his chest,

She’s beautiful.

The girl scrunches her face, scrutinizing his graphic rock shirt flecked with stains, his ripped jeans hanging open like an unhinged jaw at his knees, and his pair of bruised Chuck Taylors. A repulsed scoff hisses out from her throat.

“Don’t get mad at me! You’re the one that had your dirty foot sticking out!” She asserts, gesturing her arm like a pointed finger at his spread-out feet peeking out from underneath his desk. “Maybe if you weren’t trying to sleep in class like some homeless person, then you wouldn’t have been blocking the aisle.” The girl sneered in a matter-of-fact timbre as ferocious as a collision of cymbals.

None of it computes.

Rodrick is too entranced by that kindling fire flickering across her furious face. At that, infuriation swelled in her deep blue eyes. He wonders if this is what they meant by being like a moth to a flame. The boy deliberately flattens back his unruly inky black hair, presses himself snug against the desk to hide his shirt stains, and extends his mouth to either side of his ears in a nervous but broad smile. 

“Do you need a seat?” He asks out of the blue with the same enthusiasm as a jack-in-the-box.

“What?” The blonde recoils, taken aback.

Rodrick swipes off his textbooks he’d initially piled onto the seat next to his, placing them onto his desk. With a sweep of his hands, he makes a show of dusting off the chair and wooden table beside him.

“Here, you can sit by me!” He chirps, beaming. An excitable glow broadcasts across his face, infantine and starry-eyed.

The blonde reacts in the same way as if she had been threatened by some thug in the streets, clutching her things protectively to her chest in some makeshift shield.

“Ew! You wish!” She snarls, pulling her plump top lip back in a snarl like the warning growl of a bear. She’s pretty as a landscape with the sting of rat poison. Her disgust is palpable and, to him, exciting. 

Swiftly she leaves without sparing him a second glance, let alone another word, marching off to an empty seat all the way to the other side of the classroom. That explosive burn of hers was still lingering on him like a crackle of fire. 

He’d come to find out later her name is Heather Hills.

The same girl he’d spend the next two years trying to win over.

You can ask anyone; he’s tried just about any and everything to get her attention. 

He’d greet her every morning by her locker only to be met with a roll of sapphire eyes and the click of her wedges scuffing linoleum.

He’d stop by her table in the cafeteria during every lunch period, offering her whatever dessert they had in stock at the lunch line after he’d gotten word of her sweet tooth.

He once walked into school with his hair tamed into a combover, blanketing his brows, because he overheard she had the biggest crush on Justin Bieber.

He wore a freaking tux for weeks during the time leading up to the Sadie Hawkins dance in hopes she’d ask him.

He purposely spent his weekends at the local country club, using the pool solely because she began working part-time as a lifeguard there.

Once his band formed, he even dedicated their very first performance to her. Despite the fact she never showed up.

Nothing ever worked. She’s as formidable as a mountain. Seamlessly unmoved. The guys, his bandmates, have relentlessly urged him to find another girl to invest himself in, but Rodrick is not only determined but also stubborn. He didn’t need some other girl. He needs a love connection with Heather Hills. Except this time he plans to go bolder, louder, and all the more attention grabbing.

If there’s one thing she loves indulging in, it's an audience. One that’ll allow her to bask in their adoration and idolization of her, casting her at the center of attention.

That’s when it came to him.

What better time to profess his feelings than during the holidays? Where the spirits are high, when there’s a special warmth in the atmosphere, and where a crowd is natural to come flocking in, killing two birds with one stone.

In this case, what is the upcoming holiday in question?

Valentine’s Day, of course.

I’m a fucking genius.

It couldn’t be any more perfect.

Now all he needs is an ideal plan to ask her to be his valentine in front of the whole school, finally convincing her to be his girlfriend once and for all.

For the next two weeks leading up to the fourteenth, the arts and crafts store became his new best friend. Sprawled across the conveyor belts of cashiers and later transferred onto the carpets of his bedroom floor is a roll of banner paper, bottles of glitter twinkling in a kaleidoscope of colors, an array of fresh markers, dozens of plastic roses, packs of glue, and a stack of colored construction paper. 

Despite his lack of polished penmanship, his jittery hands with scissors, his naturally entangled butterfingers, and only about forty bucks in his pocket, Rodrick went to work. 

It’s the most work he’s done outside of music.

His hands cramped from repetitive snips of paper and the marks of wet ink he drew along the flimsy canvas. Dried glue and clouds of glitter smeared across his palms, his thighs, and the floors. He’d already accounted for his mom killing him, but some sacrifices need to be made for a greater cause. Once she sees him with Heather, he’s sure she’d understand.

It’d take Rodrick days to put his vision to paper. That and a lot of ruined shirts, stained carpet, a few paper cuts, and a few stabs and slashes from his scissors. However, by the time he finished, he had about four more days until Valentine’s Day. For a guy so well versed in procrastination, he surprisingly made great time. All he needed now was an entourage that could serve as his helpers. 

That’s where the band came in.

Rodrick needed some place with a high altitude to perch the rolled poster upon before eventually unleashing it open like a scroll. He needed two people above, taking each upper corner in hand, to be able to release the banner. Then he needed at least one person to be on lookout at the school parking lot so the timing would be just right. 

Reluctantly and with much bribery involving pizza, they agreed.

Ben and Chris got tasked with holding the poster. Bill was going to keep watch in his car a few feet off campus to avoid inevitably looking like a creeper.

Rodrick would wait inside the school right at the front entrance. He needed to be seen front and center once the reveal was made so there’d be no mistake who was asking what. He wanted it to be made clear to everyone, but especially to Heather.

Once the fourteenth came, school was the last thing on Rodrick’s mind upon stepping foot into Crossland High. He passed through school grounds with a solid stainless black shirt, navy blue jeans without the rips this time, and his washed, albeit still blemished, high-top shoes. He was as clean as a guy like him can get.

The plan took off immediately. Will pulled up at the curb discreetly decked out in a baggy, solid concrete gray hoodie and bulky sunglasses that dipped low on his nose every once in a while to scour the scene. 

Ben and Chris jogged up the staircase to the second floor, carrying the fairly large rolled-up poster. It jostled between them like a log, causing the two to pause here and there, bickering about who they felt was going slower or carrying more of the weight.

Meanwhile, Rodrick, the mastermind of it all, positioned himself at the entryway of the building, leading towards the lockers. He waited with explosives of nerves and anticipation. This is the gutsiest thing he’s ever pulled, and he’ll be able to tell in the next hour or so whether it’d all been worth it. 

