Title/Author: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Kissing by Reinamy
Fandom: Hey Arnold!
Pairing: Helga/Arnold
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language
Summary: Five times Arnold fails to kiss Helga and the one time he succeeds. Well…sort of.
Author's Notes: Written for Shortaki Week 2023, for the prompt: "Time After Time."
In this universe, TJM happened but with far less romantic development between Helga and Arnold.
This is 7K words of tooth-rotting romantic fluff. Happy Shortaki Week!
Now's your moment, floating in a blue lagoon
Boy, you better do it soon, no time will be better
It don't take a word, not a single word
Go on and kiss the girl.
—Samuel E. Wright
Arnold finally musters the courage to ask Helga out during their freshman year of high school. Or at least that's his story and he's sticking to it as it's less embarrassing than explaining how it actually goes down.
They're at an arcade with their usual circle of friends and Arnold is doing his best not to stare at Helga like the besotted dope he is. It's proving to be difficult—she's just so damn pretty and his eyes trail after her without conscious thought.
It's been almost a year since Arnold quit deluding himself into thinking that what he felt for Helga was mere friendship; that the butterflies she inspired in his stomach were born from fondness and not attraction. Even when confronted with a veritable ocean of evidence, Arnold had stuck his head in the sand and pretended not to see it until his feelings threatened to suffocate him and he had no choice but to resurface for air.
In hindsight, he realizes his reluctance to acknowledge his shifting feelings stems from his fear of things changing between them. As the saying goes, why fix what ain't broke?
(Arnold's never been the type to adapt to change well.)
But feelings were a bit like Pandora's Box—once opened they can't be closed again and there was no stopping what dwelled within from surging out.
All it had taken was a single flyaway thought about how kissable Helga's lips were and suddenly Arnold was drowning in all the feelings he'd tried so hard to suppress. One thought, and everything changed.
Within a week he'd gone from pretending not to stare at Helga's ridiculously long fingers, to scribbling Mr. Arnold Pataki in the margins of his notebook like a lovesick idiot. It was enough to give a guy whiplash.
But acknowledging feelings is one thing. Acting on them is something else entirely.
Maybe it would have been different if he and Helga weren't best friends but they were, and Arnold was terrified of ruining the amazing thing they already had. So despite his friend Gerald's non-stop pestering—
("For the love of all that's good in the world, please just ask the chick out already! I can't stand the sight of your pining anymore!")
—and Arnold's own desire to change the nature of their relationship, he hadn't made any concrete plans to make a move. Gerald just didn't understand that theirs was a delicate situation and Arnold had to tread carefully. He needed to gauge Helga's romantic interest in him first, maybe start planting the idea that while the two of them were already great they could be even greater. And of course his eventual confession had to be absolutely perfect to optimize his chances of success.
And that's the excuse Arnold gives himself month after month, until some guy in a leather jacket starts hitting on Helga and Helga, who's never once showed an iota of romantic interest in anyone else, does the unthinkable and flirts back—
"Go out with me," Arnold blurts as soon as she steps off the DDR machine.
He isn't sure who's more shocked by his outburst—him, Helga, or the guy in the leather jacket.
Arnold has spent months envisioning the moment he'd finally ask Helga out. He's daydreamed entire scripts in his head and run so many scenarios by Gerald that his friend had literally dropped to his knees in the middle of the street and begged him to stop.
All that careful planning and this is how Arnold ends up confessing?
If he weren't two seconds away from asphyxiating, he'd strangle himself.
"What was that?" Helga asks, eyes wide as saucers.
In for a penny, Arnold thinks as he draws on every bit of bravery he has to force the next words out.
"Please go out with me. Like, on a date. Because I like you. Romantically."
Gods, where's a sinkhole when you need one?
A long, agonizing moment of silence passes where Helga does nothing but stare at him like he just did a cartwheel in a clown suit.
Just as Arnold's heart begins to sink with resignation, Helga surprises him by shrugging and ducking her head.
"Yeah, alright," she says, casual, but there's no hiding the flush he can see blooming on her cheeks or the visible brightening of her eyes and Arnold's brain nearly shorts-circuits at the sight of it all and what it means.
"Oh. Thanks," he says stupidly.
