AN: This is the story that started it all. If you've never seen it, it's a piece with a teenager/young adult Arnold sleeping on Helga's lap while she reads a book. I'm over simplifying it but it truly is a beautiful piece. It hit me at just the write time and I wrote this. And yes, M0ny knows they're my muse.
Helga had always known Arnold was affectionate. Seeing him with his grandparents, his daily handshake with Gerald, even the couple of times he'd randomly hugged her for finding his hat or for no reason at all. So she understood that when they started dating that he would probably insist on holding hands or the occasional public display of affection. Things she had no experience with, but if it was a part of being with Arnold, she'd deal with it.
What she didn't know was how affectionate Arnold could be if given free reign.
Their first day at school as an official couple, Arnold had hugged her in the hallway. And didn't let go of her until forced to by the tardy bell. If they were together, he was always touching her; holding her hand, linking arms, standing behind her his arms around her waist. In the two classes they had together, he sat behind her, one hand playing with her ponytail as they listened to the teacher.
In the beginning, it'd been too much for Helga, who'd had scant amounts of any sort of affection her entire life. She'd snapped more than once, demanding that he just give her some breathing room. He would apologize and back off for a couple of days but slowly it would start all over again; the hand holding, the hand brushing her shoulders, their legs touching because he was sitting way too close to her when they went somewhere.
It took a year for him to break down her defenses. A year before she accepted that as long as she and Arnold were together she could kiss the concept of personal space goodbye. A year to accept that this was what she'd signed up for, that he was a touchy, affectionate person. A year for her to realize that she was more than comfortable with being Arnold Shortman's personal pillow.
One Sunday their Senior year, they were sitting on the couch at her house. Her parents were at an electronics expo. The TV was playing a movie in the background and Helga was reading, leaned against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out across the couch and on Arnold's lap. He was close enough that her knees bent over his lap and his hands were on sock clad legs, unconsciously rubbing his fingers in circles on her calf as he finished watching the movie.
After three years she was used to it. Used to his affectionate nature; used to the hand holding, the cuddles in the hallways, his almost obsessive need to be near here when they were together. Secretly, she's gotten many a perverse satisfaction when friends and classmates had made comments regarding his overly affectionate nature. She liked how he was the one to initiate intimacy, how he, even now, played with her hair when he wasn't able to hold her hand. How he held her like if he let go she would disappear. For once in her life, she felt truly loved. She could relax and be herself around him.
Which was why, when the movie was over and he lifted her knees off of his lap, she didn't even lift her eyes from her reading. She moved her legs, bending them towards her chest.
She finally glanced up from her book when she heard him yawn and start to lean towards her. Smiling, she patted her hip. Wordlessly, he laid down between her legs, his head resting one her hip, sprawled out across the length of the couch. His arms went around her waist and with another yawn fell asleep. She moved her book enough to look down on the mess of blond hair resting in her lap. That just couldn't be comfortable. Yet, he was sound asleep.
She rested her hand on top of his head, her fingers winding through his hair gently and rhythmically. In his sleep he gave a content sigh, snuggled closer and was still.
She shook her head and went back to her book, her hand still idly stroking his hair as he slept.
If this is what love was, a lazy Sunday on the couch, then she never wanted to be without again.