He clutches his phone in hand, tapping it heedfully against his thigh. While a box of assorted chocolates is held in his free hand, pressing into his side. His chin dips up, peering up at the two standing overhead, resting the sign atop the indoor balcony. At his antsy stare, Ben and Chris raise their arms, giving him a thumbs up. Rodrick nods in acknowledgement before glancing back at his phone.

Beforehand, they gave Bill an extensive description of what Heather looked like as well as a picture from her profile. Rodrick insisted she was hard not to miss. She’s got iron blonde hair, snowy pale skin, midnight blue eyes, about average height, and a noticeable birthmark that looks like a kiss of sand on her cheek. She drives a silver convertible and typically walks into school with one of her friends trailing at her side.

“Once you see her, you’ll know.” He had told him.

And he was seemingly right.

A pang sings from his hand, sending a vibration to ripple across his skin. At the sight of Bill’s name electronically printed across the screen, he hurriedly answers the call. Though, before he can even answer, the voice on the other line blares through like a blizzard, beating him to it.

“Found her! I see her! She’s coming in hot! I’d say she’ll make it through the doors in about three minutes!” Bill surmises in urgency. It shoots a zap as cutting as a fissure up his torso.

“Got it, over.” Rodrick replies, emulating a walkie-talkie, before hanging up and shoving his phone into his back pocket. He cups the sides of his mouth, yelling toward the two leaning against the indoor balcony railing. “Look alive! You’re dropping it in three minutes!” 

Ben and Chris snap up straight, wide-eyed. They quickly separate, taking secure hold of either side of the poster in preparation for their part.

Rodrick slides a hand down his shirt, straightening out any remaining wrinkles that pinch the fabric together like rivulets and brushing away a few straggling strands of hair that fall near his eyes. His nerves prickle, standing up high on edge as more students enter, quizzically raising their brows or smearing him in their stares of curiosity. He knows this is what he planned for, but it’s different having it actually play out in front of him. All the eyes glued onto him feel smothering, but he can make do if it means enabling his plan. He just needs to remind himself that nobody else mattered. All that matters is him, his poster, and Heather Hills coming in time to see it.

Around the ballpark of Bill’s estimation, Rodrick perks up at the sound of a shrill croak coming from rusted joints. The smokey beige doors fall open, letting in an echo of heels over tile, long fair creamy legs, and a mane of golden hair swaying like a breeze to eclipse the threshold. Her walk is as graceful as figure skaters across ice.

Ben and Chris immediately jerk out from their waiting positions. They push the banner off of the railing, smoothly rolling the poster open like a map, and keep hold of each side, pinning it to the bannister. In scarlet blocky letters the words “Will you be my Valentine?” are jotted across its white canvas. Underneath it he signs it off in black, writing “From Rodrick.” Hearts cut out from pink construction paper freckle along the poster like butterflies. A prismatic flutter of colors gleams from the glitter glued to the paper. Plastic roses disentangle from the poster, raining down like confetti.

She raises her head idly, flipping a curtain of blonde hair past her shoulder and unveiling a pair of frosted blue eyes. At the sight of that face, Rodrick’s breath cements in his chest like a block of ice. His gut plummets in sync with his jaw.

That’s not Heather.

A sharp splinter of breath gasps between her lips when a handful of fake roses bombards her like a freaking hailstorm. It thwacks against the crown of her head, roughly grazing its plastic thorns past her forehead. Clouds of loose glitter flutter off the paper, showering over her in jets of sparkles, sticking to her hair like dandruff. And if that wasn’t enough, small webs of glue drip off, catching onto her cheek and across her hands.

The girl freezes in place. Her hands pause in a surrendering position. Her chest seesaws, rising and falling in rapid succession. The caves of her nostrils flare wide as black holes. The seam of her blooming pink lips convulses, clamping her face together tight like a lock.

“What is this?!” She shrieks in booming outrage, piercing enough to crack glass. The ivory cream of her skin flushes in crimson mortification. 

The smiles wipe off of Ben and Chris’s faces at the screech of anger and the realization of how that voice sounds nothing like Heather’s. 

It was only then, at that exact moment, that the actual Heather walked in. She passes through the doors, strutting into the hallway with a stressed sway of her hips until she falters at the crowd forming around the entrance. A shadow of confusion crosses her face when she catches sight of the other blonde standing in the center focus. Her body was drizzled in sparkles and glue. A ring of artificial roses scattered around her feet.

“What the hell is going on?” Heather calls out to her, frowning.

The other girl says nothing. She only rushes out from her shocked and enraged stupor. She takes a handful of steps forward, pivoting on her heel, and upturning her chin to where the heap of arts and crafts supplies showered over her. Ben and Chris jump back, letting out a startled yelp at the cut of her stare. They hastily turned, hiding behind the walled-up balcony railing.

Her head whips back around, momentarily taking note of the crowd forming like ants to a crumb. Those icy blue eyes scan across the throng of students, snagging onto Rodrick’s lone body standing out from the rest. He stands a few feet away, slack-jawed, with a heart-shaped box of chocolates nestled underneath his arm.

A scorch of venom seethes in her arctic gaze.

“Was this your doing?” She demands. A furious tinge paints her face a maddening red. Rodrick gulps roughly.

“I—you—this is a whole misunderstanding—” he scrambles in explanation. His hands rise in front of him, yielding to her searing wrath. It feels like holding up a shield against a snowstorm.

“Are you an effing idiot?!” She fumes. A detonation of pure, unadulterated rage avalanches from her irate tone. Her anger burns carmine all the way down to her gracile neck, complementing the lush pink of her sleek lips.

With his initial shock dwindling back to normal, he’s able to take a better glimpse of her face. She and Heather share similar features, but they look nothing alike. He’s starting to wonder if Will’s at that age where his eyesight is growing more blurry by the day. Other than having blue eyes and blonde hair, the two couldn’t be any more different.

For starters, her hair is lighter.

Her hair flows in rolling cascades of sunlit platinum blonde. 

Secondly, her eyes are paler.

A pastel ocean blue with a naturally critical edge to her gaze.

Thirdly, in place of Heather’s signature birthmark spotting her cheekbone, she has moles.

A spray of moles dots her face. In the space a few inches from her top lip, her chin, and at the base of the column of her slender neck. It scatters like stars on her skin.

Lastly, Heather is all soft lines, round cheeks, and smooth, pillowy features.

She has sculpted lines, well-defined cheekbones, and an austere, firm visage.

Dammit, Bill!

As she looks at him, he feels as if he’s been transported into the middle of a maelstrom. Her voice is naturally sweet but corrosive in tone. Those eyes are a vivid blue like sunny skies but with as much intensity as an arrow piercing into him. It’s daunting, like a rising tide threatening to drown all those in close proximity. Her rosy mouth gnashes together with a disgruntled furrow of her brows.