"Thanks," Helga mocks, but she's pursing her lips in the way she does when she's trying not to grin and gods, Arnold feels light enough to float.
"Well, congratulations I guess," Leather Jacket Guy mutters from the side, and Arnold feels a jolt of vindictive pleasure when Helga doesn't so much as glance in his direction. Her eyes are locked on Arnold as if he's the only one in the room and Arnold—
Arnold really wants to kiss her.
It's a bone-deep impulse, but one he's become accustomed to shoving down the moment it arises, and he does so now without much thought.
Not yet, he thinks as he moves towards her, drawn like a bee to nectar. But soon.
Because now they're dating.
Arnold's heart is a balloon in his chest, and if he isn't careful it's going to lift him up and carry him away.
It's a good thing he's never been afraid of heights.
They have their first date two weeks later, when the dust of midterms and student council activities have settled.
They'd both decided it would be best to wait until midwinter recess so they can enjoy their date to the fullest, and it's ridiculous how impatient he feels when just a few weeks ago he'd been dragging his feet about asking her out at all.
The thing is, despite having been a couple for half a month, it still hasn't quite sunk in for Arnold. Perhaps it's because they've both been so busy with school that it feels like nothing between them has really changed.
Arnold still picks Helga up at her house every morning so they can walk to school together. They still bicker during lunch, and work on homework together after classes, and talk on the phone for hours almost every night. And sure, there's a weight to their interactions that hadn't been there before—a charged tension between them that sets off prickles of anticipation under his skin—but it somehow doesn't feel like it's enough.
It feels like they're stuck in this limbo between friendship and dating, and Arnold just doesn't know how to take their relationship to the next level. He wants to touch more, flirt more, be more, but he feels awkward when he tries.
So for two weeks Arnold pins his hopes on the idea that things will click into place once they've had their first official date.
Which is why he's so devastated when it just…doesn't happen.
It isn't easy narrowing down his seven-page list of date night ideas to just one, but with Gerald's reluctant help he eventually decides on the newly opened International Spy Museum.
Helga loves it, just as he knew she would.
She flitters from exhibit to exhibit with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy factory, and all Arnold wants is to be swept up in the moment with her but he can't. No matter how hard he tries he can't seem to pull himself free of the tangled roots of his thoughts.
Arnold doesn't think he's ever been more hyperaware of himself in his entire life—of his clammy hands, his gangly body, his clumsy way with words. He worries that he isn't dressed nicely enough, that he's not making her laugh enough, that he's not being enough.
He doesn't know how to handle the insecurity that tugs at him, insistent and demanding.
Still he tries, and he thinks he's doing an adequate job of hiding it until they step into a dimly lit and sparsely occupied room covered in wall didactics and bronze statues and Helga suddenly rounds on him.
She's always been more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for.
"Alright, what's wrong?" Helga demands. "And don't even try telling me nothing," she says before he can do just that, "because something clearly is. So spill."
Arnold struggles not to squirm under her penetrating gaze. He lowers his eyes and picks at a hangnail, unsure what to say.
A taut silence stretches between them, broken only when Helga asks, "Did you change your mind, then? About us dating?"
It's said evenly, but there's a thread of something brittle in her voice that Arnold only hears because he knows her so well. It makes his heart clench with guilt even as he shakes his head and exclaims, "N-no! No, Helga, of course not!"
But Helga doesn't look convinced given the way her expression is slowly closing off. Feeling like the world's biggest jerkwad, Arnold tries to organize his disordered thoughts into something coherent enough to make sense. Tries, and falls short.
"I just…I don't know," he admits with no small amount of frustration. "I can't explain it."
The look she gives him is so unimpressed and quintessentially Helga that he cracks a small smile despite the gravity of the situation.
Arnold runs his fingers through his hair and sighs.
"I just feel a bit…anxious, I guess? About the date going well? And just…I don't know. I can't seem to get out of my head."
Some of the coolness fades from Helga's expression as she nods slowly. "I get it," she says after a moment. "You've got performance anxiety."
Arnold is nodding before he fully registers what she's implying, and then his face goes hot as it clicks.
"Helga!"
Helga snickers. "That's what you get for being a weirdo about this!"
"I can't believe you! I'm trying to be honest here!"
"Yeah, honestly stupid," she says with a snort, and before Arnold can feel the full impact of the hurt her words cause he's distracted by a stinging flick to his forehead.
