Chapter Text
Rodrick didn’t know what to expect when his friend Chris invited him over for a little smoke sesh to relax from that dreadful math exam in Ms. Whalther’s class.
But it certainly wasn’t this.
"Chris, get your butt out here! The house stinks, and it looks like a freakin’ sauna!” A girl’s voice shrieks from the other side of his bandmate's bedroom door. A reverberating boom that sounds like gunshots emits from the wood. “Go take it outside before I take you out!”
Rodrick bounds up straight, nearly slipping off of the beanbag chair he lazes in.
“Dude, who the hell is that?” He asks, taken aback. “The hulk?” He quizzes with a wide-eyed expression, flinching when more scathing screeches calling for Chris’s name sounds from outside.
“No, man," Chris sighs, throwing his head back in exasperation. “That’s just my sister.”
Say what now?
Who?
“You have a sister?!” Rodrick gapes.
“Yeah.” He replies reluctantly. “We’re like polar opposites, though. She takes everything way too freakin’ seriously, and she’s way too interested in bullshit hierarchies. A total snob. Think of Heather Hills on crack.” Chris grumbles coarsely.
That catches Rodrick’s attention like the thrum of a beat.
A Heather Hills on crack?
He doesn't know whether to be scared or to let his tail wag.
Rodrick Heffley is a simple guy. Simple in how he dresses, simple in his goals, simple in his taste buds, simple in his thoughts. This includes even being simple in his type in girls. He likes them 'out of his league' hot with an attitude that keeps him on his toes. He gravitates towards girls that can make his heart race unable to tell if she wants to kiss him or hit him.
A glaring, startling contrast when looking at Chris George in his ratty beanie; baggy, smokey brown shirt; the wrinkled long sleeve he wears underneath; and the parachute-long jeans that swallow his feet. The human embodiment of a blunt. Chilled and lax, unable to think of more than four thoughts at a time.
Hell of a bass player, though.
When Rodrick thinks of the words "sister" and "Chris" in the same sentence, he can’t help but picture Chris in a disheveled shoulder-length wig, a beanie strapped across her head like a helmet, boxy glasses eclipsing the majority of her face, and idly scratching at her crotch then sniffing her finger.
It makes him fight back a grimace.
Definitely not his type.
“I will keep hitting your freakin' door until it breaks unless you open up and get out!” A razor-sharp voice shouts, harsh enough to stab through the mahogany surface like daggers. If not by that raucous voice, then Rodrick is sure that the slam of those hands beating the door off its hinges is enough to split the thing in half.
Chris lets out an exasperated groan, tossing his head back in aggravation.
“Prepare yourself, dude.” He murmurs gruffly. “If I don’t listen, she’ll stay out there for hours until the fucking thing chips.” Chris says, scrubbing a tired hand down his face. Begrudgingly, he heads towards the door, grabbing the metal knob and turning it open. The moment the door unlocks, it swiftly swings in like a slap, making Chris stumble back and nearly fall onto his butt.
“Took you long enough! For a minute I thought the weed evaporated your brain into air.” A girl walks in, barely passing over the threshold. She teeters on the faint line separating the entrance of his room from the hall.
The first thing he notices is the blindingly bright colors.
Chris's sister wears frilly pink socks, matching a pastel pink top that ends inches above her belly button, and a pair of silk pearl white shorts that hug her hips skintight all the way down to her thighs.
Rodrick feels his insides cinch together, twisting like a wet cloth that's being wrung dry. Something jerks in his chest with the same lurch as a rollercoaster coasting downhill from a peak at the sight of those celeste blue eyes, whetted cheekbones, bow-shaped pink lips, waves of shimmering light goldenrod hair, and that peeved-off expression. She’s pretty as a rose, but with that livid look on her face, it makes her seem as daunting as thorns.
“Jesus, Regina," Chris cries out with a paralyzed dismay. “You almost smashed the door into my face!”
