A/N: As some of you may have noticed, if you've read my other stories, I've never written Arnold as the classic, oblivious Arnold that he is in the show. And if you're getting confused about the changing writing styles, remember that Helga and Arnold are two different people with two different ways of thinking and speaking, and to that end, I need to make it so you can tell whose POV you're reading simply by the way the character is being read as.

So, if you're wondering why Arnold's POV seems to be less poetic, and seems to have less symbolism that Helga's, thats because he's not as poetic and not as symbolic as his girlfriend. ;)


I honestly don't know what I did to deserve someone like him, but I would rather not draw too much attention to it.

He's taking me away to a secluded log cabin in the middle of nowhere. Oh, how I've dreamed of this. I already have it pictured in my head. He carries the luggage into the room after I told him I would take it, and he groans loudly as he sets it down onto the floor outside of the door at the end of the hall. Then he turns around and flashes me one of his beautiful smirks and pushes open the door and then he would lift me up into his arms as best he could and carry me over to the bed, and lay me down and then we start throwing each others clothes off in a fit of unstoppable passion that would end in us in a pile of heaving, sweaty, naked limbs.

In my head, there's a brick log fireplace and a large bearskin rug in front of it, and a small balcony over looking the lush forest. I have a vague idea of what the room actually looks like already, but still, I know I'll be thrilled when we get there either way, bearskin rug or not. I'm just surprised that the matter of our parents didn't come up when he was trying to talk me into it. Right, like my parents would give a shit. They'd have to know that I'm their daughter and actually have a blood relation to them first.

But his parents, I'm not so sure about. I know that Stella and I came to something close to an understanding on our physical relationship, and the fact that she cares enough about me to ask if I was serious about him being more scared than I was. But she never really said 'Hey, you can have sex with my son all you want'. But I tried my best to tell her how serious we are and how much I love him. But then there was that little segway I took when she asked me why we are hiding.

And his dad, I haven't even gotten his views on the whole thing. But I do understand what Stella was trying to say to me. It must have been hard for them to deal with coming back to a son that they left right before his first birthday, when he wasn't even walking yet and seeing him grown up. Parents are supposed to have an influence in your life, they're suppose to help you and shape you into the person that you are to become, but he did it all by himself, pretty much. Parents are suppose to know who you are, they're suppose to be able to know what you'd think of something, but they came back to a son that they had to get to know, that they weren't a part of at all.

I never really thought about it until she said something, but now that she helped me come to this realization, it must be pretty heartbreaking for them. But I guess if you look at my life in a photo album, it wouldn't exactly be a romantic comedy. Mariam's still drunk and Bob is still the same careless barbarian that everybody else knows and loves, and my sister is still the world's next mother freaking Teresa, perfect at absolutely everything she does but can't handle the harsh reality that is the world outside her report card.

And me? I'm just Helga Geraldine Pataki. The girl who wears skate shoes, cargo pants and doesn't even know what a blouse is. But for some crazy reason, there is a lighthouse in my fog coated life in the form of the greatest man that will ever walk the earth, named Arnold.

I wanted to go over to his place tonight and spend the night with him, but he has a competition in the morning to get up early for, and I won't see him all day. But Phoebe asked me to come over earlier this afternoon. Hey, as long as I have an excuse to get out of the house. I still have to go back for the night though, since Phoebe is out with Gerald.

I've tried to respect my love's friendship with Gerald, and I think that overall, I've done a pretty good job. But really, if you look at our situation, we should at least be civil with each other. I mean, he's the love of my life's best friend, and he's my best friends boyfriend as of the last week. But he stays away from me as best he can. If I'm being brutally honest I would say that it's his fault. After all, he's one of the school's coolest people, and he has pretty much the same opinion on me as the rest of the school, and he's not really as afraid to show it as he was back in grammar school. I think he caught on after a while that my threats never really carried that much weight behind them.

And I know that Arnold gave up trying to talk him into seeing the good in me, as he has trying to talk me into seeing the good in him. But no matter what Gerald and I may think of each other, what it all boils down to is that he's my love's best friend and I need to respect that. And it can't exactly work both ways because he would have to know about Arnold and me, which he doesn't, and if I were to have my way, never will.