Her heels drill into the tile floors once she strides forward, heading in his direction like a bullet. There’s an echoing sway to her hips that feels thunderous. The kind that makes his feet affix to the floor, unable to move despite how badly his mind screams to make a run for it.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, grease stain.” She hisses. The moment she’s close enough within reach, she grips him by the collar of his shirt, wringing it into a fist. He bets if she were taller, she would’ve used it as leverage to lift him off of his feet like a ragdoll. Instead she has to settle for yanking him down, fast enough to give him whiplash, and having him bend to her height. A sliver of pain impales up his spine. “Are you brain dead, or are you only being this naturally stupid for me?”

Fires from Hell expelled from her like the snapping head of a snake. Her words feel serrated. That adamantine scrutiny of her gaze is prickly. 

He’s never seen anyone as enraged as this.

He’s never thought someone could even be this mad.

She’s terrifying.

She’s explosive.

She’s nightmarishly intimidating.

And most notably, she's utterly breathtaking.

A jasmine-scented wind wafts into his face from the locks of her golden champagne hair. Her luminous blue eyes, despite their wintry ambience, sink into him as soft as snow. Even with all the hardened lines to her, there’s still an angelic glow to her as potent as a sunbeam. It makes his chest heat and his head weigh heavy.

As she pulls on his shirt, it feels as if the world around them wanes, with everything falling in slow motion. If this were an early 2000s romance movie, this would be the perfect time when "True" by Spandau Ballet starts playing in the background as a convenient random rush of wind blows through her hair.

Before he can stop himself, Rodrick leans in, close enough until he can feel her knuckles dig into the column of his throat.

“You’re cute.” He blurts out, beaming wide from ear to ear. “What’s your name?”

She leans back away as if she’d been slapped, still holding his shirt wrenched up in her fist.

“So you are just brain dead.” She seethes.

“No, I’m Rodrick. “He smiles densely. A moronic elation on his face.  “And you?”

“Pissed off.”

“Fitting, but not exactly what I had in mind.”

“I also didn’t have getting showered in cheap roses, leftover glue, and a vomit of glitter in mind.” She growls, glaring at him in a way that makes him glad she didn’t have heat vision; otherwise, he’d be toast. Literally and figuratively.

“In my defense it went a lot smoother in my head.” He reasons lamely. A sardonic scoff darts out past her lips like lightning.

“Like I said, brain dead.” She ridicules with a dismissive roll of her eyes. There’s an acidic accent to her tone. One that hits Rodrick like dopamine.

“If it makes you feel any better, you can have this.” He raises his arm, offering her the sealed heart-shaped box of assorted chocolates. The box being big enough to cover his entire head. Small hints of red tint his cheeks as deep as a sunburn.

Her disdain sinks in bone deep on her pretty face.

“I’d rather down a gallon of cooking oil.” She grits out and finally, much to his disappointment, lets go of his shirt before shoving the chocolates back into his chest with a slam of her hand. “And just so you know, I feel bad for any girl that has to suffer being your Valentine. Going off this, I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy. And I’m the most hateful person I know.”

She’s perfect.

“Just so you know, I like hateful girls.” He grins gently, bouncing his brows. An extra sharp curl at the corner of his lips. 

“God, you’re a loser.” She sneers, scrunching her face in irritation.

It makes his heartbeat flutter.

“Regina! We need to get a move on! You still need to get your class schedule from the office.” A familiar voice cuts through as strict as an incision. Heather, he realizes, sounding particularly surly in diction. Normally, he’s quick to crack his neck after her, but it’s more so what she says that catches his attention. 

“Regina?” His eyes twinkle. Even her name feels sweet on his tongue. “Your name’s Regina?”

Regina turns her head, scowling in raging anger at the other blonde. In reply, Heather only shoots her a disgruntled, bitter frown and an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Her arms frigidly cross against her chest. At Heather’s resentful tantrum, Regina sucks her tooth in annoyance before turning back to the boy in front of her.

“If I ever see you near my vicinity, I’ll stab your eyes out with my heels.” She threatens. Rodrick perks up as if he’d just been offered a gig at the Hollywood Bowl.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He lights up. His exuberant excitement shines like a string of fairy lights across his face. His excitement is blinding and clearly unfathomably off-putting to the luxurious blonde. Her face grimaces as if she’d just eaten something sour.

“Fucking freak.” She snaps. Her lovely face pulls back as taut as a marble statue. There's a vitriolic edge to her voice sharpening every word. Aside from that, she lets her deep-rooted look of scorn speak for itself. It singes into him, sending crackles of flame to erupt in his chest. 

A sharp beat twangs off of the tile from the stick and turns off her heel into the floor. She strides away, annoyedly swiping her hand across her cheek and through her hair, dusting off the sparse specks of glue and the glitter. Rodrick stares after her like people looking up at a meteor shower. He watches her retreating back, strutting to Heather’s side, and mumbling something in annoyance. Not that Heather seems all that interested.

Rather, a frown pinches Heather’s lips together. Her cornflower blue eyes switch to and fro between him and the new girl cleaning herself off. He’s unsure of what to make of it. If there’s even anything to comprehend. Well, if there is, none of it calculates in his head.

His attention is too preoccupied anyway, observing the sashay of Regina’s long, slender legs walking down the rest of the hallway, heading in the direction of the school’s office.

He ruminates over that laser glare of her eyes, that scathing way of her words, and that glacial hardening of her face. It lingers in his mind as intoxicating as buckets of vodka, leaving him with a just as dreamy after-look on his face. Leaving him with nothing but the echo of her name to ring like church bells in his mind.

***

Regina George is in hell.

It all started when her mother remarried a man named Johnathan Hills, pulling her out from North Shore High, dragging her away from Evanston, Illinois, and gaining not only a new stepdad but also two new stepsisters with him like a gaudy set. Her new younger stepsister, Holly, was relatively fine. Upbeat and sweet. She meshed perfectly well with the likes of her little sister, Kylie. The two instantly hit it off, quickly becoming the best of friends despite not being the exact same age.

Mr. Hills, on the other hand, is no new uncharted territory from all the different kinds of older rich men Regina’s already familiar with. He’s pretentious, vain, airheaded, and completely aloof when it comes to the royal pain in the ass his own spawn can be. His eldest daughter, to be more specific. 

Heather Hills might be an even bigger hater than Janis Ian ever was.

The whole reason why they even had to move to Crossland High instead of letting her stay at North Shore is because upon catching word of June George praising her daughter’s ability to win over nearly the entire student body and being the most popular and beloved girl in her class, a look shadowed across Heather’s face. A razor-sharp scowl of vexation. As if offended.