His sister scoffs at the shrill accusation, boredly flipping her hair behind her shoulder. The curtain of gold flutters with a majestic spring to it.
“Even if that did happen, you should thank me. Cause then that would’ve been an improvement.” She retorts snappily. Viciously unapologetic. Her words feel as serrated as shards of broken glass. It’s both frightening and utterly alluring. She's intimidating with a caliber he's never seen before, and that's coming from someone that's had his fair share when it comes to cruel women.
Talk about a terrifying beauty.
As if she can read his mind, her eyes suddenly wander, snapping behind her brother and over to Rodrick. At the sight of him one of her brows immediately furrows as she finally realizes his presence, lounging lazily atop the beanbag chair. His body practically sinks like the Titanic into polyester.
“Who the hell is this?” She asks curtly, scrutinizing him up and down with an unimpressed frown.
Chris follows after his sister’s stare, finding his shaggy friend at the tail end of it.
“That’s my friend and bandmate Rodrick.” Chris answers, pointing his thumb behind his shoulder to where the same said person lies on his back, sprawling like a starfish.
“I’m Rodrick.” He echoes, raising his hand.
Regina recoils, curling up her top lip in disdain. She reminds him of those girls walking down the street and clutching their purses to their chests the moment they pass by a homeless person.
“What garbage bin did you find him out of?” She questions bluntly.
Rodrick simply blinks back at her, cocking his head.
“Depends on who's asking.” He teases dryly with a sardonic suggestive raise of his brows.
The strict lines of her face hardens, formidable and refined as a statue. Regina makes a show of looking away from him with a dismissive turn of her head. It has the same impact as a middle finger.
“He’s annoying.” She deadpans, looking back at her brother.
“He’s still right here.” Rodrick chimes in again, waving his hand dumbly.
Other than a tense twitch at the corner of her lip, she doesn’t budge.
“Sadly.” Regina retorts snidely without bothering to look at him. “I don’t care where you go. Even if it’s in the back of a damn 7-Eleven dumpster, as long as it’s not here. Go smoke somewhere else!” She demands returning to snapping at Chris.
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first dozens of screams.” Chris murmurs annoyedly. He swipes his stash of brittle green off of his bed and shoves it into the pocket of his baggy home shorts. "Come on, Rodrick. Let’s just head over to Ben’s.”
Personally, Rodrick would prefer to stay right here. He can ping-pong back and forth with the biting Barbie well into the night, but then he remembers that this is Chris’s sister he’s thinking about. And he’s sure things like imagining her standing over him with a haughty smirk and spewing that condescending venom of hers is not exactly the kind of thing you should picture about your good buddy’s flesh and blood.
“Comin.” He grunts out, clumsily clambering back onto his feet. Regina takes an immediate step back, standing adjacent to the bedroom door. Rodrick follows after Chris, walking past the threshold as Regina eyes the two, ensuring that they leave. Rodrick re-enters the upstairs hallway. However, instead of immediately turning towards the staircase, he pivots on his feet, facing the other side of him. "Y'know, I’d tone down all that screaming and stressing if I were you. I heard it’s bad for your skin.” He quips, feeling an overwhelming surge of fire at the slit of her eyes and the scowl that shadows darkly over her face.
“I’m not taking beauty advice from a guy that looks like he dresses himself facing the mirror backwards." She responds wryly. Those piercing eyes and the way they stab into him are intoxicating. He can’t help but find that snobbish, judgmental flair to her charming and that icy bite to her captivating. “Now get out of my house before it starts reeking of poverty.” Regina retorts back in a clipped frigid tone.
Shit, she goes far beyond my type.
Rodrick has met dozens of girls that were mean, but he thinks if they were to meet face-to-face with this ferocious little belle in front of him, they’d probably all leave this house with red-rimmed eyes and a snotting nose.
Heather on crack is an understatement.
Regina George is exceptionally cruel, and it’s ridiculously mesmerizing.
