Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and to him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.

ICYMI: Arnold and Helga disclose their past deed to their respective best friends and survive the subsequent grillings. Now what to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon?

And with that, I now declare this bazaar open! Step right up!

7. Pleasure Principle

Helga's words were still echoing through Arnold's consciousness as he lathered his washcloth under the running shower. The water was the perfect temperature: warm enough to steam up the bathroom without being scalding. Perfect for unwinding as he applied the thick, lathered terry cloth. The truth was, though, that unwinding was the last thing on his mind.

He was, in fact, soaping the back of Helga Geraldine Pataki with whom he was sharing the shower.

xxXXXxx

"But first you need to take a shower!"

Ten minutes prior, Arnold had heard Helga's suggestion and was now undressing in the bathroom in preparation for a shower. He had to admit that she had a point. Enduring the grilling from Gerald had been a tense affair that produced much perspiring. A shower would wash away the grime and his tensions. He was down to his check boxers as he heard the doorknob rattle for a while before the door – which he could have sworn he had locked – creaked open. In walked Helga, with a suggestive grin on her face and a hairpin in her hand.

"Well now!" the blonde girl commented. "Looks like I didn't miss all of the show!"

Arnold, accustomed almost all his life to having the bathroom all to himself and suddenly realizing his current state of undress, grabbed the closest towel to cover himself. It was instinctive, overriding his intimate familiarity with the girl. "Helga!" he yelped. "What are you doing here!"

"Well," the taller blonde girl began explaining, "I did say you needed a shower. I didn't say anything about having to take it alone!"

"But Helga…" the footballhead attempted a protest.

Helga remained unfazed. "Aw, just look at him," she playfully cooed. "A modest gentleman if ever there was one."

As she spoke, she deftly relocked the door before slinking towards him until she was right in front of him. "You won't be needing this, by the way," she declared as she yoinked the towel from his possession and casually tossed it over her shoulder. With that accomplished, she moved in even closer to press herself against him.

"Besides," she resumed her appraisal, "I couldn't get enough of something this good!"

She then reached around his hips to give his firm buttocks an equally firm squeeze. She reveled in how he whooped in surprise. "See what I mean?" she smirked. "A butt like that is just asking to be squeezed!"

Her statement caused Arnold to go silent as he studied her from top to bottom. He then smirked back at her and rebutted with: "Well you know, yours isn't bad either!"

Having said that, he returned Helga's favor by reaching around her hips and giving her own cheeks a mischievous pinch.

"Oooh!" she hooted in surprise that mirrored Arnold's, then milliseconds later, delight. She needed a moment to take in this audacious move from Saint Arnold before responding further. "That was ballsy, Footballhead."

"Like you didn't enjoy it!" Arnold playfully scoffed.

"Touché, Footballhead!" replied Helga, apparently conceding defeat before commencing her next plan of attack. Said plan of attack involved taking a step away from her darling and pirouetting a half-circle to show him her back. From there, she looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes reflecting seductive intent. There was another pause before she spoke again: "Well? Aren't you going to help me?"

Now Arnold at this point was too well-versed in Helga and her ways not to realize what she meant, and he didn't mind complying with her request anyway. He fully undid the zipper of her dress and moved the straps over her shoulders, then stepped back to watch the garment slowly slide off her sylphlike physique to the floor. That left Helga standing in her dress shirt barely reaching her hips. Despite his recent torrid history with her, Arnold was finding Helga no less alluring than before. He even wondered if the word "sexy" was applicable.

"Helga, you're so pretty," he clumsily vocalized the first thought to enter his mind.

Then he saw it happen. Even from behind, he could see Helga blush in response. Not at all like the angry, flustered blushes from the past when she found herself caught unawares, usually in an awkward situation. This one was softer, coy. As if she wasn't yet fully used to receiving praise from him, sincere and devoid of playfulness or reluctance.

Arnold read that much in her body language and wanted to assure her by wrapping his arms around her. No sooner had he considered that action when he witnessed her regain her composure before turning back toward him with a renewed smirk.

"Why are you so satisfied with yourself, Footballhead?" she ordered. "The job's only half done!"

With that, she motioned to her dress shirt. Again, Arnold saw where her intentions were heading. He helped her out of her dress shirt. Afterward, there they were. Arnold Shortman and Helga Pataki, clad in their underwear.