The girl puffed her eyes until they watered, sniffling her nose, and dramatically patted her chest like an infant that needed burping. She wailed, pathetically whimpering about how she doesn’t want to have to change schools or houses. That she prefers her childhood home, how she wants to stay with her friends, how she just won homecoming queen so she can’t leave, how she still needs to throw her birthday party, and so on and so forth.

Regina didn’t blame her. She feels the exact same way. The problem is it’s not lost on her that there’s a clear indication of resentment at the idea of having to not only change schools but also specifically attend one where she didn’t reign as the most popular girl there. So Heather begged her father to let them stay at Plainview after the marriage. Mr. Hills, never one to say no to his daughter, obeyed, worked his magic on her mom, and got them all to settle down in this small town of rejects.

Whatever it is that Heather saw the moment they met and she realized they were bound to be sharing a plethora of things from now on, it wasn’t sisterhood; it was competition.

Ridiculous.

Regina doesn’t compete. There is no reason for her to. Nor was she even in the mood for it, seeing as she just left her entire life behind, including her loyal subjects, her friends, and her (now ex) boyfriend. She wasn’t exactly in the mood to play psychological warfare. 

It’s all so unfair.

Her mother didn’t even try to take her side, insisting Regina comply and not make things hard on them. The notion is so offensively laughable it makes her want to wrench her hair out. Her? Last she checked, she wasn’t the one that started sobbing in the middle of lunch in between taking sips of champagne and insisting “she’ll just die!” if they move. 

The idea did cross her mind, but upon seeing it play out with Heather, it had given her such secondhand embarrassment she decided to just throw in the towel and get on with it.

A mistake she now realizes the moment she walked through Crossland High’s front doors and a storm of glue, glitter, and ninety-nine-cent roses splattered over her, pelting her like rain but dryer and stickier. All from some guy trying to ask her wicked bitch of a stepsister to be his valentine.

An entire school of freaking losers!

After her first step into Crossland, she cleaned herself up, got her class schedule, and had no choice but to stick at Heather’s side, as the school recommended that as her “sister,” Heather should help Regina settle in. Much to both of their dismay.

It’s now been two months since her move to Plainview.

To say she hates it would be an understatement.

Malls bigger than one story are scarce around these small-town sides of things. There’s hardly much to do. Hardly much to see. Or hardly any people worth talking to. The whole place felt stagnant and monochrome.

The only thing that did stand out was one face consistently forcing its way through, popping up as insistent as the head in a game of whack-a-mole.

That loser Rodrick Heffley.

On her second day at Crossland, she had English with Mr. Breamer. There, she did the standard procedure of standing up at the front of the board and doing the whole "introduce yourself" spiel. Then Mr. Breamer asked his students if there was anyone who had an empty seat beside them. 

Only mere seconds after the question barely grazed past his lips, there came a loud ‘OOF’ and a booming slap of skin. A resounding fleshy splat. Regina’s eyes widened, turning her head, as well as everyone else’s, toward the source of the sharp noise. 

Leaning back on his side with one of his gangly legs lifted up and stretched out in front of him is a boy with unruly pitch-dark hair, dark chocolate eyes, beige sandy skin, and a wide-eyed expression. At the desk beside him, another boy lays sprawled across the floor on his stomach. A pained groan rasps from between his lips like a wispy trail of smoke. The dark haired boy immediately tucks his leg back underneath the desk, plastering an innocent smile across his dopey face.

“I have a free seat here, sir!” He waves his arm in the air above him as enthusiastically as those inflatables at car dealerships.

“Rodrick Heffley.” Mr. Breamer acknowledges sternly, eyes squinting to match the deep furrow of his brows. “What did you do to Jones?”

“Who?” The boy asks obliviously. At that moment another pained whine sounds from the floor. Rodrick remains unfazed. His face doesn’t crack an inch. He only dismisses the sound with a simple “Must’ve been the wind.”

“Your seatmate, Rodrick.” Mr. Breamer sighs, massaging the space between his eyes at the bridge of his nose. ”Why is he on the floor?”

He must do this a lot. Regina observes seeing the resignation already sinking into his face.

“Why is who on the floor?” The boy asks obtusely, cocking his head. “This is a free seat.” He gestures towards the emptied-out desk beside him with a sweep of his arm like some guide leader.

Mr. Breamer’s cheeks blaze, flushing a scalding red as veins as thick as vines pulse to the surface of his skin. 

“Detention after school, Heffley!” Their teacher snappily reprimands him. Meanwhile the kid on the floor finally manages to crawl back to his seat, favoring his side. He plops down with a mild flinch and a ragged deep breath. 

In response Rodrick frowns, deflating back into his chair, seemingly more disappointed than he is embarrassed or ashamed at being scolded in front of the entire class.

Seconds later his gaze raises, catching hers. He livens back up upon noticing her attention zeroed in on him. A shit-eating grin flourishes across his lips, made all the worse when he has the nerve to wink at her.

What a weirdo.

Ever since she transferred in, he’s been buzzing around her throughout the day like some fly.

One time during her walk to class, there came a rush of footsteps approaching her from behind. Thunderous and reverberating. She turned, but by then she’d already been a few seconds too late. A surge of wind dashed against her, pushing her hair back from her shoulders just as a lean body reached her side, accompanied by a jingle of thin chains. 

When Regina looks up, she sees an awfully familiar flop of raven-black hair and a pair of eyes as dark as granite.

“Hey Barbie.” Rodrick greets, towering over her even with her heels on.

“Ew.” An immediate frown slashes across her face. “What do you want?” Regina deadpans, already turning herself back away from him like an upturned nose.

“Was just walking around the area when I saw you wandering the place like a tourist.” He teases lightly, stretching out his arm and gingerly tapping his finger onto the back of her hardcover textbook. “Lost?”

“None of your business.” She glowers, hating that he’s right. It’d only been her fourth day here after all. So it’s only natural that she hasn’t caught her bearings yet. It doesn’t help that Heather completely abandoned ship leaving her to fend for herself. Something Regina is both grateful and resentful for. She was glad she didn't have to spend every second attached at the hip to her stepsister but also peeved off that she had just left her to roam the school like some lost puppy trying to find shelter.

“So what now? You’re just going to hike around searching the rest of the school?” He raises a skeptical brow.

“Maybe.” She barks, puffing her cheeks in stubborn irritation. 

A neutral smile stays on his face as a benevolent warmth flickers in his swarthy eyes.

“Nonsense.” He says with a flippant tone, plucking her books out from her arms.

“Hey!” She cries out in protest. The tall boy gingerly turns her things in his hands, angling them towards his eyes. 