Rodrick can’t even imagine her and Chris being born from the same womb; they're so different. Though, in that case, thank fuck because as much as Chris is a great friend and an incredible bass player, that’s still not enough to win Rodrick over even if he were a girl.
“You're pretty evil.” He remarks with a crooked grin. His dark eyes survey over her, taking mental note of that stone-faced expression and the sheen of those expensive casual-wear clothes. They’re pastel bright, emphasizing the creamy fair pallor to her skin. “I dig that. I’ll see you around, blondie.” His eyes bound back up to hers, reveling in the scorching glare she darts back at him.
Rodrick gives her one last impish look before turning on his heel just as Chris calls after him. He heads towards the staircase, rounding the landing when one last scathing comment calls after him.
“You wish, burnout," She hisses. Her voice is smothered in revulsion, and he can feel the burn of her stare drilling into him. Blistering and caustic.
“Yeah, maybe I do.” He mutters under his breath, before descending his way down the staircase.
That was the first time Rodrick has ever met Regina George, but it wouldn't be the last.
Later at Ben’s house, Chris revealed all the nooks and crannies having to do with the George family and all the things they keep hidden in their hidey hole of secrets.
According to Chris, after about twelve years of marriage, Mr. and Mrs. George filed for divorce. Their father took Chris and their mother took Regina. Two years later, their mother bagged a rich CEO who put a ring on her finger. While their father married a kind woman he met from a local grocery store. Chris and Regina occasionally swapped to spend time with either parent, but in terms of siblinghood, their relationship was practically chasm wide. When you live in different houses, attend different schools, and live completely different lives, it becomes hard to relate to one another or even find any common ground to bond over. Hence, why they fought most of the time instead.
However, things took a turn when their mother called their father to ask for a favor. She requested if Regina could stay at their house for an indefinite amount of time due to some behavioral issues. Which turns out to be code for Regina and her new stepfather fighting like cats and dogs from morning till night. Their mother hopes a change in scenery can get her to lighten up. So, for the past five months she’s now been living with their father and Chris.
And so far, it’s been going as good and stable as a snowman in the summer.
“She’s not like a completely bad person, you know? It’s just our mom spoiled the shit out of her. Never told her no, always got her whatever she wanted, never gave her any rules, or set any boundaries with her.” Chris explains between puffs of a blunt tucked in between his fingers like a bookmark. His head dips back as he stares up leisurely at the ceiling of Ben’s room. “It made her develop this prissy princess complex. Ever since she’s moved in, it’s been nothing but a pain in my ass, but she’s still my sister, ya know? I care about her and shit even though I know she probably couldn't care less about me. It just kinda sucks, because I was hoping we'd be able to try and settle our differences, but I think she’s perfectly fine if her and I never even talk again.”
Rodrick feels for his friend. He can tell by the strain on his face and the deep inhales of his blunt that the thought weighs heavily on him. Despite the rocky terrain of their relationship, Chris definitely still cares deeply for her, and it must hurt to see her seemingly not feel the same. Or to not return that same willingness.
Since then Rodrick has seen the ice princess from time to time whenever visiting Chris’s place after school or during the weekends. And every single time she is just as sweet as she was the first time, he met her.
“Chris, your pet dog is sniffing around in the kitchen. Take him back to your room before he gets his fleas everywhere.”
“I’m curious. Do poor people like you usually get everything from secondhand shops, or do you just rummage through trash for it like a raccoon?”
“Don’t you have a life outside of crashing at people’s houses and stinking twenty-four seven?”
And he met her just as kindly.
“A dog? I don’t follow commands, but if it’d make you feel better to put a collar on me, I won’t mind.”
“Are rich girls all this curious, or is this just for me?”
“Do you have any other interests outside of me whenever I come over?”
