Title: Reunited
Pairing: Helga/Arnold
Prompt: He found the journal on the train.
AN: I wanted to write a series of love themed one-shots for Valentine's Day. I used prompts from Pinterest and tried to create a story from them. I may have to toy with this one a bit. I love the prompt because it immediately made me think of Arnold and Helga when I read it—but this one was hard for me to write for some reason. I hope that you enjoy it all the same!
Arnold had been away from Hillwood since he was 11 years old, he'd only been back for two weeks and was struggling to get used to the hustle and bustle of the city. Everything moved so much faster here than he was used to in San Lorenzo.
He'd accepted a teaching position at P.S. 113 as a 5th grade History teacher. He was exhausted, heading underground to the subway that would transport him back to his home on the other side of town. It was Friday and 5 o'clock in the afternoon, rush hour, nearly every train was full. People were brushing past him as he struggled to find his place on the subway.
"Hey kid, get your head out of the clouds!" He heard a gruff voice remark. With a lot of luck, most of the people in his car were exiting not entering giving him the opportunity to rest his tired feet if only for a few moments. He noticed a leather bound, pink journal sitting on an empty seat. His train ride was usually about twenty minutes, he was hoping this book would be more interesting than the history homework in his messenger waiting to be graded.
The subway jolted him slightly forward as it departed from the station. Arnold opened up into the middle of the pages—he was taken aback at how beautifully written the musings were. The pink journal was filled with lots of poetry and story ideas. He noticed that many of the recurring themes were about lost love and angst. He heard his stop being called overhead, so he dropped the journal into his messenger bag before heading home, his studio apartment was only a block away from the subway station.
He dropped his bags onto the coffee table of his living space, pulled out the pink journal again and read it from cover to cover, only a few pages of the journal remained to be filled. On the last page, were initials: HGP; and contact information. The journal was so personal, he felt a little guilty for reading so much of it—but he was confident that whoever the owner was would be thrilled to have it back in their possession.
Helga was sitting on the balcony of her apartment, having a glass of brandy looking at her beautiful view of Hillwood. She enjoyed the class and culture of New York, she loved the romanticism of Paris, but something about Hillwood just made her feel amazing. Her phone vibrated, she looked down and was surprised to see a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: I think that I have your journal.
I found it on the train earlier.
She rolled her eyes and looked into her Michael Kors bag. Her iPad, laptop, large notebook and planner were all accounted for and of course, her pink journal was indeed missing.
Helga: Yes, it would seem that way.
Unknown: I can drop it off to you if you'd like.
Helga: Tomorrow, Gino's café? I'll be at the booth closest to the door.
Unknown: 9 am?
Helga: Perfect. See you then.
Arnold didn't know what to expect. He arrived at Geno's café at 8:30—not wanting to be late. He couldn't explain it but there was something very familiar about the writing. While reading the beautiful words, sketched hastily on the paper as though they were eager to get transfer the thoughts from their mind to the paper as quickly as possible, he couldn't help but to feel a sense of déjà vu. He resisted the urge to reopen the journal—he'd pried enough already.
Helga walked into Geno's café at 8:50.
"How you doing big Geno!" She called out to the heavyset, tan man with an oversized mustache who was manning the front counter.
"You having the usual!?" he called out in return.
"Of course, you know me!" She responded, sliding into the booth that had become so familiar to her. She looked up and looked into a pair of green eyes she could get lost in.
"Arnold!?" Helga exclaimed, once she saw who was across the table.
"Arnold, what on earth are you doing here in Hillwood?" Helga questioned, he almost didn't hear the question because he was so taken aback at who was sitting in front of him. Helga G. Pataki.
"Hellooooo football head?" She sang, waving her hands in front of his face to get his attention, "What are you doing in Hillwood?"
He looked across at his table mate, her eyebrows—no longer a unibrow, were now two separate eyebrows that laid frame to her large crystal blue eyes. Her blonde hair was long and wavy and fell perfectly around her face. She had an air of confidence around her, something that he didn't remember her having when he left for San Lorenzo.
"I—uh—I got a job teaching at P.S. 113. 5th grade. History." He sputtered out. For some reason his mind refused to formulate the sentences that he wanted to.
Gino dropped off a tray of food in front of Helga. A plate of French toast, a side of blueberries, and a cup of coffee, black.
"Anything for you friend of Helga?" Gino asked with a thick accent
"I'll take a cup of coffee and a fruit cup please." Arnold responded.
Helga realized that they were twenty five years old now but she still felt her heart flutter just a bit when she realized Arnold Shortman was the one that found her journal. The poet in her was quite amused. The woman in her couldn't keep her eyes off of him.
He was tan, very tan—he had either just come back from a nice vacation or he'd just moved back from San Lorenzo recently. His tanned skin made his emerald green eyes and yellow-blonde hair stand out even more. Although, he was wearing a sweater—she could tell that he definitely was pretty fit underneath of it.
"I guess the secret is out-" Helga said with a nervous laugh. "I can't believe you found my journal a second time."
A look of confusion took over Arnold's face, his eyebrows raised.
"What are you talking about Helga?" Arnold questioned. Helga couldn't tell if he was genuinely confused or if it was an act.
"Come on Arnold—you can't be that dense." Helga laughed but Arnold still looked as though there was a joke he wasn't being let in on.
"Come on—fourth grade—you found a pink book full of poetry." Helga responded, attempting to jog his memory. His eyes widened as though she was revealing brand new information.
"That was your book?" Arnold exclaimed, he remembered in fourth grade feeling slightly awkward that someone had dedicated so much poetry to him. He also remembered re-reading it at night sometimes when he couldn't fall asleep and wondering what type of beautifully tortured soul wrote all of the amazing words in his book—and just for him.
"Yes Arnold." Helga rolled her eyes, "It's still a little embarrassing—I assume you've read this journal, hopefully it's an improvement."
Arnold slid the pink journal across the table and saw a look rush over Helga's face, relief perhaps. He couldn't quite place it.
"Well, thank you so much Arnold. It was nice to see you." Helga remarked, placing a twenty dollar bill on the table and just as quickly as she came in, she was gone.
Over a week had passed since he saw Helga Pataki and for some reason he just couldn't get her out of his mind.
Arnold: Hey, it's Arnold Shortman.
Arnold bravely fired off a text as he gathered his belongings and headed for the subway.
Helga: I'm pretty sure that I didn't leave any other incriminating evidence that you need to return, so what's up?
Arnold: I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner with me sometime.
Helga: Sure.
Helga: When are you free?
Arnold: Tonight.
Helga had been on many dates, however she preferred to keep focused on her career—but never had someone requested a date for the same night that he asked her on. She couldn't help but answer yes.
Arnold: Chez Paris at 8:00
Helga: Sounds great!
Helga arrived at Chez Paris and Arnold was already in front of the building waiting for her. He was wearing a blue button down shirt, offering a nice contrast against his skin tone, and a nice outline of his defined muscles.
"I have something for you." Arnold mentioned as they were about to leave the restaurant. He pulled a small pink journal out of his back pocket. Helga hadn't seen it in nearly fifteen years, she was surprised that he'd kept it for so long.
"Funny thing about this journal—I had a fantasy in my mind that whoever wrote this book I would fall madly in love with." Arnold confessed. "but—I'm pretty sure that I knew who wrote it all along."
"Arnold—" Helga began to say but before any words could leave her lips, Arnold's lips fell onto hers.