"Ow! Helga, what the hell?"
"Shouldn't those be my words, Arnoldo? Seriously! It's just me."
Whatever retort he'd been about to make dies on his tongue when Helga reaches down to lace their fingers together. It's such a simple touch, but it sends a current through him that he can feel down to his core.
"It's just me," she repeats, squeezing.
Yeah, just Helga G. Pataki, his best friend and someone he's known his entire life.
It hits him, then, that the reason he's so anxious about their relationship is because Helga means so much more to him than anyone he's dated in the past. They have a shared history, an amazing friendship, and the kind of connection only read about in books.
Arnold's terrified of screwing this up, because screwing up means ruining the great thing they have and destroying the greater thing they could have.
Another anchoring squeeze of his fingers stops his spiraling thoughts in their tracks, and he refocuses on the steady girl in front of him and thinks.
Just Helga, his grade-school bully. Just Helga, who he could always count on to have his back even when they were ateach other's throats. Just Helga, who took care of him that one time he got food poisoning because he'd been alone and hadn't even complained when he'd hurled all over her. Just Helga, who'd kept him afloat when his grandparents passed by refusing to let him self-destruct despite his best efforts to.
Just Helga, who's honest even when it hurts to be and steadfast when nothing else is.
Just Helga, who's seen him at his best and his worst, just as he's seen her, and somehow still finds him worthwhile enough to want to be with.
The tension that's been coiled in his spine for hours (days, weeks) bleeds out of him as the reassuring weight of Helga's words finally sink in.
It's going to be okay. They're going to be okay.
Because she's just Helga and he's just Arnold and haven't they already proven to be unstoppable when they work together?
This new, fragile thing between them will flourish as long as they both desire it to.
Arnold doesn't realize he's smiling until Helga pokes the corner of his mouth. She's looking at him with such exasperated fondness that he can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed. He just likes this girl so much and he's so unbelievably lucky that she likes him, too.
"Done being stupid now?" Helga asks, gently swinging their entwined hands to and fro.
"Yeah," Arnold says, sheepish. "Sorry."
"It's no biggie. But let's get a move on 'cause I'm starving and if I don't eat something in the next five minutes I won't be held liable for the person I become."
Despite her words she doesn't pull away, her eyes sharp as glass as they rove over him. Anyone else would have felt uncertain under such a piercing stare but Arnold knows Helga well enough to discern her intentions. She's trying to ascertain that he's really fine because she's always been the type to cross her t's and dot her i's and double-check her work. So Arnold allows her to take her fill until she finds whatever it is she's looking for.
"Alright, let's go," she says a moment later and then licks her lips, and Arnold's eyes drop to her mouth before he forcefully averts them.
He wants to kiss her so badly but it's not the right time. Arnold already ruined his confession with poor timing; he's not about to do the same with their first kiss.
Their entwined hands sway between them as they make their way to their next destination. Arnold's palms are sweaty but Helga doesn't seem to care so he shoves down his self-consciousness and chooses not to, either.
He trusts Helga with so much of himself. He can trust her with his heart, too.
Their first date ends up being perfect. But considering it Helga's he's sharing it with—well, isn't that a given?
Midwinter recess passes in the blink of an eye and quicker than Arnold is prepared for, they're back in school. Their teachers make up for the weeklong reprieve by drowning them in assignments and quizzes, and by the end of their first day back Arnold is seriously contemplating dropping out and joining the circus as a lion tamer. Taming wild beasts seems less menacing than logarithms. Stupid algebra.
"You? A circus?" Helga laughs at him as they make their way through a chaotic hallway to get to the student council room. "Don't kid yourself, hair boy. You'd run screaming the second a clown tried to approach you."
"For the millionth time, I'm not afraid of clowns," Arnold insists. He doesn't like them—and what sane person would, they're damn creepy—but he isn't afraid like Helga seems to think. "And anyways, I'll just join a circus that doesn't have any."
"A circus without clowns?" Helga snorts and spreads her arms wide. "Look around you, Arnold. You're standing in one."
At that exact moment, Ruth McDougal bumps into Arnold and continues on her way without so much as a backwards glance.
"Nevermind. Clown spotted. Run, Arnold, run!"