I'm broke out of my thoughts by the sight of my house and I jump up the steps and open the door. Typical that Bob doesn't bother to lock the door. He didn't even give me a key, I had to get a copy made myself. It seems that no matter how heartwarming my thoughts are, whenever I walk through this door, it all fades until I get up to my room. I walk down the hall, passing the kitchen where I hear the blender going and the sound of Bob's stupid TV going. I quickly jump up the steps, hoping not to be here on the one blue moon that my parents actually want something from me and quickly make my way into my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me.

I let out a deep breath trying to bring back thoughts of my beloved, which I know won't happen until I go over to my bed and reach under it to get the box of pictures and mementos that I've accumulated of us over the past year and a half.

I spend the rest of the lonely night slowly digging through the shoe box of our time together, gazing at each item, first the small stuffed animal I won him down at the fair before we were actually dating, then the ticket stubs of the first movie we snuck into to make out in, then the packet of pictures of us, taken from a disposable camera that we used up laying on his bed, just taking as many pictures in as many faces as we could. My favorite one is the one of us kissing. I love how his arm is curling me into him, and the way I seem to be giggling into the kiss, which I remember vividly I was.

I hug the picture to my chest and let out a loving sigh and fall down to my bed. I just love him so much.


This trip was suppose to be our chance to finally break through this weird friend zone limbo we seem to be in. He was suppose to see that I am the only one who will ever truly love him, and that he's the only one that will ever love me. But we go home tomorrow, and that's that. We're back to school in a month and then the cliques will form again and the only time we'll ever see each other is when we slam into each other in the hall way. And while I will scream at him about how stupid he is, inside, my heart will crack when he apologizes and then shatter when he walks away.

I feel so embarrassed wearing this thing. I don't even know why I bought this stupid bikini. I'm not anything close to a super model, and I felt even more embarrassed wearing gym shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt to the beach this afternoon. But now, I feel almost naked... and a little cold.

Everyone else is asleep back at Rhonda's beach house. And the only reason I got invited was because I'm friends with Phoebe, who is friends with Rhonda, and everybody else for that matter.

I have a deep feeling that it's symbolic that the tide is washing away my footprints right as I leave them, but it's only logical. Tide goes in, and then it goes out, taking with it what it will and sometimes bringing something new back in. But what won't go away is my love for him. I've forced myself to try and be nicer to him, because if this stupid childish fantasy is ever to be fulfilled, I can't do it by being a complete bitch all the time.

Maybe we just weren't meant to be like I always thought we were. Maybe I should just let this tide carry this stupid infatuation away so I can live a lonely, depressing life like I was born to. That's what everybody keeps telling me anyway. That I was meant to be all alone all of my life. Maybe I just need to give up.

"A-hem."

What the...

Oh, it's just him. "Helga?" I don't think I'm going to win this battle with my emotions.

I push down hard on the feeling of the rising swoon at the sight of his bare chest, "Couldn't sleep either, Football Head?" I casually ask. I really wish he wasn't here right now. I'm right in the middle of trying to get over him.

His feet are dragging in the sand, almost as if he doesn't want to get any closer. What else is new? "Um..." His piecing green eyes screw shut and his head, which he is growing into so nicely shakes. His eyes open back to me and he seems to force a small smile. "No, I guess I couldn't." He says with a small laugh. He's almost never laughed around me. But I guess I'm just not funny, in the comical sense anyway. Everybody else laughs at me. But not him. He's the only one that's treated me like anything close to a real person. Even Phoebe has laughed at me when I'm not around.

I can't look at him anymore. The ocean looks so appealing to jump into, and away from everything. "Helga," I turn back around, and he's so much closer than he was when I looked away. He still hasn't stopped creeping toward me. "You're... You're so..." Mean, cynical, cold, can't stand being around you. I just want him to get it over with, for him to tell me off so I can take the rest of my life to get over it.

"Out with it, Football Head." I turn to face him fully, probably in a subconscious attempt to take this gut punch in stride. His mouth is hanging open and he won't stop looking at me. He's looking me right in the eye, almost like he's in a trance. What's wrong with him? He's never been like this before, he's starting to scare me a little. "Arnold?"

Just then, his soft, skinny hands are touching my bare skin. Oh my god! Look at what I'm wearing! I'm in my freaking underwear for Christs sake! My heart feels like it about to punch it's way out of my chest, it's slamming so hard. What in the hell is happening?! "I don't want to say anything stupid." He says out of seemingly nowhere.