“Aha! Math with Mrs. Hartley? That’s easy! I know where her classroom is. I take naps there all the time.” He shamelessly admits. Of course he does. Regina rolls her eyes, reaching back for her books, but he’s already turning on his heel, fast-walking in the opposite direction.

“Wha—I don’t care how poor you are, don’t steal my things!” She fumes chasing after him. Her legs jog the rest of the distance between them until she’s at his shoulder, taking hold of his sleeve and yanking on it. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What does it look like? Walking you to class and carrying your books for you.”

“Who said you can?” She glares hotly.

“Are you saying you want to wander around in circles lugging your math supplies with those pretty dainty little hands?” He quizzes in pestering curiosity. His grin upturning into a cocksure smirk. What a dick. She bristles at his sarcasm, at him even having the balls to use that kind of tone with her. The urge to stick out her foot and trip him by his ankle is as tempting as a sale at Gucci, but she can’t afford a murder case this soon in her enrollment, and if she’s being honest, she doesn’t want to keep roaming around campus in search of her classes either. Her arms have already started to ache from holding up her textbook that’s as thick as a bible.

She sneers in annoyance, but nonetheless, silently allows him to take the lead. Minutes in he attempts conversation, but her only response comes in a steely, straight expression. The last thing she needs is for people to think she’s actually affiliated with a guy like him. It doesn’t matter if she’s at a whole new school. Girls like her still don’t bother with beggars like him.

Though, he clearly cares little of her frigidity as he continues on anyway having a one sided conversation about his band, how school is a prison, how teachers are dictators, all the while sliding in sly comments about how he likes how shiny her hair is and how he finds her skirt pretty.

Note to self remember to burn this skirt and cut my hair.

Her face remains stoic with her lips wrenched shut.

She eyes him inquisitively the moment they reach one of the navy-painted class doors. Rodrick rushes forward, clasping the knob, and pulling back the door. In one hand he offers her back her books like butlers in restrooms with cloth towels. In the other hand he holds the door open, gesturing for her to enter.

Regina sneers, roughly tearing her things out from his hold. One of her slender hands haughtily brushes her golden hair behind her shoulder.

“Thanks for letting me use you as a purse.” She retorts jeeringly. Her taunting tone is enough to let him know that she is anything but grateful. Not that he cares.

“No problem. Anytime.” A sunlit smile sweeps across his face. The smile that graces his lips is elastic and genuinely pleased. His eyes hold hers like the caresses of a hand. It makes a snake of annoyance worm its way inside her, starting from her gut all the way to her chest. She scoffs as hard as a shard of glass, making sure to clip him in the shoulder when she struts past him into the classroom.

He’s like a cockroach—no matter how many times she shoos him away with the astute tone of her voice, the puncture of her words, and the frost of her glare, he always comes back. As insistent as an itch with a rash.

A few weeks later she’d been picking boredly at her pasta salad during lunch while sitting miserably with her stepsister and her just as aggravating friends. All chirping nonsense and nodding their heads like bobbleheads at whatever she says.

Kill me. I don’t care how. Just kill me. 

She rests her cheek listlessly against her hand, nibbling halfheartedly at her lunch, when suddenly a soft thump beats onto the table at her side. It rumbles the plastic and metal in a juddering ripple. She jumps back on instinct, startled. The rest of the girls follow suit, gasping and jerking back in their seats.

Above them Rodrick Heffley looms like a sun cresting the horizon, leaning into the table with one hand atop its surface. His signature excitable grin stretches from ear to ear on his cherry-pink lips.

No seriously, kill me.

Across from her, Regina can see Heather imperceptibly perk up. A knowing smirk plasters onto her face as she sits up pompously, fixing her straw blonde hair and priming her clothes. Regina blankly raises a brow at that. Meanwhile her friends indiscreetly glance at one another, giggling. It felt as if everyone was in on some inside joke that she didn’t get the memo to. 

Regina didn’t get it, but she also plainly didn’t care.

“Here again? I already told you I’m not intere—” Heather flips her hair with a cocky raise of her chin, but her words wilt away at the thud of something being placed down onto the table. A medium-sized plastic cup filled to the brim with an iced yellow slush smelling of banana and caramel sits at the center. Immediate revulsion slashes across her features as she dramatically recoils back away from the table. “Ew, I hate bananas!” She complains. 

“Here.” Rodrick nudges the drink forward until it stops mere inches away from Regina. He gently knocks his knuckle onto the drink’s lid. “I heard you talking about wanting one in our last class.”

Her brows knit into one as she makes a rapid series of blinks.

“This is for me?” She dips up her head, looking back at him. His smile broadens as his shaggy hair brushes across his brows the moment he nods his head.

“Mhm. On the house.” He speaks like some midnight bartender. 

“Do I look like charity to you?” She challenges him. A sarcastic huff coughing up from her throat. Regina’s hands lock into fists, fighting the urge to reach out and snatch the drink for herself, taking greedy sips. He wasn’t wrong and it’s beginning to bother her how that's becoming a pattern with him.

In Mr. Breamer’s class she had been ranting to a deskmate about how badly she’d been fantasizing about a banana caramel shake right about now but opted out of getting it in the end in honor of maintaining her figure.

“Nah.” Rodrick counters lightly, not even in the slightest bit provoked by her attitude. Only reveling in it. As always. “I just think pretty girls should get whatever they want.” A lopsided grin pitches up the corner of his mouth. It catches her off guard. As a matter of fact, it catches the whole table off guard.

Heather’s jaw drops as a strangled gasp darts past her lips. Her little followers take after her lead, just as stunned with an unhinging of their own mouths.

An unknown torrid heat suddenly mushrooms in Regina’s chest, sending embers to flutter in her stomach.  

“Later, Barbie.” He stands back up from the table, stepping away from it with a backwards walk. “Think of me.” Rodrick raises his arm, tapping his index finger against his temple. A smugness tinting over his idiotic face. Then he simply waves before turning back around and strutting off.

For the first time since she’s been forced to endure his shenanigans, Regina can feel her cheeks warm, nearly traveling all the way down to her neck.

When her eyes glance towards Heather, she sees her shoulders hunched nearly at her eyes, a hardened look on her face, and an icy bitterness in her gaze.

Not good.

Regina opts to defuse the situation, placating the little princess so she won’t whine her ear off.

“What a loser.” Regina grumbles indifferently. She goes back to lazily picking at her pasta salad, stuffing her mouth to keep the smidge of satisfaction from seeping through at seeing Heather’s outrage.

Heather’s eye twitches as her lips purse in an infuriated pout.

