Something New
Author: Lilylovett
Disclaimer: "Hey Arnold!" the TV series © Nickeloden and its related entities. Song lyrics are from "What You Know" by Two Door Cinema Club. All rights reserved. There is no profit, aside from personal satisfaction here.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Summary: After prom does not go as planned. Life rarely does. Helga/Phoebe
1. What You Know
And I can't say it's what you know,
But you've known it the whole time.
Yeah, you've known it the whole time.
Junior after prom generally meant partying. And partying, usually meant loud music, teenage hormones, and alcohol. In both girls' opinions, it was an awful idea. Despite that their dates were possibly the most considerate boys they ever knew—hell, they had gone to preschool with them—Helga and Phoebe still chose to spend the night in the Pataki basement, safely consuming junk food and watching television.
Phoebe suspected it was Miriam Pataki's addiction that had effectively prevented Helga's rebellious behavior from extending to illicit substance abuse. In turn, despite that Phoebe wanted to indulge in all of the typical teenage experiences, she understood was an absolute control freak. This facet of her personality had not changed since her meticulously organized locker in PS118, and she sure wasn't going to sacrifice her carefully constructed methods of self-control over a bit of alcohol.
So they had agreed: following a delicious prom night with their favored dates, they would go with said dates to get ice-cream, and then head home. It was rather middle school, Phoebe conceded, but she figured that it would be enough. Helga was taking her beloved Arnold, and she was to be with Gerald. There was nothing that could make the night any less than perfect.
What Phoebe had not anticipated, however, was that Helga would choose tonight of all nights to share just how observant she was.
No longer were they innocent children pining after one another, asking who "like liked" who. Now, Helga had rid herself of the characteristic Pataki unibrow. Now, Phoebe had traded her fifties-reminiscent frames in for a set of contacts. They had really grown up.
And the obvious blossoming of physical bodies was a fact that Phoebe had willfully ignored. Every moment in the locker room with Helga rambling about the idiocy of high school literature selection, Phoebe concentrated on the way Helga crinkled her brow at every intonation, and not at the blonde tresses which fell just over round, breasts covered in what was usually a pink bra. Every sleepover in which a bed was shared, Phoebe concentrated on her own breathing, and not on the floral scent of her best friend sleeping beside her.
High school is a masquerade and a show to impress. College is presented to hungry teens as the light to the end of a dark tunnel—the place in which youth can finally express themselves in every manner they choose. Phoebe looked forward to college. She relied on it. Phoebe understood her bisexuality for what it was, and she especially recognized her unrequited love for what it was. She assumed that college would be the proper time to address issues of repression, or, in the case of the later, such issues would simply dissipate.
So, Helga pressing herself against Phoebe was equally as ironic as the fact that Phoebe had harbored an unrequited love for Helga.
X X X X
The moment seemed to last for a life time. Helga and Phoebe were alone in the Pataki house, as planned. Helga's parents were out, not worried that they had left an open house on prom weekend. They were stripping out of their dresses to hang in Helga's closet, before descending to the basement.
It was in that moment in which Helga chose to speak the words that Phoebe knew immediately at their utterance, would in some way, change their relationship forever.
"So, Pheebs. When were you gonna tell me you're in love with me?"
It was said so nonchalantly, so casually, that Phoebe almost wondered if she was dreaming. Or perhaps in some sort of trance, onset by...what? Helga continued putting away her dress, comfortable in her own state of half-dress.
"Uhm," Phoebe began, and she almost hit her forehead for the lack of eloquence. Then she noticed Helga was wearing black panties and a matching black bra, and she almost, almost let her breath hitch. It was a decidedly bad time to be horny.
"I can wait," Helga said in a quiet, subdued voice. She was being gentle, and Phoebe felt her heart flutter. She let that surge of adrenaline propel her into being semi-honest, to developing an improvised, but wonderfully executed explanation of half-truths. She could save herself; her efforts to repress her crush would not be in total vain!
"Yes, I have harbored feelings for you, Helga, for a long time. Since we were young, you have incessantly and inadvertently bullied and coerced me into acting as your virtual slave." Phoebe was near turning red, and the room was hot. She wasn't sure if it was at the surprise of the venom in her own voice, or at the fact that Helga was still standing their in her glorious, matching black underwear set.
"We have never had a balanced, nor healthy relationship. And it seems, I am suffering some form of Stockholm syndrome, because, yes, I may have developed some romantic inclinations toward you." She winced at the use of the psychoanalytical term. It seemed cruel, to describe their relationship in this way.
"But now, you have the audacity to mention my own feelings, without my own confirmation of such, in a manner so utterly casual, you may as well have been inquiring about the weather!" Phoebe was breathing hard now, the weight of she had said was all wrong. The entire conversation was wrong, and she wanted to back track so terribly, but there it was. She could have Helga believe that it was all a weird crush, one that angered Phoebe, rather than turned her on. It would be for the better.
And it took all in the girl for her not to break down and cry. She knew even after all that she had said, Helga would still wipe away her tears and console her. Because as tough as a persona Helga ever tried to portray, she had more empathy than Phoebe could ever hope to understand. And it was one of those qualities about Helga that she loved.
And then, Helga was pressing her body to Phoebe, pinning her to the wall. Helga's room felt small, and the space between them was lessening.
"Okay, Phoebe," It was intoxicating being this close. "You don't fool me. I took that psychology class with you, if you do remember. Your pupils are fucking black." With that explicative, Phoebe lost control and let herself be kissed when Helga closed the gap between them. No, she did much worse than simply allow it to happen; she kissed back.
Phoebe's slinky dress was half zipped in the back, and Helga's hair was down and in a wild sort of mess from having been removed from its up-do. Phoebe had never felt so turned on, so absolutely sexy, but she also felt elation. The kiss was searing, and more passionate than she had ever hoped to imagine.
When they broke apart, however, reality set in.
"Helga, what are you doing?" Phoebe yelled as much as she could; her voice was husky. It was hard to not ignore the pretenses of what they were doing, and simply ravish Helga until neither of them could stand.
"Kissing you. Thought that was pretty obvious, Pheebs." And Helga's posture was as nonchalant as forever, but there was an acute, predatory glint in her eyes. Her smirk was also not to be trusted.
"What about Arnold? Your boyfriend? You have been in love with him since preschool! You have been dating him since you finally admitting your feelings in middle school—where he allowed you to realize it was not a love unrequited! Not to mention, just because I have found myself with a crush on you, doesn't mean you should take advantage of it! Plus, you're straight." Phoebe desperately listed as many points as she could. It was a familiar pep talk that she had used over the years to assure herself that acting on the crush would only proceed to ruin their friendship.
"I broke up with him. Trying something new," Helga shrugged and kissed her again.