"Don't be mean," he laughs and delights in the wink Helga sends him. She's always been amused that a guy like him finds her brand of humor so funny.
"Never," Helga promises.
Student council is as hectic as it always is after any length of break, and by the time they've wrapped things up the sky outside has already started to dim. Arnold and Helga woefully decide to stay behind an extra hour to finish homework, and once that's done they hightail it out of there.
"Huh. It's actually not too cold right now," Arnold muses as they step into freedom. "Want to go somewhere?"
Helga thinks about it. "Someplace quiet. I'm not in the mood to deal with other people right now."
"You say that like you ever are."
"Don't make me end you."
A grin tugs at Arnold's mouth as he captures her hand and pulls her towards Hillwood Park.
I love holding her hand, he thinks, and then says it aloud because embarrassment shared is embarrassment halved.
"Ugh, you're such a sap," she grumbles in complaint, just as he expected, and also as expected turns a lovely shade of pink.
It shouldn't be possible to adore someone so much, yet here he is.
The park is deserted just as he figured it would be. They snag an empty bench for themselves under a bare, shivering tree and lean into each for warmth. And then they just talk, about everything and nothing, conversation jumping from one topic to another with little rhyme or reason, and it amazes Arnold that they never seem to run out of things to talk about.
But as much as he loves their ability to gab nonstop, he loves it just as much that they can lapse into silence—as they do now—and there's no pressing need to fill it with chatter. Their silences are as comfortable as their conversations, and not for the first time Arnold marvels at how fortunate he is to have someone like Helga in his life to share both with.
He watches as she tilts her head back and sighs contentedly, her face flushed from the frigid air. His eyes are drawn to the curl of her wind-chafed lips, and Arnold swallows against the sudden desire to lean forward and warm them up.
He's been trying to find the perfect moment to kiss her all week but hasn't been successful. The few occasions the timing had been right enough for it, they'd either been interrupted or he'd chickened out.
But now…now they're alone, and the setting's a bit romantic, and Helga's lips are practically asking to be kissed.
As if she were privy to his thoughts, Helga's eyes flutter open and she catches him staring. Mist pours from her mouth as she slowly exhales, waiting, and Arnold feels his heart gallop as he tilts his face towards her.
He startles when something warm and wet splatters on his forehead, and frowning, reaches up to touch whatever it is.
The sound of Helga's obnoxious cackling fills the air as he stares dumbly at the white smear on his fingers.
"O-oh m-my god," Helga wheezes, slapping her leg. "I c-can't b-b-breathe!"
She's too busy laughing to notice the dark look he sends her.
Grimacing, Arnold wipes the rest of the bird shit off his forehead with his sleeve.
"You m-m-missed a spot!" Helga chortles helpfully. "Oh g-god, I think I'm dying."
A minute ago Arnold had been willing to give up his right arm for a taste of her, and now it's all he can do to not shove her into a snowpile.
"Thanks for the help," he says sourly.
"Oh, c'mere ya big baby," she says, wiping her eyes. She pulls a folded napkin from her pocket and gently dabs at his forehead. "There. Shiny and shit f-free."
She loses it again.
With a roll of his eyes, Arnold snatches the napkin from her and gets up to throw it away.
Helga drives him crazy, but he still wouldn't have her any other way.
Another week passes, and it's absolutely brilliant except for one small thing.
They still haven't kissed.
Which is weird, isn't it?
Gerald and Phoebe were playing tonsil hockey the second Gerald asked her out—and no, Arnold isn't exaggerating; he'd been unfortunate enough to have witnessed the entire event and still hasn't recovered from seeing sweet, mild-mannered Phoebe go absolutely feral and tackle Gerald into a wall—and yet he and Helga haven't shared so much as a peck.
Now, Arnold won't claim that he has much experience in the dating department. He's only casually dated two girls before, but in both cases there'd been at least some kissing after the first date.
That's how it usually happens in the movies, too. So the fact that he and Helga haven't kissed nearly a month into their relationship…
Arnold's trying really hard not to let it worry him.
It helps that he's happy with what they have been doing, and he likes to think Helga is, too. So even if they are moving at a snail's pace compared to other couples…it probably isn't a signifier of something wrong.
