Arnold swallowed and caught his breath.

His thoughts, sluggish and dull, barely registered anything past the sight of her stalking out the cafeteria and the soft, lingering scent of her shampoo, something like cola or vanilla coconut. A dim observation followed in the stunned wake of his failed encounter:

God, she smells so good.

Well, you already know that, came a lowly, mental retort that flashed him back to the far more intimate 'waft' he caught after escaping her closet.

Holy shit, shut up.

He took a few deliberate breaths. It was definitely a good thing his bag was already hovering over his front. He couldn't think clearly, before she'd even knocked the wind out of him, when he'd—

Shut UP.

Gathering whatever bearings he could, Arnold re-shouldered his bag. Ignoring the jeering looks he earned, and Gerald's commiserating head-shake, he left the cafeteria too, letting his absent-working legs lead him to math class early.

… … …

He barely heard a thing the whole lesson; unfocused, even on his own thoughts.

Especially his own thoughts.

'I want so much more than—'

No. Nope.

The teacher tapped her fingernails on the dry erase board to emphasize a point she'd made, scanning her gaze across the class. It went in one ear and out the other.

'I want so much—'

Nope.

I…I don't, actually, he asserted, shaking his head slightly as he looked through the equations on the board. Of course I don't.

I'm just horny.

But…you weren't horny when you—

That was just the obsession talking. And it's not like I'd want anything to…actually happen.

…Of course not, he affirmed, keeping his breath measured.

Right.

Doing a double-take when he noticed his hands had clenched into fists, he broke them open, flexing the tension from his fingers.

And…why would he, anyway? He questioned, as harder feelings rose in his chest. She hates you. And is just…awful. Impossible.

Cruel, vindictive, small-minded, nasty, bad-tempered, petty—God, was she petty!

Arnold's lip curled. She doesn't even have a good reason to screwme like this. She's never gone this far!

Christ, maybe he'd been wrong, and she hadn't been getting better over the years—maybe all this time, she was just getting worse.

Before, her worst had merely been difficult, combative—and taking all the fun parts of a project for herself and lording over him. Or, forcing him to bribe her for a shred of compliance. But, nothing like this.

And, speaking of force…

Arnold scowled.

He should've just gone with his last resort, and not given her the journal back until after she'd finished the project with him. Now he was back where he started, and with nothing to show for it.

He scoffed lightly as he ruminated over his reasoning; how he'd backtracked, hoping he wouldn't have to threaten her like that. And, how could his apologies sound sincere if he had? And, God, when he saw her looking like that…in the moment, he'd forgotten everything he'd rehearsed.

He frowned, and facepalmed.

Why didn't he just threaten her anyway, when she hadn't given him any other choice? That was…really stupid, Arnold.

He played that tape forward in his head, rubbed his temples, and sighed.

Even feeling beyond frustrated, incensed, he couldn't deny a truth he'd intuited even before confronting her.

If he'd gone down the path of extorting her cooperation, she'd have been forced to work with a guy she couldn't stand, all while being horrified that he'd actually read her journal, and…that would've been a terrible thing to put her through. And, not only that…

Yeah, she hated him now. But, if he'd gone the hard way, she'd hate him forever.

Angry as he was, he couldn't stand the thought.

…God, though.

His gaze lifted back to the board, eyes narrowing. The fact that she'd be this ridiculous, go this far just to spite him…

And for her to frost him out, even after telling her his situation, how he needed a decent class grade to help him get into a good school nearby, so he could be there for his aging grandparents—the only family he ever really had…

He thought she'd at least get that. At least be decent enough to change her mind. She knew what that was like, to have family but something huge just missing, and how it felt to just live with that.How all he had was them, and after them, he'd…

Arnold barely registered the sting in his palms when his hands balled into fists.

God dammit, Helga!

Brooding into his neglected textbook for the rest of class, it tore him up, how she could've sounded so sweet when he overheard her from her closet, or how vulnerable and struck she looked when he brandished her journal. The very fact that those traits were a part of her but all she gave him was her worst, smoldered his guts all the way to the final bell.

… … …

When he left school that afternoon he was fuming.

Arnold brushed his grandparents and the boarders off when he got back home, stalking straight up the stairs to his attic bedroom while his mind raced down multiple tracks—how he could have done things differently; taken that power back.

Particularly when she pushed him into that wall and got close. Fuck.

He unzipped harshly, hand already on himself when the door firmly shut.

And turned around to brace his arm against its frame and closed his eyes in a stormy grimace—imagination running rampant.

Pressing her up against that wall instead, the cafeteria fading behind them.

Hand fisting in her hair, he wrenched up her skirt as he glared her in the eye and fucked her. Trapped her wrists to his chest and pounded her so hard she tossed her head back and begged, but she knew the price. If she's good, he'll even let her cum. Make her.

Arnold came himself, his groan deep and unrecognizably rough. He panted, catching his breath against the door. Unease speeding his heartbeat, his eyes widened.

…He'd never had such a…forceful fantasy before…

Somewhere in the trove of illicit knowledge he'd amassed over the years, came a term he'd heard but never thought to apply in real life or in fantasy: hate fuck.

He swallowed. The concept definitely didn't elude him now. Or its appeal.

But still, even then, that's, just…no. That's not like him. He could never do that—to anyone.

Arnold walked distractedly toward his bed as he cleaned himself up, brows knit.

And besides, it's not like he actually…hated her.

He rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of it. Maybe he didn't need to.

Like his obsession, the fantasy didn't really mean anything, either. It was just his frustration with her. She'd somehow built this skill of being able to bring out the worst in him in ways others couldn't. For so long he'd been able to just turn the other cheek…but, not all the time. Not anymore.