Arnold: still in his boxers.

Helga: now in pink panties and a pink training bra.

Between them: sensual smiles following puckish tittering.

"So…yeah…" Arnold havered. "…we're really going to go all the way?"

"That's usually the first requirement for taking a shower, Arnoldo," Helga replied, asserting whatever scant dominance she could over the situation. The young pair shared a brief note of levity before she resumed, her hands poised and ready on her bra: "OK! Birthday suits in 3…2…1…GO!"

To be honest, their joint shower had a similar dynamic to having sex, so Arnold and Helga found themselves becoming comfortable with the act more quickly than anticipated. If nothing else, it was another excuse to run their hands all across each other.

They took turns soaping each other from top to bottom. Arnold surprised Helga with how he took this sybaritic activity in his stride. Yes, he was nervous at first but never cripplingly so. He instead allowed himself to become lost in his sudsy exploration of Helga's anatomy – not to mention hers in his. He was aided by Helga's soft moans of satisfaction, which may have sounded disproportionate in response to his efforts but he didn't care! Not when her moans were heavenly to his ears. Everything about her was heavenly. Even when the shower was over, he still was reluctant for them to exit the stall. For good reason, too. Her hair, unfettered and limp from the wet of the shower: clinging seductively to her forehead, neck, and shoulders. Her slick bare skin. Her toned body. Her scent. All coming together in an intoxicating, hypnotic package.

So much so that he found himself – inevitably – in stiff acknowledgement of Helga's sensuality. A point that just as inevitably caught her attention.

"Oh, Arnoldo!" she said in a hollow bid to sound disapproving. "Whatever am I going to do with you and this pesky condition of yours?"

No second invitation was required as he moved closer. He knew where her intentions were heading. Or so he thought.

"Down, boy!" she instructed with an arm outstretched to keep him at bay. "I'm still feeling a bit dirty. Looks like you missed a spot."

Arnold was confused. He'd been thorough in abluting Helga, of that he was certain. Helga being Helga, saw his baffled expression and could only smile at his confusion. For the second time, she exploited his frozen look to yoink something out of his grasp. This time it was the washcloth he'd been using. Her smile was unwavering as she held it in front of him before dropping it on the shower floor.

"For what you'll be doing, you won't be needing this!" she announced. "You'll have to use your hands."

"What will I be doing?" he wanted to know. Somehow he doubted that it was going to be sex like before, at least not in the confined space in which they were.

"And don't worry," Helga continued, having – correctly – deduced that he was processing any and all potential pitfalls of whatever was to come. "You asked about the Arnold from my world. Well, this is something he did to me."

She ceased with further explanations. Instead, she reached for his right hand with her left, then spun toward him until her back was pressed against his chest and she had guided the captive hand to rest on her pubis. She immediately followed up with: "Oh, now I know you'll enjoy this!"

She'd drawn that conclusion based on his quickening breath, not to mention the ever-hardening protuberance that was poking her in her thigh. Arnold barely spoke; in fact, he barely got a sentence out: "Helga…what...?"

"Shush, Footballhead," purred Helga. "Relax your fingers and let me guide them."

He relented and felt how she manipulated his fingers unto a rubbing motion that seemed to tickle the target area. She didn't seem to laugh, but dear lord was she enjoying it!

"There…right there…oh yes…harder…faster!" she kept encouraging. He kept complying and was soon left to his own devices as her words stopped. In their place, her husky moans, building in pitch and tempo as his rubbing against her ever-slickening seam intensified. His strokes were no longer a light tickle, now building in pressure. Chasing after more of her sublime groaning.

Then it happened. He felt his finger slip inside her. Oh shit, he thought. He'd fucked up and gone too far in his excitement. Or did he? Maybe not, as there was no change in Helga's reaction.

In fact…

"Keep going…Footballhead…oh god…keep…going!" she breathlessly insisted. His only response was more compliance, more assent. The digital plumbing continued, all to her pleasure. "Deeper…harder…oh Arnold! Don't…don't…stop!"

He didn't. The stroking eventually became probing, thrusting movements. Her pleasure became elevated, morphing into ecstasy. It became louder too, threatening to become too loud.

"Helga! Keep it down!" he urgently whispered in her ear. "Someone will hear us!"