Every time his sister would snap, Chris is always quick to apologize for it. In which Rodrick is always just as quick to wave him off because one, he knows whatever Regina does or says is completely separate from Chris, and two, truth be told he’s been having an exhilarating time bantering with her. Though, of course, he can never say something like that aloud. That would include having to reveal to his friend how he finds his sister irresistibly attractive. In way that gets his blood pumping and makes his skin feel hot. The exact way that totally goes against bro code. Hence why, reluctantly, he’s actually been trying to stay more out of her vicinity nowadays.
Rodrick worried that the more he fraternizes with the frigid goddess, the more obvious his true feelings will seep through.
Regina George, the undeniable beguiling flame, and he, one of the many mayflies attracted to her light. So, at the most he traded a few barbs with her here and there, but that’s about it. The majority of the time he remains strictly in Chris’s room and by his side, keeping a responsible distance between him and her.
He was sure, or at the least, highly hoping that, in due time, his fascination would dwindle. That as time passes, he’s bound to get used to her, outgrowing this attraction. This forbidden draw to her and her gloss painted mouth that say the damndest things.
Yet, it seems as if the world has different plans.
Because when Chris invited Rodrick out to a party, his assumption was that party equated to a small get-together with some drinks and metal music blasting through the speakers as they played beer pong in someone’s garage. What he hadn’t been expecting was to arrive at some club with a fake ID in hand that declares him as some twenty one year old man named Dennis Wade from some counterfeit dealer Chris knew.
He blinks, testing his vision to ensure that what he’s seeing and that this situation unfolding around him is actually real and not one of those weird dreams he gets whenever he smokes a little too much pot, but alas, nothing changes no matter how many times his eyelids flutter. He’s still waiting in line heading towards some bulky lumbering bouncer in front of the entrance of some establishment called Obsidian on the Rocks.
Chris doesn't even know how to dance. How the hell does his ass even know where the nearest club is?
“Dude, what the hell?” Rodrick hisses, clutching the rectangular piece of plastic until it cuts into his palms.
“Guys, I’ve never been on this side of town before.” Ben whispers nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his zip-up jacket. “And what’s with the fake ID? You know I’m bad at lying!”
“Sorry bros. The truth is there is no party, well I mean technically there is, but that's not why we're here...It's my sister.” Chris admits abashedly.
“What?! Oh come on. Not her again.” Ben bristles. An irritated grimace scrunches up his face.
Regina may or may not have been calling him a stoned-out porcupine since the day she met him. A nickname that stuck in her vocabulary, much to Ben’s annoyance.
On the other hand, Rodrick feels himself straighten up on instinct at just the mere mention of her name. His attention stands straight as a ladder.
“W-What about her?” He cuts in, curiously.
Chris lets out a riled-up sigh.
“Apparently she told our parents that she was going to a party, and they said she can only go as long as she brings me to supervise. Turns out the place wasn’t some house party but a club.” Chris murmurs already exhausted. "I saw on her story that she was at this place, so now we’re here. To supervise. Since it’s pretty crowded, I kind of wanted more eyes with me, but you guys can still party if you want! Just remember to keep an eye out.”
The expression that crosses over Ben’s face can only be described as absolute disbelief and indignation. Rodrick could understand. Having to pretend to be twenty-one just so they can sneak into a club and look after someone’s sister like some bodyguards isn’t exactly the stellar party Chris initially advertised at them. Maybe he’d be mad too if not for the fact that he can’t help but be intrigued in all things related to Regina George.
“You know you so owe us for this shit, man.” Ben mutters in a harsh whisper towards him as they move closer towards the front of the line.
“I know, I know.” Chris raises his arms, enacting a surrendering motion with his open palms. “I promise to get you guys all the pizza and weed you want if we can get through this night without a hitch. Fair?” He bargains.
Instantly, Rodrick simply nods, because he didn’t really care for pizza or weed. Okay, well, he does, but at this moment it’s on the lower ladder of things of interest in comparison to a gorgeous blonde. Beside him, Ben frowns, curling his lips into a straight quiet line. Gruffly, he lets out a grunt of agreement.