But relationship milestones aside, Arnold wants to kiss her just because. And the fact that he's been thwarted at every turn frustrates him. He knows he's being dramatic, but it feels like the universe is conspiring against him. It should not be so difficult to kiss someone—especially someone you spend the majority of your time with.
Arnold wakes up from a rather embarrassing dream one morning with newfound determination in his heart.
Today's the day he's going to kiss Helga G. Pataki and nothing is going to get in his way.
It's a Saturday, and he and Helga already have plans to visit a Sanrio pop-up café uptown. They're accosted by every shade of the color pink imaginable the moment they step into the shop and Arnold doesn't need to look at Helga to know she's fallen in love.
"I never want to leave," she sighs when the waitress deposits hot cocoa and two enormous heart-shaped cupcakes onto the table. He laughs when she wastes no time tearing into hers and reaches across the table to swipe at a lucky dollop of cream at the corner of her mouth.
Instead of retreating, he lets his thumb linger there, his own mouth going dry as Helga's breath catches and she goes still. A hesitant pause, and then she's slowly swaying towards him and onlookers be damned, Arnold knows it's finally time.
Now, he thinks, heartbeat a staccato in his ears. Kiss her now.
There's barely a breath of space between them when he sees Helga frown and lean away. She rubs her mouth, then her throat, and coughs.
"Helga?" Arnold asks, hesitant.
She doesn't answer him—instead snatches the arm of a passing waitress and gestures agitatedly at her half-eaten cupcake.
"Are there strawberries in this?" she demands.
Arnold freezes. Oh no.
The waitress narrows her eyes at her but answers, "Well, yeah. It's the berry-vanilla cupcake. That's pretty much a given, isn't it?"
"I asked for cherry-vanilla—not—not—"
"Stop talking," Arnold urges, already on his feet. He doesn't pay attention to his chair as it clatters to the floor and barely registers the fact that everyone in the café is starting to look their way.
Helga lets herself be pulled up, one hand scratching lines into her throat. Already the skin at her face and neck is turning an alarming shade of red.
"We passed a hospital three blocks down—can you make it?"
Helga nods, just once, and Arnold lowers himself to one knee in front of her. She doesn't hesitate to hop onto his back and wrap her long limbs around him.
"Shit. Is she alri—"
He's out the door before he can hear the rest of the sentence, feet heavy on the pavement as he sprints towards a hospital that seems impossibly far away.
"We forgot our coats," he hears Helga rasp into his hair.
"I'll come back for them later," Arnold pants. "They'll hold them for us if they know what's good for them."
"Y-you're so hot when you're a-angry."
A hysterical laugh escapes him despite the fraught situation. Leave it to Helga to crack jokes even while suffering from anaphylactic shock.
Gosh, he loves this girl. The dizzying thought propels him forward even faster.
"Stop talking," he scolds. "Just focus on breathing, alright? We're almost there."
It isn't until the day's ended and Helga is tucked safely into her bed that Arnold remembers his failed objective of the day.
It's undeniable at this point: the universe really does have it out for him.
March storms in with the swiftness of a hurricane—there one moment, gone the next. Between student council responsibilities, an ever-growing mountain of exams and assignments, and trying to squeeze in as much time with Helga and his other friends as possible, Arnold finds that he can barely keep up with it all.
Before he knows it, April is around the corner, and with it Helga's sixteenth birthday.
Helga's parents hand her five-hundred bucks with the caveat that she can either keep the cash or use it to throw a party. Predictably, Helga opts for the first option. Arnold refuses to let her special day go by without some sort of celebration though, so with the help of Phoebe and Olga, he manages to organize a small party at their local bowling alley.
It's a lot of work on top of his already busy schedule, but it's worth it for the way her eyes widen with delight when she sees the vibrant decorations they managed to set up in their little seating area and the cake they'd convinced (begged) the owners of the place to let them bring inside.
"I told you guys not to do anything fancy," she chides them, but it's clear to everyone that she's pleased.
They open presents, sing Happy Birthday to a cringing birthday girl, and cut the cake, and once they've had their fill they split into teams because it's a bowling alley and the best gift anyone can give Helga is the opportunity to thrash someone else.
After a round, Arnold pulls Helga to the side so he can give her his second gift without the prying eyes of their family and friends.
"Here," he says, dropping the messily wrapped package into her hands. "This is for you."