“You should just ignore him. Rodrick is head over heels for me. He has been since freshman year.” Heather states matter-of-factly. One more snarl away from spitting. "He's probably just using you to make me jealous. He gets pretty pathetic when it comes to me.” 

Her eyes cut to her side, staring expectantly at the other two. Her brows raise as she makes a pointed glare in their direction.

Her two lackeys catch her drift as easily as a stripe of highlighter across black construction paper.

“Yeah, it’s true. He practically dotes on her twenty-four seven.” A brunette with evident split ends chimes in.

“Mhm, he’s like madly in love with Heather. He’d do anything to get her attention. He’s been trying to convince her to date him for the past two years.” A redhead engraved with early crow's feet at the corners of her swamp green eyes interjects.

Regina resists an eye roll at her blatant pathetic attempt to flaunt the devotion of one of her followers as well as place absurdity onto any possible notion that her little boy toy could possibly be interested in her instead.

Regina had meant it when she said she has little interest in competing with her.

However, that didn’t stop a grain of disappointment from planting in her consciousness. 

Which only made her angrier.

“So is he your boyfriend then?” She shoots back quizzically, knowing he isn’t, but finding it annoyingly bizarre that she wanted to stake her claim on him so fiercely all of a sudden.

Heather’s eyes widen, parting her lips like a quivering chasm. 

“W-What?! No! Absolutely not! O-Of course not!” She stammers with a flushed redness shamefully painting over her face.

Oh, great.

As if things weren’t hectic enough, now the guy that’s been bothering her just so happens to be her stepsister’s secret crush.

Her lack of luck should be studied.

She thinks maybe it was after this conversation when Heather decided to promote herself from a demonic nightmare to Satan’s spawn. 

Regina never planned to erupt like a volcano, wanting to burn everything to ash around her.

She’s tried her best, adapting and obliging to everything being asked of her.

She packed up her entire life and moved.

She lived in an entirely new house, attended a whole new school, and got an entirely new family.

All she wanted was to lay down low and gradually make as much of a new life as she could in buttfuck nowhere Plainview.

Then came that day. That morning as she dipped her pancakes into a puddle of maple syrup at the kitchen table. Heather had gotten up to use the restroom, leaving her phone unattended, face up. That’s when there came a gentle buzz vibrating against mahogany, Regina’s eyes naturally fell to the device’s lit-up screen.

Aaron S <3
I should be free after football practice. I can make the drive there and pick you up.

Her blood stilled and her breath pinned between the walls of her throat, making her drop her fork in a clatter of metal against porcelain.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

A shrill scream bursts from Heather’s lips as she rounds the table from the other side, using the entire structure of wood as some kind of barrier.

“Are you fucking insane?! My ex-boyfriend!? What the hell, Heather!?” Regina shouted, slamming her palms in a skin-splitting slap against wood. “How could you go sniffing around looking for my exes? What is your problem?”

“As if you have the right to tell me that shit!” She fires back. Her hands curl around the edge of the table, blanching her knuckles bleach white. “You are such a hypocrite!”

“Excuse me?!” Regina calls out. “What exactly have I done?” She demands.

“You took Rodrick from me!” She shrieks, stomping her foot, worse than any tantrum Holly and Kylie could ever emulate. A flabbergasted disbelief shoots from Regina's gaze. 

“Are you serious? You aren’t even dating him! You said you don’t like him, and I’m not the one making him follow me around!”

“Doesn’t matter! He was still mine!” Heather snarls adamantly like a petulant child arguing over a doll.

Regina nearly sends herself flying across the damn table then and there, but then a flurry of footsteps rushes through the door, entering into the kitchen.

“Girls, what is going on?” Mr. Hills inquires, hands fiddling with his polo shirt, only halfway dressed for work.

“What’s with all the yelling?” Her mother follows in after him, quite literally clutching her pearls dangling around her pale neck.

“Regina’s trying to hit me!” Heather shrieks in performative trembling fear.

Oh, I’ll give her something to fear, alright.

“Mom, this freaking psycho tracked down my ex and is seeing him!” Regina argues. Her entire body burns up into a crackling inferno big enough to lick across the ceiling.

“Your ex?” Her mom echoes after her.

“Yes! Aaron!” She retorts.

“If you guys aren’t together anymore, then what does it matter? And you started it when you took Rodrick!” Heather counters back piercingly.

“I didn’t take shit, you nutcase, but if you want me to so badly, then I will!” She sneers.

A surge of red floods over Heather’s face.

“I’m going to kill you!” Heather growls. Streams practically darting out from her ears.

“Not if I murder you first!” Regina snaps, readying to launch herself across the table once more like a catapult.

“ENOUGH!” Mr. Hills declares, stretching out his arms at either side of him in the same manner as baseball players when they announce that someone’s safe. “No more arguing! I don’t want to hear any more words about how badly you two want to brutalize each other! Heather, honey, you know better than to go after people’s past relationships. What did you expect would happen, sweetheart? And Regina, I know it’s a terrible and awkward situation to be in, but Heather is right. If you two aren’t seeing each other anymore, then technically he is single, and if she wants to see him, then she can.”

“Is that a joke?” Regina asks sharply, glaring.

“Regina, sweetie!” Her mom swiftly cuts in, briskly walking towards her daughter and placing her hands atop her shoulders. “It really is such an awful and hard situation to be in like this, but surely you do understand that at the end of the day we can’t control who people date. As weird as it is, if Heather and Aaron want to see each other, then they can see each other.”

“You’re taking her side?” Regina pulls away from her, wide-eyed in disbelief. A pang that pierces through muscle and bone stabs into her chest. She knows her mom can be aloof and a people pleaser, but she never saw her as someone that’d throw her under the bus, all the while sitting in the passenger seat.  

“This isn’t about taking sides—”

“Yes, it is! And you always take hers!” Regina asserts, angrily pointing out her arm in reference to the girl at the other side of her. Her fury burns tenfold when Heather smirks smugly, crossing her arms arrogantly against her chest. The words “I win” practically ooze off her.

That’s it.

Regina pushes herself off of the wooden table, rounding her mother, and darting past Mr. Hills in a deep pound of her footsteps. She storms out of the kitchen in the direction of the front door.

“Regina! Where are you going?” Her mother calls out, aghast at her sheer indignation.

“Out.” She grunts out.

“Out where?”

“Anywhere out of here!” She snaps, clasping the door’s knob into a tight fist. She turns the knob, yanking open the wood, and hastily walking out from this shithole she’s been forced to call her home for the past two months.