Finally, the three of them make it to the front, where a man with a blocky build and arms that look like pythons stands at the doors. His dusky, dark eyes are inquisitively critical as he skims his gaze over them. He outstretches a muscular arm, gesturing with his fingers in a come-hither motion.
The three of them stick out their arms swiftly, too quickly, knocking into each other like a cluster of bowling pins after a strike.
“One at a time.” The bouncer says in a measured tone, stating each word one by one as if he were talking to a child.
The three of them respond in a mix of sheepish grins and awkward coughs. Chris goes first, Rodrick second, and Ben last. The bouncer raises his brow here and there, switching his gaze between the IDs and their faces. There’s a dubious hint to his expression, but whatever skepticism he has doesn’t seem to be all that damning as he ushers them in, unclasping a red velvet rope.
The moment they’re able to make it in, Ben lets out a loud sigh of relief. His shoulders slouch in time with his exhale. The club lights catch onto his forehead, where a small sprinkle of sweat dots his skin. Thankfully he didn’t have to say anything but simply hand over the piece of plastic, because if he did have to open his mouth, lord knows nothing, but quivering gibberish would tumble out from his lips.
“Alright, we’re in. Now should be the easier part.” Chris says, sounding more hopeful than sure. “If you see Regina, you don’t have to interfere. Just make sure she’s not doing anything dumb. And if she is, text me.” He explains plainly.
Simple and easy.
Ben sulks a tad, stubbornly, but he complies with a rough nod of his head. Rodrick follows after him, saluting in understanding.
The three of them devise a plan to split up and then attempt to regroup later once they find her.
Then, and only then, they can relax, maybe get a couple drinks in, and hang out until she decides to leave, heading back home safe and sound.
A rather basic game plan for the night.
Who knew my first time at a club would be because I needed to babysit Regina George?
Rodrick takes a mere couple steps into the throng of dancing bodies cramming the place from wall to wall. He can tell then and there that he’d have his work cut out for him. The atmosphere of swaying, sweating bodies weighs heavy in the air like a swamp. Sticky, wet, and uncomfortably heavy to walk through. Not to mention the number of shoulders slamming into his and the elbows jabbing into him He has to say, for his first time experiencing a club, it's not all that it's cracked up to be.
If I wanted to be surrounded by sweating people in constant motion, I’d just go to a gym.
Rodrick squints his eyes, looking this way and that within the dim room in search of gleaming honey blonde hair, ivory pale skin, radiant dusty slate blue eyes, and a highly likely vivid pink outfit painted over her body like a sunset sky.
Thank the heavens for his tall genes because being able to tower and look over a good chunk of the jampacked crowd keeps him from sorting through the place completely blind. There are far too many people, dressed in heels longer than his index finger, as they jump and down, head rocking. Plus beside being able to easily search past the swarm, it does little to keep the swinging bodies from incessantly bumping into him.
“Excuse me.” He attempts to shout over the music as he pushes his way through the mass of people. Though, he might as well be talking to thin air with how thunderously booming the DJ’s set is. His voice gets drowned out like soil by rain.
Clubs are overrated.
Rodrick continues on, peering into shadowed corners, huddles of people grouped together, and the bodies slinging across the bar counter, attempting to flag down the bartender for a drink.
That's when he sees it.
A few feet away from the walls, he can just barely make out a teensy cherry blossom pink party dress, grazing across the back of her fair thighs. Most notably, he catches the sheen of golden vanilla blonde hair brushing along a slender lower back. At either side of her are a handful of people. Of course, none that he knew.
Regina may be living with her brother now, but their lives stay separated. She still attends a different school, hangs with a different crowd, and clearly even spends her weekends differently.
Without breaking his gaze away from her and her idly swaying body, rocking side to side in tune with the music. Rodrick slips his hand into his pocket. He tugs out his phone, only breaking eye contact for a moment to glance down at his keyboard.