But she was deaf to his pleas, caught up in her primal yearnings for pleasure and release. Arnold had to quieten her, but how? If he stopped with the handiwork, he knew – oh god, he knew – that he'd kill the mood and there'd be hell to pay. Knowing not what else to do, he reached for Helga's furthest cheek with his free hand and pushed against it to get her face-to-face with him. Next, he kissed her and was pleasantly shocked by how easily she accepted the advance. Instantly their tongues were dancing that familiar dance. Bliss once threatening to become too loud, became muffled as they clumsily breathed in each other's steamy, sultry desire.

Time had ceased having any relevance.

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours?

Who knew how much time had passed?

It didn't matter, not when he was making Helga feel so good!

Eventually, she felt so good that he felt her lean more into him, her back arched and her muscles rigid. Suddenly, it felt like she no longer wanted to kiss him so much as shout her unbridled excitement into his mouth. Then…then silence as she relaxed, going almost limp. He used his free arm this time to hold her around her waist, lest she collapsed on the shower floor. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and heavy, yet also content. Down below, she felt wet from spent lust. He removed his fingers which felt slick, coated in the aforementioned lust.

"Helga, look," Arnold declared as he held up the sodden digits for her observation. Helga's eyes slowly opened amid still-heavy breathing to take in the sight. She smiled a weary smile at what she saw, then turned her head as much as she could to face her beloved.

"Hey, looks like we both need another shower…"

The second shower was brief and spartan. Before long, the young pair had toweled off, gotten dressed, and had returned to Arnold's room. All the while, Arnold had feared that his bathroom kerfuffle would attract attention from his grandparents or the other boarders. But no, fate and the universe had conspired to keep their incognito activity just that. Maybe Mister Potts and Mister Huynh were working late. Maybe Mister Kokoshka was out gambling again with his unsavory acquaintances while his wife was working another double shift. Maybe his grandmother was out prowling the streets of Hillwood with her feline army. And his grandfather? Maybe he was enjoying the solitude of the private bathroom. Whatever. The product of all these probabilities may have seemed infinitesimal, but it had been met and thus the young blonde couple was back in the footballhead's domicile, seated on his couch. A relaxed Arnold was chilling in a loose pair of sleep shorts and an oversized T-shirt, his hair still damp and droopy. Helga was equally chilled and back in her pink-and-white ensemble which was looking significantly more disheveled. Her hair was equally damp from the shower, hanging freely over her shoulders.

They were snacking on potato chips provided by Arnold from a stash he kept for just such occasions. He'd also provided juice from the kitchen. They munched and sipped in contented silence. Eventually, it was a smiling Helga who finally spoke. "Tell you what, Footballhead! You're quite nimble with your fingers!"

The statement had the desired result as it unsettled Arnold, leaving him scrambling for a response. He eventually settled on: "Hey, I was only following your lead!"

"Nah," rebutted Helga, her smile unyielding in the devilry it was conveying, "you're a natural!"

"Unlike the me from your world?"

Maybe he shouldn't have asked that question, as it put Helga into a brief state of irritation before she recovered and replied in a mixture of reassurance and agitation. "Arnold look at me. Look at me!"

When he did, she continued with: "I told you before. You're here, not him, and that's all that matters."

Arnold was not fully reassured and followed up with another question. "Still, there's some part of me. A small part, but it's there. And it just can't help but think I'm a replacement. You know, a rebound."

To which Helga scoffed heartily: "A rebound? From yourself? Get real, Arnoldo! That simply doesn't compute?"

"But what happens, Helga, if the universes realign and you find yourself in another time?"

"You want the truth, Footballhead?" Helga asked, before realizing who had asked the question. "Doi! Of course you do! You're Saint Arnold the Benevolent and nothing less will do! The truth is, I'll start over. I'll make that world mine too. I'll find that world's Arnold Shortman and make a clean start with him. Unless he's a total asshole, then all bets are off."

"Meaning…?" Arnold probed with a little more playfulness. "…that Helga G. Pataki will be on the prowl and woe betide the boy she like-likes?"

"That's right, Bucko!" Helga asserted. "In fact, if that world's Arnold is a no-go, I'm thinking of going after a hot-blooded Latin lover just to see if I can give Bob a coronary. I even have potential names I'll be on the lookout for!"