Regina had hoped her dramatic angry walk-off spoke the rest of the words she couldn’t. An excellent storm-off, if she’s ever seen one, but now comes a new problem. She’s stuck. She’s stuck outside without a single clue of where to go. Without even a thread of an idea of what to do. Or of who she can even go to. Even worse, her vision begins to smudge, turning the world around her into a series of blurs. It feels as if she had beer goggles wrapped around her eyes. 

Trails of warm water trace down the curves of her cheeks. 

Tears, she realizes.

She’s crying.

Fuck me.

Angrily, she wipes away the rivulets of water streaming down her face. She can only imagine the pity on her mom and stepdad’s face in addition to the arrogance drenching over Heather like an ocean. She’d rather a car run her over than let them see her like this.

At that point Regina doesn’t care where, as long as it’s far enough. She walks off on foot in the direction of the streets where strings of stores line the pavement.

By the time she reaches the shopping district, she’s already worn out and not even in the mood for her standard retail therapy. Even new clothes aren’t enough to calm her mind or her prickly nerves. If anything she just wants somewhere she can sit and shed off this emotional toll veiling over her like a noose around her neck. And so she continues to wander off.

Minutes later that’s how Regina found herself sitting on the pavement in front of a local 7-Eleven, still dressed in her silk pajamas and furiously wiping at her face. An onslaught of tears just kept forming, pearling at the bottom lids of her eyes, and racing down her face accompanied by gruff sniffles.

God, she felt pathetic, and she bet she looked like it too.

Regina pathetically burrows herself into the tops of her knees. She curls up like an upright armadillo, hoping in one way or another that maybe this’ll wring out all the tears from her system. She stays like that even as a pass of footsteps, voices, and the shuffle of cars scatter across the parking lot. She stays, unmoving like a statue cemented into the pavement.

It isn’t until she feels the presence of someone standing over her and hearing a startlingly familiar voice that she finally loosens her locked pose.

“Whoa. Everything okay?” The person asks. That boyish but husky baritone registers in her ears, rousing her head on instinct before she can stop it. She looks up at him. A fist squeezes her chest at seeing Rodrick Heffley standing over her with a cautious cock of his head. Those coffee-brown eyes shine caramel underneath the early sun, bulging out from their sockets once he catches sight of her face. “Regina?” He calls out, dumbfounded and breathless. His eyes hastily skim over her, widening like saucers.

“Freaking hell, why are you everywhere?” She complains in a watery grumble.

“You’re crying.” He observes like a scientist finding a new discovery before suddenly dropping down to a squat beside her. “What’s wrong?” He asks in an overwhelmingly gentle cadence swathed in sincere concern. It only burns her anger brighter like lighter fluid to a fire.

“Buzz off!” She snaps, childishly scooting away from him. “You know pretending to care about me isn’t going to get Heather to fuck you.” She snarls cruelly, hoping that shrivels his Heather-loving heart into dust. 

Instead, a twist of confusion crumples his face together.

“Heather?” He frowns, taken aback. “Who cares about her right now?”

“You do. I know about your little obsession with her. It was because of your little stunt trying to ask her to be your Valentine that got me covered in crap on my first day of school.” She rages at him, knowing her anger is misplaced, but at the root of her every arising issue thus far there has been one common denominator, and that was a straight-haired blonde with resentful blue eyes and a pink lipstick-stained mouth taking everything from her. It’s felt like the goddamn Heather show since the moment she stepped one inch of her wedge-heeled shoes into her life.

“Right.” Rodrick flinches as if the mere memory physically pained him. He timidly scratches the back of his head. “I really am sorry about that whole Valentine’s Day incident. That was completely unintentional. And listen, I don’t really know what this has to do with anything, but yeah, I did have a crush on Heather. But it wasn’t anything serious. I just thought she was hot, and I liked that she had an attitude.” He shrugs limply. 

“I’m over it now, though.”

Regina scoffs scornfully.

“So all it takes to win you over is a pretty face and to be a little mean? So you’re easy?”  She scowls. Rodrick sways his side from side to side as if in mental debate, weighing his options.

“Maybe,” he answers. “Yes, if you’re into that. And no, gross, if you’re not into it.” He responds thoughtfully, as if contemplating a math problem.

A look of pure disbelief overtakes her. How someone can be so honest and airheaded at the same time is beyond her. A lethal combination. That genuine pensive expression on his face ties the moment all the more together like a ribbon topped on gifts.

A bolt of air breathes past her lips. An unexpected laugh. It pulses out from her lungs  as soft as a jingle. Her hands instantly cover over her mouth in an attempt to suppress it, but her snicker still spurts between her fingers. At the sound of it a smile unfurls across his lips, softening the gaze of his earthy brown eyes. 

“Glad I could please.” He teases impishly, smiling wider when she halfheartedly glares in return. His arms rest languidly over his knees, leaning in the slightest inch towards her. “So what’s really wrong?” He wonders softly. His voice feels as gentle as a morning beach breeze. It feels awfully comforting and unfairly coaxing to her nerves. 

She sighs deeply, clawing back a wave of platinum blonde hair between her fingers and behind her shoulders.

“It’s stupid. I’m just pissed off.” She mutters reluctantly. “Your little girlfriend has it out for me. I had to pack up my entire freaking life and move to this tiny-ass town because she threw a tantrum at the idea of having to move to Evanston. She’ll have a fit the moment a single thing goes my way. Or if a single person pays attention to me instead of her. My own mom takes her side constantly. Even today! She’s fucking my ex-boyfriend, and they told me that I just needed to get over it. That she’s allowed to date whoever she wants. It’s bullshit! Who the fuck does that?! She obviously did it on purpose, and if I ever did that and she started crying, God forbid, I’d probably be grounded until I’m eighty!”

Her chest rises and falls like an ocean wave as she takes a deep breath. The words waterfalling out from her lips. She hastily tries to rein her voice back in between her panting. 

Rodrick raises his brows with a thoughtful purse of his lips.

“That’s surprising.” He remarks.

“Oh yeah? Shocked to know your crush is an asshole?” She challenges derisively.

“No, I knew that.” He replies with a flippant wave of his hand. “I’m more shocked that she’s actually that insecure. I never would’ve gotten that vibe from her. She always seemed so sure of herself. But I guess not.” He comments with a heedful wrinkle of his brow.

“What are you talking about?” She asks.

“I’m saying it’s obvious. She’s clearly drowning in jealousy over you. I don’t think she’s ever felt this threatened before.” He deciphers like some philosopher or run-of-the-mill therapist. “Probably to the point that she wants to be you.” He emphasizes with a gesture of his hand sweeping towards her from top to bottom. It makes her let out a forceful sardonic laugh at that.