Found her. She’s close towards the back, a couple feet away from the bar. She's beside the wall.
He texts, sending it to the group chat.
It only takes a fraction of a minute before he gets a response.
You’re a lifesaver, dude. I’m going to try and make my way over! - Chris
How the hell did you even manage to get that far? I swear I’ve been walking in the same spot for the last half hour. This place is more packed than my toilet after Taco Bell. - Ben
Fucking gross, Ben—Chris
Screw you. I’m overstimulated—Ben
Rodrick rolls his eyes as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t exactly know what to do from here. He’s been on babysitting duty before with his little brother, but that was far easier to handle. All he had to do was threaten the turd to stay in his room, or he'd get a wet willy noogie combo, and that usually works. However, something tells him threats are probably the worst way to convince Regina to listen. He doesn’t even think listening to others is in her vocabulary.
He knows Chris said it’s not necessary to interfere, but they still needed to keep an eye on her. Sounds like quite the bit of work to do with no pay, but he supposes he can take currency in simply being able to look at her. Maybe a little sightseeing won’t be so bad.
And so he waits and he watches.
He watches as she twists her hips and smoothly waves her arms above her head like ripples of water. He watches as her head dips back into laughter at whatever one of her friends says. He watches her flip her hair around her like a gentle sandstorm without a care in the world. He watches her hold a cylinder glass in hand, downing its contents. He watches as it goes from one glass to two, to three, to four, and so on.
Rodrick stands and observes all the while in between checking his phone as well as having to turn down girls and boys (which he didn't even know was an option, but he finds he doesn't mind) asking him for a dance or to get him a drink. Which is flattering, but not something he’s interested in right at this moment. Especially when forty-five minutes pass and he still sees no sign of Ben or Chris. He shoots them another text asking where the hell they are and when they plan on making their way over.
Ben reveals he brought a couple drinks from people walking around holding cylinder glasses that look like chemistry tubes, and after a little one too many, he was currently puking his guts out. On the other hand, Chris says he’s still trying to find him amongst the ocean of people, and he’s still nowhere close to the back section as he should be. So, he’ll need a little more time.
Great.
Rodrick puts his phone back in his pocket at the same moment he glimpses back up towards the ice princess’s designated spot for the night. His body pauses as his muscles pull back tautly. Across from him in her little claimed section of the club, he can see Regina once more, but this time she slumps against the wall as if using it as a crutch. She fights back the droop of her eyes as small fists gently rub at her eyelids tiredly.
His eyes scan the space around her, hurriedly shifting his gaze back and forth at her sides, but still finding nothing. There's no one. Where there used to be a handful of people, partying like it was a celebration, there is now a big enough empty space for a tumbleweed to breeze past.
She’s all alone.
“What the fuck?” Rodrick mutters confusedly. His instinctual reaction is to head towards her, but he stops in place upon remembering Chris said not to interfere. Well, technically he said they don’t have to. Not that they can’t, right?
He can’t account for how Regina will react knowing her brother tracked her down like some bloodhound, and he doesn’t know if blowing their cover is how Chris wants to handle things. Yet, when he sees her attempt to push off the wall and balance back onto her feet only to run into a nearby table, he knows he didn’t have the luxury of time to stand and ponder about it. She’s drunk enough to barely walk or even stand straight. With her that vulnerable it’s too dangerous to leave her alone.
Rodrick parts his way through the people in front of him. This time he doesn’t bother with the pleasantries since it’s not like they can hear him past the blasting music anyway. Or even notice him when so many of them are sandwiched between grinding bodies. In which having to squeeze through a room teeming with dancing drunks is neither an easy nor fun feat, but thankfully pushing past them isn’t that hard considering so many of them are as limp as noodles in their wasted haze.
When he makes it to the other side, he can see Regina still anchoring herself against the wall. Her arms lift and fall, trying again and again to balance on her own, only to stumble on her heels. She pouts annoyedly at barely being able to move an inch by herself.