"Names?" Arnold asked, more in curiosity than suspicion.

"Yep! Names, plural!" replied Helga. "I'm quite partial to 'Rodrigo Castile', or how about 'Drake Sanchez'?"

Arnold chuckled lightly at the sheer specificity of her thought process. "Wow! Guess I'll have my work cut out then!"

And Helga too was smiling. "Aw, Footballhead! Are you really jealous that you could lose me?"

And though Arnold's answer was serious, it conveyed no anger. "It's not jealousy. It's more like I'm…" – he paused to find a more appropriate word – "…scared…that something like that could happen."

Helga's eyes widened when she heard that explanation. "Arnold, could you please repeat what you just said? I mean, I did just hear you say you're scared of losing me?"

And again Arnold was defined by nervous shuffling, together with running his hand through his hair. He'd realized that he'd just told Helga that he didn't want to lose her, which he found extremely surprising. More surprising still was the added realization that he meant every word spoken to that effect.

Unfortunately for him, Helga interpreted his hesitation as being equivocal. This did not seem to please her. "Or will you say that to whichever girl offers you a good time?" she asked, chagrined by his slow response. "Doesn't matter even if they kept tormenting you in the past! Sex is sex regardless, or am I wrong?"

But Arnold would not be put on the defensive and he proved it by calmly asking: "The Arnold I'm supposed to be jealous of. Is that how he acted?"

Ouch! That stung! Now Helga was on the defensive. "He did not!" Helga asserted, somewhat impetuously. "He was a gentleman through and through. He respected me!"

Not that he was looking for a chance for a riposte, but that's exactly what Helga had given him. "In that case," he announced, "he and I see eye to eye!"

"Eye to eye about what?" asked Helga.

"About respecting you," answered Arnold. "Look…Helga…I've always respected you, before any of this."

"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it!" complained Helga.

"The same funny way you had of showing you liked me?" parried Arnold.

Helga remained frozen in place, mouth agape, midway through a rebuttal attempt that had stalled. Arnold used the pause to explain himself further. "I mean…even before any of this, I already thought you were way cool. Well, when you weren't badmouthing me at every possible opportunity."

That snapped Helga back to the here and now. "Arnold, are you talking shit again? How could you think I was cool if I was badmouthing you all the time? Or do you really have that kink about verbal abuse?"

Arnold's expression remained as matter-of-fact as before as he attempted to clarify. "Case in point. Even after we got to know each other, you're still true to yourself. You speak your mind, you keep me on my toes. And I like it! I like being with you! I like talking with you! I—"

"You like having sex with me?" Helga interrupted.

"Helga!" scolded Arnold. "Is that how the other me saw you. Because if he did, then he…is…was?...an idiot! No! How did you put it? An asshole!" – damn, it felt strange using that word – "There's so much more to you than just sex!"

"OK, OK! I get it!" Helga conceded. "I'm more to you than just a booty call. You value me as a person. Everyone's happy, right?"

"Well, yeah!" Arnold confirmed. He could tell from Helga's tone and expression that she had steered the conversation into an awkward territory and was looking for an escape. An idea entered his head, and he felt the need to act on it. So he reached to cup Helga's closest cheek, the better to bring his face to hers for a lingering kiss on her lips. He didn't know how she reacted to the gesture, so he was unaware of the surprised fluttering of her eyelids he was causing.

He became aware of her surprise when he pulled away to see her staring at him through saucers for eyes. Then he said in gentle reassurance: "Yeah, everyone's happy."

Then he kissed her again. When he was done, he said: "At least, I am."

He then watched Helga gradually recover from her state of shock. He even saw a weary smile creep up on her face. Finally, she too spoke: "Sometimes I worry about you, Footballhead."

"In what way?"

"About how pure-hearted you can be."

Helga then took a while to eye Arnold, inspiring a sense of uncertainty in the footballhead. "Helga?" he queried in a slightly frightened tone he'd last used on his grandmother during their rescue of Lockjaw. "I'm worried by that way you're looking at me! What's going through your mind?"

Subconsciously, maybe he didn't want to know? For all the good it did him, for he found out anyway.

"Oh, nothing…" teased Helga. "Just thinking if I should corrupt you some more."

He wanted to know just what she meant, but her movement proved faster than his speech. When next he registered her presence, she was on the floor, facing him on her knees by his lap.