Helga's brow quirks in a way that signals trouble is coming.
"What's this, Arnoldo? A gift you don't want the others to see? You sure it's safe for public viewing?"
"Just open it, Helga," he sighs, ignoring the pulse of heat that spreads in his stomach at her mischievous little grin.
"How could I when it's wrapped so beautifully—"
"Helga."
With a laugh, Helga finally relents in her pestering of him and tears the package open.
Arnold tries not to fidget as paper gives way to an oblong velvet box. Helga pries it open and falters, and it takes work to swallow the sudden swarm of nerves that get lodged in his throat.
"The locket you used to have—it was really important to you, wasn't it? But you gave it up in San Lorenzo to help me. And just…you said you used to keep a picture of me in there, and like, poked fun at yourself over how weird that was but…I think the sentiment is actually pretty romantic? And I don't know, I thought it would be kind of nice if we both had one since we're together now…"
His face burns as he pulls out a sterling silver keychain from the depths of his shirt—an exact replica of the one in the box.
"I'm sorry, I know they're not gold like your original one was but that was a bit outside of my budget. We can replace them later on, though."
He lets the small locket fall to his chest as he closes the scant distance between them and tentatively reaches for the locket Helga's still holding. With gentle fingers he eases the hollow heart open and reveals a tiny picture of the two of them.
"From our first date," he says redundantly, because Helga obviously knows this. The two figures in the photo are wrapped around each other, but whereas the girl is grinning up at the camera, the boy is staring at her, expression full of so much affection that anyone with eyes can see how he feels about her.
Arnold had spent ages trying to find the perfect picture to secure in the locket, and then Helga had confessed to him over the phone one night that she'd loved him since they were kids and Arnold had instantly known which one to choose.
Because Helga deserves this—deserves to know that the boy she's loved for so many years loves her back just as much.
While Helga's never made any indication of it, Arnold knows it must have been agonizing to have carried a one-sided love for so long. He doesn't know if that wound has fully healed but he hopes that this gesture of his affection, this tangible proof, heals whatever hurt may still exist.
Heals, and conveys everything the lockets are meant to represent: his awe of the depths of her feelings for him, his gratitude towards her for remaining by his side despite how painful it must have been, and finally, his vow to never take her love for granted.
Arnold runs a hand through his hair. "Is it too corny?"
"It's—" Helga swallows. "It's so corny."
And yet, the thumb she brushes over the locket is soft and reverent, like she's touching the fragile wing of a butterfly, and when she looks up at Arnold her eyes are shimmering with so much emotion that he feels his own throat tighten in response.
"But corny's kind of your schtick, so I guess I'm used to it by now."
With a wobbly smile she removes the locket from its box and fastens the chain around her neck. The pendant, gleaming brightly under the overhead lights, falls right over her heart. Just like his.
"Thanks, Arnold. Really. I love it."
"And I love you."
The words fall from his lips easily, as if they'd just been lying in wait for the right moment to make themselves known.
It's Arnold's first time saying them out loud but it feels natural to do so now, a comfort born from having thought them a hundred times before.
He feels giddy as Helga's eyes widen. He can practically see the steam wafting from her ears.
"What the hell, Arnold!" Helga splutters, burying her face in her hands. "You can't just—just say that out of nowhere like that!"
Arnold grins at the rare sight of a flustered Helga and steps closer. He delicately draws her hands from her face and is rewarded with the sight of her furious blush.
"I love you," he repeats, because the words—the sentiment—are bubbling inside him with so much force that he thinks he might die if he doesn't let them out.
But also? Because Arnold loves seeing Helga squirm and isn't nice enough to not take advantage of the rare opportunity he's being granted.
Helga doesn't disappoint—she makes a strangled sound and cringes away from him like his words tickle.
She's so ridiculous and Arnold just loves her so damn much.
"Ugh," she grouses, refusing to look at him. "But ditto, I guess."
Arnold beams at her. He knows it of course—Helga's actions have always spoken louder than her words—but it's still nice to hear.
"You're such a dork," she grumbles before claiming his hands with her own. A calloused thumb brushes gently over his knuckles, and then their fingers are twining together and Arnold is reveling in the feeling of rightness that always sweeps through him when they hold hands like this; like they're the last two pieces of a puzzle finally slotting into place.