“Hey.” He speaks out, reaching her just in time to catch her by her waist when she staggers after her twelfth attempt to stand upright. She falls into his chest, almost knocking her temple against his chin. At his sudden presence she confusedly dips her head back, looking up at him. “I know you aren’t happy to see me, but it’s late and you’re plastered. Where are your friends?” He asks, cutting to the chase.
All the while he prepares for the inevitable screech and how she’ll most likely try to gnaw his head off for having the audacity to appear in front of her like this. In a way he didn’t blame her. To see your brother’s best friend suddenly pop up in the same club as you just to start giving out unsolicited observations and demanding questions for you to answer is definitely jarring and is by no means a fun way to spend the night.
Regina rears her head back, staring in a defensive, wide-eyed expression at him. Even in her heels, she is significantly shorter in comparison, yet that does little to soften that naturally harsh edge to those oceanic blue eyes. They slit back as she leans in, scrutinizing him with her gaze, cautious and critical.
Once those eyes meet his, she makes a slow, deliberate blink. Out of all the places she scans over, it’s his eyes that she seems to focus on. She stares at them the longest before something flickers like the snap of a finger in her gaze.
“Oh my gosh, poverty puppy!” She exclaims as if greeting some long-lost friend.
What?
Taken aback, Rodrick frowns, raising one of his blocky black brows.
“Come again?” He questions quizzically.
“Poverty puppy.” She repeats, slurring. Her tone is as light as air with a sunny cadence to it that feels radically different from the Regina he’s come to know. “Because you’re poor but you also have very sweet eyes. Just like a puppy’s.” Her lips stretch across her cheeks in a heart-stopping smile. It nearly makes his breath crystallize in his throat.
In the past months since he's known her, he had yet to see her smile. At least not one that isn’t mocking or sarcastic. Those smiles alone are undeniably pretty, but even those couldn’t compare to the liberating one she gives him at this exact moment.
“M-Me?” His voice quivers like a leaf against the wind. Confused and aghast. “I have sweet eyes?”
“Mhm.” She nods. An inebriated daze softening her statuesque face. Rodrick's body tightens as an anxious jolt pings across his nerves when she suddenly flips herself forward, fully pressing herself against his chest. A happy-go-lucky smile still gracing across her satin lips. He can feel his lungs twist and pull as she clumsily raises her arms, palming his cheeks. The heel of her hands cups his jaw as her fingertips rest at his temples. “Big brown eyes. My ex-boyfriend Aaron Samuels had brown eyes too, but his didn’t feel the same. Yours remind me of Autumn.” She says with a whimsical sigh. A magnetic beam blooming across her face. She looks at him with a fascination he's always thought was one-sided.
The gesture and those words are nearly enough to override the fact that somewhere in the recesses of her mind she refers to him as poverty puppy.
“Good to hear.” He grumbles. Unsure of how to react or even respond to that. Her attitude is catching him off guard, threatening to color his cheeks crimson at her casual affection. Rodrick takes in a quick inhale through his nostrils, willing himself to stay focused. “You haven’t answered my question, though. Where are your friends?
Regina pauses. She blinks and then raises her chin, glancing above her as if thinking. It’s distractingly cute.
“Don’t know.” She says, shrugging once she casts her eyes back down towards his.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” He asks incredulously.
I looked away for like a minute, and that was enough for them to suddenly scatter? Where the hell could a group of about seven disappear off to?
“We got into a fight. I told them I was ready to leave now, but they said they weren’t. I said that they told me we’d head home by at least one in the morning, and it’s about to be one forty-five. They got mad. Said I was ruining the vibe and stormed off.” She recounts in a garbled, lethargic tone. It feels as if the words are trying to trudge through mud. However, it’s not how she says it that catches his attention. It’s what she says.
“What?!" He exclaims aloud. "So they just left you here?” He asks.