It makes sense, right? It's just—years of exasperation and abused patience, plus this current situation of his, everything building up and finally culminating in a resentment that just…burned.

It had just… felt good to imagine getting one over on her, he told himself. And it just came out like that.

Arnold bit his lip to the part where she begged in his mind's eye and facepalmed.

So, of course he liked it.

…Come on, though. I mean, really. You shouldn't. And you shouldn't even know what her begging sounds like anyway, you creep, or keep jerking off to what you heard in her closet.

No matter how hot or mad she makes you.

Trembling with a wash of anxious anger he had no place for and what felt like another questionable stain on his person, Arnold brought his math homework downstairs; then threw himself into boarding house repairs and a cold shower, keeping himself occupied and white-knuckled before bed.

… … …

"I didn't know Park was throwing an open mic tonight."

Tucked under the three levels that made up the host's brownstone house was a sparsely used two-car garage, decked out with grungy furniture, snacks and booze. Rhonda and Curly, whose singing voice was actually quite good, were hogging the mic. An unmanned drumset in the corner caught his eye as they came down the stairs and idled through a mass of chatty party-goers.

"Why, were you gonna throwdown a beat? Bust out your old harmonica?" Gerald ribbed, snagging two beers and offering him one with a teasing grin. Arnold, who only came because he was restless and in real need of distraction, took it with a light snort and eyerolled.

"No, that one bit the dust a while ago. I need to buy a new one…"

Arnold shook his head to himself. He didn't want to think of the last time he'd noticed it, its rusted metal perched on the same bookshelf he'd placed Helga's journal before stuffing it in his desk. He popped his can open and downed a bit.

Shit. It was way too easy to be reminded of her…

Gerald's brows shot up in a look of surprised amusement, and Arnold shot him a look right back.

"What?"

"Don't normally see you chug it back, brother."

"...I didn't."

"Uh, check your can."

Arnold did a mild double-take as they grabbed a few spots on a couch. There wasn't even half left.

…Weird. He was normally a slow drinker.

How didn't he even notice?

It wasn't long until the odd duo had finished their duet, and his can was empty.

"Nah, I don't want another," he waved his friend's hand away half-heartedly when offered more. Gerald snorted, unconvinced.

"Oh, I think you want another, buddy."

Arnold shook his head, but took it anyway.

"I just got here. I don't want to get drunk."

"Right, cuz then you might have a good time," Gerald countered with a knowing, crooked half-smile.

Arnold pulled a face. The last time he'd really gotten drunk he'd walked in on more stupidity, blood and hot wax than he could handle at once.

"Doing what, watching Stinky tear off his other nipple?"

Gerald fell back against the couch and cackled.

Arnold paused and watched the twins come out to change sets, hooking a guitar to an old amp and earning some hoots and hollers as they showed off, checking the drums. He frowned and looked away.

"You know that wasn't your fault," his friend eventually replied, pointing over the lid of his can. "You ain't gotta be the babysitter at every party you go to, y'know?"

Arnold gave a light scoff. Gerald returned it with a grin; pestering but disarmingly good-natured.

"Oh, what is it? Whaddya gonna say, huh? 'Somebody has to'?"

Arnold scoffed again, louder, and cocked a brow at him. His best friend shrugged back reasonably and put his palms out, easing off.

"I'm just sayin', man, it's not your circus. You could just relax."

He stilled, his gaze going distant and inward despite himself, toward the things he hoped to avoid most.

Could he?

Scanning across the crowd of people chilling and chattering throughout the garage, he hesitated.

Then, after heaving a sigh of defeated self-debate, popped open his second beer. And, in one go, knocked back as much as he could.

Gerald whistled, and toasted their nearly-emptied cans with a laugh.

"Well, alright!"

It was no time at all before he cracked his third beer open and the twins broke the air with a stripped-down metal cover of something he recognized but couldn't put the name on, and soaked down a buzz.

He'd seen them play before, with Sid and a few others fronting in turns, a kind of live-karaoke where they'd let others come up and scream with their cacophonous backdrop. He absently wondered, half-way down his can, if they were gonna open up the mic this time.

Sure enough, after their crowd-pleaser, they did. To be fair, though, he didn't think anyone was expecting Eugene Horowitz of all people to step up. Oohs, ramping chants and laughter whooped across the garage, and he couldn't help cracking up with the rest.

Eugene's face lit with a timeless, sweet smile, tossed a head nod to the twins, and said, "Uh. Hi, everyone! Can I have your attention, please?" He cleared his throat and gathered his poise, building anticipation as the crowd grew quiet.

The twins raised their hands above their instruments slowly in preparation as Eugene closed his eyes and took a clean, crisp inhale.

And started with a mild speaking voice, before his vocals exploded and the twins shredded their riffs.

"I'm o-KAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!"

Excited shouts and belts of laughter erupted from the crowd. And Arnold, along with Gerald, lost his shit among the rest of them. He gasped to catch his breath, wiping his face clear as he sniffed and shook with hysteric tremors. Oh, my God.

It felt so good to laugh like that.

Eugene, blushing but looking pleased with himself, took a flourishing bow, and passed the mic back to the mop-haired twin, who'd cracked up with approving snickers and shot him a finger-gun as he stepped away, and gave a nod to the crowd.

"Who else feels like screaming tonight?" he asked with a staged deadpan.

There was a pause before anyone else came up, and Arnold nearly choked on the start of his fourth beer when he spotted Helga seemingly out of nowhere through the gaps of bodies in front of him as she cut ahead to the mic.

… … …

Author's Note: So do we think Arnold getting shiftfaced was a good idea or—