"Helga, what's going on?" he feebly demanded.

"Nothing you won't enjoy, Arnoldo," assured an enigmatic Helga. "Think of it as my quid for your quo in the shower. Besides, the you from my world really loved it. And given that you see eye to eye with him…"

"About respecting you, Helga! About respecting you!"

"Enough talk!" Helga forcefully insisted. "Now let's drop those drawers!"

And drop them she did with a sharp downward yank that left Arnold feeling a sudden breeze between his legs. A brief inspection followed from Helga, who was pleasantly surprised to find him at half-mast.

"Right…someone's prepared." She looked back at his face before continuing with: "Poor baby! That shower must have been torture if this fella hasn't yet sounded the retreat!"

There was of course a logical explanation for Arnold's condition, but it was lost the instant Helga grabbed the shaft and began softly stroking it. He felt how the blood was rushing down there: with each stroke, he felt the concrete hardening and expanding. The stroking continued to the tune of Arnold's grunting and groaning.

"Helga! It's…it's..." he tried saying, only his brain wasn't putting that high a priority on speech and articulation anymore. That was before he felt something warm and moist running up and down the shaft. As much as he didn't know what was causing that new sensation, it only added to his rapture. Somehow he found it in him to peek down at Helga, and he was pleasantly – very pleasantly – shocked. She was cupping and gently squeezing his scrotum in one hand. The other was holding his erection in place. But the biggest source of his pleasant – extremely pleasant – shock was the way she was running her tongue up and down his shaft. Two thoughts immediately entered his mind.

1.) How did she learn to do this?

2.) Thank goodness we had that shower!

Having thought those thoughts, he let himself loll backward into the couch to accept his fate. Helga continued administering him, he kept groaning and grunting, breathing heavily. Every nerve in his body was on edge. He felt his heart racing to levels he imagined could not be healthy. And why was he sweating so profusely? Did he even care to know why? Not a chance! Not while he was feeling an intense stimulation that he'd only felt once before when he and Helga had had sex.

"Oh…god, Helga!" he proclaimed in a stifled wail. "Fuck…" he managed after many crippling gasps for air. "Helga…Helga…how do you…how do you…Fuck, it's good!"

But it appeared that Helga was deaf to his pained expressions. "Now now, Arnoldo," she playfully remonstrated while continuing with her manual ministrations. "Language, please! And try to keep the noise down because believe me, you're gonna be feeling a whole lot better!"

To be honest, it first got weird for Arnold before it got better. It got weird when he felt himself being swallowed. Curiosity overcame him and he looked down again to find himself inside Helga's mouth, her head bobbing up and down his now pulsing membrum virile. The weirdness lasted for all of one second, if that. That's how long it took for him to be overwhelmed from head to toe by currents of electric joy. Helga's oral action was unrelenting, paying no heed to his writhing and his contorted expressions. Not that he wanted her to stop. Not when she was fully using her powers to make time stand still. Not when her mouth was tightly running up and down that most sensitive part of him. Not when she was stoking him past his limits, sending him to places he never knew he could imagine, let alone reach.

"Helga…" he tried uttering to her again. "…Ah!...So…great!" Meanwhile, Helga had upped the tempo – and with it, the ante – considerably. Her bobbing had sped up, in keeping with his elevated moans and sighs and heavy breathing. This was it. He was helpless against her charms and skills. And loving every moment of it.

Until he felt the urge for release. That familiar urge he felt towards the end of having sex with Helga. He considered it prudent to warn Helga of his imminent discharge, and somehow through the crippling bliss, he was able to sound the warning.

"Helga…Helga…I'm about to…It's coming…It's coming!"

All due credit to Helga, she heeded the warning. She ejected Arnold from her mouth and immediately turned away from him. So when he erupted, she was able to avoid most of his issue. Most of it, as she wasn't able to get fully out of the way and some of the issue caught her on her cheek.

The result left her decidedly less than impressed, and she took a while to assess her messy condition. The longer she took, the more worried Arnold became. And a nettled Helga Pataki would finally proclaim: "Nice work, Paste for Brains! Now I need to use the bathroom for the third time!"