Helga's eyes are cobalt sea stars under the ceiling lights, and he finds himself lost in them for a blissful moment before his gaze inevitably drops down to the bow of her soft, inviting mouth. He sways forward, filled to the brim with a sudden desperation to see if they're as sweet as they look, and Helga's surprised hitch of breath and his own thudding heartbeat drowns out every other sound in the room.
He shudders as he feels the warmth of her breath against his lips, smells the cloying scent of chocolate still clinging to it, and closes his eyes—
"There you two are!"
They both flinch away from each other as Gerald approaches. His eyes are glued to his phone, and so he doesn't see the venomous glares he's being speared with.
Arnold doesn't consider himself to be a violent guy, but at the moment he'd like nothing more than to strangle his best friend. He'd feel no remorse about it, either.
He doesn't need to ask to know that Helga will help him bury the body. That is, if she doesn't kill him first.
"You've been gone for ages," Gerald continues obliviously. "Olga ordered a bunch of food but won't let any of us touch it without the birthday girl there, so hurry up. You know how rubbery the burgers here get when they've gone cold."
He glances up from his phone, notes their obvious displeasure, and smirks.
"Did I interrupt something?" He sing-songs like the asshole he is.
"Shut your trap, Johannsen," Helga snaps as she untagles their fingers—to Arnold's displeasure. "You'd better count yourself lucky that I'm not reckless enough to murder someone in public."
Gerald just snorts at her.
With an aggrieved sigh, Arnold falls into step beside Helga as the three of them make their way to where the rest of their group is congregated.
He'd been so damn close, and the disappointment of the interrupted moment sits like a stone in his gut.
Universe: 39, Arnold: 0
Their last thwarted kiss weighs heavily on Arnold's mind, to the point that he can think of little else on his trek to Helga's house.
It's the day after Helga's birthday and both her parents have gone to some work event upstate. Privacy is hard to come by for two teenagers still living at home, so Helga doesn't hesitate to invite him over and Arnold's halfway out the door before she even finishes explaining the situation.
Helga's door is wrenched open the instant he presses the ringer and he beams at her, warmed from the inside out by their mutual display of eagerness.
She's still in her jammies—a onesie decorated with tap-dancing strawberries—and Arnold risks his life teasing her about it as she leads him up to her bedroom.
He barely has time to take a cursory sweep of the garishly pink room when a white ball of fluff zooms out from under the bed and into his ankle.
"Hey there, Batista," Arnold croons as the cat Helga had taken in two years ago rubs herself against his leg with an excited caterwaul. Chuckling, Arnold scoops the giant furball up and she immediately starts purring.
"Traitor," Helga tells the cat. "How is he your favorite when I'm the one taking care of you? I should have left you in the box I found you in."
"Helga! You'll hurt her feelings!"
Batista meows sadly as if in agreement.
Helga rolls her eyes at the pair of them and flops onto her bed with a huff.
Arnold follows suit, though more gingerly, and the bed creaks under their combined weight. He tries to set the cat down, but the poor thing just meows piteously up at him with sad blue eyes. Needless to say, Arnold ends up with a lapful of smug cat.
"You're going to spoil her," Helga says, watching him pet her.
"She deserves to be spoiled. Don't you, beautiful girl?"
Meow!
"Ugh, get a room, you two."
Arnold laughs. "Gross, Helga."
He scratches the top of the cat's head, which amps up her blissed-out purring, then turns to the girl at his side.
"I thought you were going to spend the day with Olga. What happened?"
Helga scowls. "Oh, don't even get me started."
They talk for ages. Long enough that Batista eventually gets bored of being pet and squirms out of his hold and into Helga's stomach. Helga pretends to be disgruntled even as she starts playing with her tiny little catpaws.
Eventually Arnold finds himself sitting cross-legged with Helga's head in his lap. She's ranting about something wrestling-related, her usual gesticulations stifled by the cat nestled into her chest. Arnold has no idea what she's talking about but he doesn't mind, content to watch her expressive face shift from one extreme to another.
Right now she's frowning, and there's an adorable line between her brows that his fingers itch to smooth out.