“I know she has this weird one-sided competition with me, but I had no idea how hell-bent she was about it. Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit about something as insignificant as that, but it feels like everyone’s on her side. I can’t even talk to my own mom about it, and I barely know anyone here.” Regina raves, exasperatedly raising her arms at her sides before slumping back down close to her knees. “It’s lonely.” Her voice crushes into a hush, leaving the floor of her mouth in a faint breath. Even her breath felt alienated.

Rodrick pensively licks his lips. His dark eyes carefully surveying over her limp form.

“Well, I can perfectly see why she’d drive herself crazy over you. Wanting to live up to you. You command a room without even trying. I can vouch for that as a witness. And I know this means jack shit coming from me, but at least know that I’m rooting for you.” He says in that deep velvet voice of his, as warm as a hearth. A sweet, soothing smile quirks up either side his lips. “So if you ever need anything, come find me.”

God, she hates the swelter that slashes across the inside of her chest. The heat that swells in her cheeks. His words shouldn’t be capable of even giving her a sliver of solace. Having a loser like him even having the nerve to say he’s in her corner shouldn’t feel right nor comforting. She should be livid at him for thinking someone as lame and insignificant as him could ever make her feel better, but times were tough and he seemed genuine. And it was the exact sincerity and reassurance she’d been needing for quite some time now. 

“Why would you do that for me?” She asks, dazed. Her thunderstruck eyes slowly met his, weary and hesitant. 

A brief silence stretches between them. For a moment Rodrick quietly mulls over her words. She can almost hear his thoughts rattle like coins in his head.

“Because I think you’re cute?” He questions more than states, arching his brows and loosely shrugging his shoulders. It cracks the tense air as easily as glass. A nonsensical, ridiculous answer. She shouldn’t have expected anything more than that, but still the incredulity of it shades over her. 

“Dumbass.” She bites out. Blue eyes slitted back into a flaring glare. Yet, her cheeks rise in time with her lips. An unbidden smile crosses her face, lessening the intensity of her aggravation. Every sharp edge to her subtly softens from ice to snow. 

“Still made you smile.” He smirks cockily, pointing at her curved mouth. As if proud of himself. His brown eyes light up like the flick of a lighter. He’s so absurd and so idiotic. A complete moron. Someone she wouldn’t even have bothered a second glance at back at North Shore. 

However, in that same breath he’s also awfully warm and naturally calming. Being around him, especially at this moment, felt reliving like a heated bath after a long day. A part of her detested it. Another part of her wanted to lean into it. It overwhelmed her, fogging across her mind and her senses.

Call it desperation or her dejection. Or maybe even a possible cursed third thing that she doesn’t even want to try and unravel right now. Either way none of it stops it from eclipsing her consciousness, chipping away at her self-control.

Regina lays her hands flat onto gray pavement, pushing herself off her seat and leaning forward. Right as her knee presses into his thigh, her lips meet his, soft as a petal. His mouth is lush and tender. A zap of electricity shoots down her chest. Their kiss is only a mere peck but still compelling enough to make her heart race, rattling against her ribcage.

She pulls away just as quickly. Shock stiffening her spine to stone at her own brazenness. His dark eyes stare back at her, wide-eyed, reflecting that same exact stunned expression as hers like a mirror. She couldn’t believe she had just done that, and he clearly thought the same.

Why the fuck did I just do that?

In the silence the two openly gaze at one another with nothing but their breaths sounding between them.

His eyes flick down to her agape lips, staring. An urgency of want, rousing in his inky irises.

Rodrick shoots out his arm, threading his fingers through her golden hair. His palm grazes up the nape of her neck, clasping it gently in his hand, and drawing her to him. Gently, he takes her mouth against his. Delicate and patient, but blistering in unrestrained desire. His kiss is firm, but tender in its touch.

He tastes surprisingly sweet and a tad salty. Her hair twists between his long slender fingers. His hand caresses the slope between the back of her head and the start of her neck, brushing his thumb in circles along her skin. His touch transcends past her typically glacial guarded walls in a consuming haze. Her body inclines towards his, melding close against his chest. A sun blossoming in her stomach as he greedily deepens his lips into hers.

His skin is naturally blazing, and his touch is voltaic. It’s dizzying, sending a flurry of flutters to burst throughout her nerves. She meets his ardency with her own enthusiastic vigor.

Rodrick lavishes her lips as if he wants to savor her taste until it brands his mouth like a stain that can’t be cleaned. He kisses as if he wants to intertwine his soul around hers. It’s maddeningly entrancing.

Once the two part from one another, their breaths come out in pants. Goosebumps surface upon the surface of her arms. She hadn’t been expecting that. Well, any of that, for that matter. 

Regina clumsily falls back onto her butt, situating herself back into her seat. Her hands in an uncharacteristic gracelessness pick at her hair fixing it in place. She forcibly poses an imperturbable expression. Pretending as if she hasn’t just been kissing one of the biggest losers she’s ever met.

She takes one swift glance at him, seeing that dazed look on his face. He just as woodenly fiddles with the collar of his shirt. His fingers jerkily pinch at the fabric. A small crevice of silence stretches between them.

Awkwardly, Regina clears her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“I - I umm. I’m sorry for saying I pity any girl with the passion of a thousand suns that has to suffer being your Valentine.” She speaks up, purposefully avoiding eye contact. “Looking back maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad spot to be in.” She mutters, forging a nonchalance she doesn’t feel.

“Huh. I don’t remember you exactly saying all that.” He gazes up at her with a sideways tilt of his head.

“Yeah, but I thought it.” She replies bluntly.

Rodrick laughs, letting out an affable sound that feels as warm as spring. His shoulders bounce, and his cheeks raise off the bone, brightening his face.

“I mean, technically I ended up asking you that day.” He says matter-of-factly. “You saying yes, two months late?” He quizzes, blindingly curious. 

Regina rolls her eyes, grasping him by the face, and gently shoving him away. His chuckle heightens at her halfhearted aggression.

“I’ll see you later.” She dismisses him simply with a grit in her tone that sounds more teasing than pissed off. Her hands lay atop the pavement. She pushes herself back onto her feet, idly dusting off her pants. Then wordlessly she turns in the direction of one of the parking lot exits. Behind her Rodrick watches her retreating back just as he did the first day they met. However at about halfway she halts. Slowly she gradually turns to him once more. “Valentine.”

Her words strike him as piercing as an arrow. His entire body perks up, eyes peeled wide, but nowhere near as broad as the grin that spreads across his face.

“See you tomorrow.” He replies, allowing for a short gap of silence before finishing. “Valentine.”

Regina smiles, allowing a momentary snicker to spring past her lips. She says nothing more, turning back around once more and exiting the parking lot.

Unbeknownst to either of them, that was going to be a well-ingrained nickname between the two in the near future.