"But Helga," Arnold pleaded, "I tried to warn you! "

This seemed to deflate Helga and she sighed heavily: "Yeah, OK. Just cut back on the grunting and the heavy breathing next time you do it!"

Arnold, thrilled and relieved that there would be a next time, answered: "I'll remember that."

"Great, now get me a Kleenex!"

One second later, their luck ran out.

Perhaps understandably, the young couple would have been too preoccupied in Arnold's room to be aware of any other activity within The Sunset Arms. Had they not, they may have heard the front doorbell ring. They might have also heard the door open and the ensuing conversation that took place, albeit muffled and indistinct. They'd observe a pause and note the sound of footprints coming up the stairs towards Arnold's room.

Well, they didn't. And by the time they heard Phil's voice, it was too late.

"Hey, Short Man!" the old man bellowed. "Got someone downstairs looking for a girl named Helga something or other. She thinks you might know where OH JUMPING JIMINY WHAT IN TARNATION WERE YOU UP TO IN HERE?"

He'd walked into the room to be horrified by the scene in front of him. Despite his inner denial, his eyes weren't deceiving him. That was his grandson, seated on the couch with his shorts around his ankles. And that was the girl Gertie kept calling Eleanor, on her knees and with his grandson's seed staining her cheek.

But the couple's ignominy was not yet done, for another voice was heard rushing up the stairs. "Mister Shortman! What's wrong? Is something SWEET JESUS! HELGA, WHY ARE YOU HERE? WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING?"

And even then, fate was still not done with the young blonde couple. Another voice was heard barrelling up the stairs toward the room. "MOMMY? MOMMY WHAT'S HAPPENING?"

And why not? Why not throw Olga into the mix as well? Why deny her a chance to witness this spectacle?

"OH MY GOD! HELGA!" the elder Pataki daughter shrieked as she took in the scene. "DID YOU JUST..? ON YOUR CHEEK…IS THAT..? ARNOLD? ARNOLD YOU BASTARD!"

As chaos filled the room with the adults shouting over each other in consternation, Arnold Shortman and Helga Pataki could only look at each other and convey with resigned looks:

"We really fucked up this time. Pun intended"

And we are done with another chapter, Ladies and Gentlemen! As ever, thank you so much for reading my work. I know your fanfiction options are vast and infinite, so I am profoundly heartened that you have chosen this work for your entertainment. Actually, I consider it a privilege to bring you this or any chapter in the first place. The month of April served up an unpleasant but necessary bit of reality as we interred my late brother's ashes the day after what would have been his forty-thrid birthday. Until my grave, I'll be wondering how my parents were able to keep it together as they read his dedication.

When I got back to FanFiction, I saw the stories in my follow list and it scared me to consider that any of them may be fated to remain forever incomplete because their writers have succumbed to Covid. If nothing else, the realization has bolstered my resolve to give my all to whatever I right.

Yeah, I get it. The main subject matter makes you uncomfortable and so you may be reluctant to express any opinions on the story. Hopefully, this chapter has made it clear that Arnold and Helga don't exist in a vacuum and that there are broader implications to their actions. With that said, please feel free to comment on this chapter, either through your reviews or through a PM. I'll have you know that the most avid reader of this story hasn't posted a review, but communicates regularly with me via email.

Anyway...I did receive a guest review for the previous chapter. My answer is this:

Oh, Arnold was nervous alright, as highlighted in the following passage: "The most cringeworthy experience in the life of Arnold Philip Shortman had just begun." And it's not as if he had a choice in the matte, not with Gerald pressuring him for details. Less a "boys being boys" occurrence, more "Gerald being Gerald". And thank you for your enjoyment of the chapter.

On another note...Helga's list of potential Latin lovers is more than just a nod to the works of Anonymous Latino and Flower princess11. It's also a rather oblique reference to an anime called Nana. An excellent title that I heartily recommend. Anyway, it has a scene in which the one main character expresses her worry to her boyfriend that he might cheat on her. Her worries are very specific, down to the name of the woman with whom he'll be cheating (Sachiko).

As for this chapter's Tidal list:

Turn Back Time – Aqua

It Wasn't Me – Shaggy feat. Rikrok

Fly For You – Spandau Ballet

When We Dance – Sting

And that'll do for this chapter. I'd very much like to hear your thoughts and opinions. Until next time, stay safe, stay awesome, and take nothing for granted.