Arnold loves Helga's face. Loves her lurid eyes, her striking brows, the coquettish sweep of her lashes. Loves the scrunch of her nose when she's confused, and the glow of her cheeks when she's feeling bashful, and the way her chin wobbles when she's trying not to laugh.
Loves her mouth—the way it curves when she's pleased or thins when she's angry. The look of it after she's bitten her bottom lip and it turns an arresting shade of red.
Loves the shape of it when she says his name. When she says anything.
Arnold bends without thinking, drawn by the gravity of those mesmerizing lips. Helga goes silent and shifts, tilting her head back, and Arnold closes his eyes and eliminates the terrible space between them.
His first thought when his lips finally make contact is: warm.
His second thought is: hairy.
Arnold slowly opens his eyes to find two feline pupils staring back at him.
Batista hiccoughs as if caught off guard, and that's when Helga completely loses it.
"A-Arnold, you fiend," she cackles, curling her arms around her stomach as she shakes. "Y-you've accosted m-my—"
She breaks off, no longer capable of speech.
Arnold swipes his mouth with his sleeve and wishes the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole.
"You are the actual worst," Arnold says, which just sets her off again.
He folds his arms with a sigh and waits for Helga to get it out of her system. It takes a while—there's a minor setback when Batista turns her tail up at him, peeved for whatever reason, and Helga laughs herself into a coughing fit—but she eventually winds down.
"Criminy. That was the funniest thing I've seen all month," she says, wiping tears from her eyes.
"So glad to have amused you," Arnold grumbles, turning away.
A snicker. "You look absolutely ridiculous pouting like that."
"I'm not pouting," he denies. Because he absolutely isn't.
"Sure you aren't, baby."
Arnold's annoyance mounts, but before he can tell Helga off he feels fingers on the side of his jaw and he's being maneuvered to face her.
And then there's pressure against his mouth—hot, electrifying pressure that shoots sparks down his spine and shorts out all the thoughts in his head.
A beat passes, then two, and Helga leans back and watches him with sparkling eyes and a tricky little grin that Arnold yearns to taste again.
"While it's been hilarious watching you fumble to get to first base—and also really freaking sad—I realized that if I didn't make a move we'd die of old age before we got anywhere. So you're welcome."
It takes a moment for Arnold's brain to start. "Wait. You knew?"
"Obviously, since I'm not an idiot."
Arnold can do nothing but squawk at her.
Helga's eyes crinkle at the corners as she laughs. "Don't be mad. You were cute. And it was funny. Well, until I started getting impatient. Then it wasn't funny anymore."
"I hate that I can't be angry at you," Arnold groans, dropping his face into his hands. "What the hell, Helga. I seriously don't know what to do with you sometimes."
Arnold wants to be upset, but the memory of their first kiss is still too fresh in his mind to cling to negative emotions. He wets his lips and marvels that they're still tingling.
"Y'know, I think I can help you come up with something," Helga says slyly, and before Arnold's brain can parse the meaning of those words, she's kissing him again.
It's soft at first, almost shy, and then hormones kick in and Arnold finds himself on his back with Helga straddled over him.
"What do you think?" she pants as they pause for air. Her lips are swollen and wet and Arnold's stomach grows hotter at the sight of it. "Was it worth the wait?"
"Everything with you always is," Arnold breathes, and he's rewarded for his honesty with a shaky smile and another searing, toe-curling kiss.
"And you?" He murmurs the question into her mouth. "Was it worth the wait for you, too?"
He hears her breath hitch before she curls up next to him, buries her face into his neck, and crushes him against her like she's trying to mold their bodies into one.
"You know you are," she mouths hotly into his skin like a firebrand, and Arnold's heart quivers under the weight of her words.
"I freaking love the hell out of you, Helga G. Pataki."
She mumbles something indiscernible into the underside of his ear, but Arnold understands it all the same.
Still, he can't help but tease her.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Could you say it louder?"
Helga raises her head so he can have the privilege of seeing her scowl.
"Just shut up and kiss me, football head."
With a grin, Arnold does.
The End
A/N: Ahhh writing and posting after a long hiatus is always so nerve-wrecking! *shakes off the rust*
I've always wanted to write a 5-plus-1 fic so this was a super fun experience. I hope ya'll enjoyed it!
As always, comments are super appreciated! Thanks for reading! ❤️
[Edited on 07/08/2023]