What are my hands doing!? Stop touching his beautiful skin! I didn't tell you to do that! No, don't stop. Don't ever stop. I don't know what's happening, but what ever he's about to do, I don't want him to stop. His skin feels so soft and so warm, and his eyes, even though shaded in the darkness of the night, are still the beautifully cut emeralds that I know and love. His lips look so appealing right now. We haven't kissed in so long. Not since that fateful day on the roof. I wonder if he even remembers that day. He bought it when I coped out of the whole thing.

But he has to be smarter than that, right?

He has to know that I really meant what I said back than, and would still mean every single word if I were to repeat it now after so many years. His hands feel like they're the only thing holding me together right now, but at the same time, they're stirring me up so much I feel like I'm about to explode if he doesn't let go, but I don't want him to. I just want him to kiss me. Oh my god...

He's kissing me! He's actually kissing me! This is incredible, his lips feel so amazingly incredible on mine! I think my heart just stopped. His shoulders feel so tense under my wandering hands. He's kissing me! Oh, Arnold, my love, don't ever stop! Holy crap, he just pressed his lips to mine fully. His lips taste so amazing.

With a soft pluck of our unwillingly separated lips, I feel him pulling back. What, am I not a good kisser or something? "That was incredible." He says. What?!

Incredible!? Oh, Arnold! "You kissed me." I say and pop my eyes open.

"I-I'm sorry." He stutters at me and starts to pull away. Don't go!

"You actually kissed me!" I've always been the one to make the first move. But he just kissed me! He actually kissed me! "You actually kissed me!" My face hurts I'm smiling so hard, but this amazing man that has me in his loving arms just kissed me, I think a smile is warranted.

"You're not mad?"

"Do it again!" I want him to kiss me again, I don't want to kiss him, I want him to kiss me. Please, kiss me again, Arnold!

"Wha..."

"Kiss me again!" I say and bounce on my feet. I feel like a little girl again, being held under an umbrella by a cute little football headed boy in a yellow rain coat. I love him so much, and I don't ever want to stop loving him! Oh, that smile, his smile. I want his smile to be for me, and me alone. And he's kissing me again! I want him only to kiss me, just me and no one else! I want to be his, and I want him to be mine.

His lips work so effortlessly against mine, and yet, I can still feel my heart jump erratically in my chest, having burst with love for the umpteenth time. His hands go around to my back and he presses me into him, pressing our bare stomachs together. Oh, this is so amazing. I never thought I'd feel this way. Was that his tongue?! Did Arnold just french kiss me? Well, two can play that game. Oh my god, our tongues are wrestling, and mines losing!

"Oh, Arnold..."

"Oh, Arnold, my Arnold, my love."

What? Where the hell am I?

Oh... fuck.

And I can't even see him tomorrow! And it's one in the morning, so it's not like I can go over to his house now... could I?

No, no, he has a competition tomorrow. I push myself up and change into some sweats and a teal shirt that I stole from him and go back to bed.

So, we didn't exactly french kiss that night, but that's where it goes whenever I have that dream. But he did pull me into him and kiss me again, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like we had been together for years.

I still remember how I was feeling right before he came up to me. He even said that I looked, and I quote, 'ravishing' in that pink bikini and pink floral sarong that he caught me in. We walked each other back to the beach house after we kissed for a few more seconds that night, and then parted ways awkwardly in the hall way and went to our perspective rooms. It was the next morning that we woke up before everyone else because they were all up late at the bond fire, while Arnold and I tried to sleep but couldn't manage it.

I walked up to him in the kitchen and he said that I looked ravishing in that bikini, and I chuckled and blushed harshly. But then he said that I was cute when I was excited, and he said how adorable I was when I told him to kiss me again, so I kissed him. That was the first time that we actually made out. That's when Lila walked in and we sprang apart and tried to act natural.

I have to go hang out with Phoebe tomorrow, so I better get some sleep. I've always wondered what would have happened if it wasn't his ex girlfriend who walked in. He's even told me that he didn't feel anything whenever they were going out. That all she wanted to do was sit at home and watch Little House on the Prairie. He said that there wasn't anything there, no deepness like he feels with me. He just didn't connect with her like he does with me.

He said that he didn't, and never will love her, or anyone else, like he loves me.

I lift up the picture of us kissing on his bed up again, and I feel myself smile, like I knew I would.

I'm going to marry him someday, if it's the last thing I do.


A/N: I had to look up what a sarong was.

I'm a guy, give me a break. :(