Plainly, she nods.
What a fucking mess.
“Who are you friends with? Satan’s little helpers?” He murmurs under his breath. She doesn’t seem to catch it, as she only looks back at him with a slight, innocent cock of her head. It keeps her looking damningly endearing. He sighs. “Alright. Well, if you’re ready to go, then we can take you home.”
Now, that does seem to catch her attention.
“We?” She echoes questioningly.
“Yeah. Me, Ben, and your brother. We're all here, and we can take you back.”
Regina springs up, knocking herself against him once more. When she rises, she’s close enough for her nose to nearly clip the tip of his. It had already been a lot for him to process with her basically slung over him and cupping his face. Now it’s even worse with her staring back at him only mere inches away. Close enough for her lips to graze across his chin. It makes him gulp.
“No! I’ll go with you, but don’t tell my brother.” She insists. Her breath reeks of alcohol, but her cherubic face is so naturally soft and winsome. It feels like trying to fight back against a current when looking at that face paired with her demands. Her demands that sound like a fluttery plea.
“You do know he already knows you’re here, right?” He quizzes.
“Fine! But I don’t want to see him.” She counters back with a vehement persistence. And as charming as he finds her assertive dominance to be, he can’t help but frown at her aversion towards Chris.
“He’s just worried about you.” He states calmly. She’s a happy and mellow drunk for now, and he hopes to keep it that way, because a mean Regina when she’s sober is already an alpine feat to get through. Now, a mean Regina when she’s drunk? He doesn’t even want to imagine it. Or maybe he does. Just a little. “He drove all the way out here just for you, you know.”
“I never said he doesn’t care.” She shoots back stubbornly. There’s a flash of impatience that flares in her icy gaze, but before it can erupt, she closes those same eyes, taking in a deep breath. “Please, Rodrick.” She says, low and beseeching. When her lashes flit up, reopening her eyes they unfairly pinpoint those hypnotizing blues at him. That’s the first time she’s ever referred to him by his name, and it’s a bewitching sound coming from her lips. Enough to make him greedy and compliant.
If only Ben had found her instead, then this wouldn’t even be a question. He’d grab her by the arm and haul ass back to Chris with no problem. In comparison to Rodrick, who has a soft spot in him in the shape of a five-foot-three blonde with sky-blue eyes and a glacial exterior intense enough to frost the entire room around her. He knows it’s pointless to even debate about it, because his answer is not only obvious but inevitable.
"Besides, I’m hungry.” Regina puckers her bottom lip, proving just how well versed she is in the term "puppy dog eyes" as she stares up at him, sulking. His cheeks alight as he gets ridiculously flustered.
Man, I’m easy. Way too fucking easy.
Rodrick sighs, running a hand through his disheveled inky black hair. He thought sober Regina was an intimidating presence, but drunk Regina is right up there in still being able to tie him in knots without even trying. It’s completely unfair and embarrassing. Why hadn’t anyone warned him that she's a cute drunk? He’s completely unprepared!
“Fine. I’ll tell him, but you better not pull any fast ones on me.” He warns, hoping to salvage any hint of pride at how easily swayed he is when it comes to her. That’s proven to be useless when his heartbeat stutters and his stomach twines into a ribbon at the broad smile that widens across her face. Not to mention that she’s still far too close and her skin is far too warm against him. Plush and heated. It's starting to make his head spin.
“Okay.” She agrees, shining brilliantly within the dim club. Her chest still rests upon his with her face still only a mere breath away.
“I’ll get you food and then we can head home. And you can hold onto my arm so you don’t fall over while we walk. Cool?” He asks. In response, she nods enthusiastically, sending a flurry of blonde hair to swirl around her. It looks like a tapestry of gold threads swaying in the darkness. Beautiful and striking. She wobbles away from his chest and into his side, hugging his arm to her.
Screw me.
Hopefully this night ends a lot sooner rather than later.