He hadn't even made it past the threshold when he'd unzipped himself, his cock free by the time his back fell against his bedroom door and slammed it shut. He stood there, head hung from his shoulders as he beat himself off. And, already losing his breath in a flushed haze, took out his phone with his other hand. He didn't even care anymore. Fuck it.

He had to see her. So bad.

Arnold misplaced his last few yearbooks, and Helga didn't have social media—or at least, any accounts he knew of.

But Phoebe did.

And, breaking one of the few rules he had left, Arnold scoured through her photos to hunt for any he could find Helga in.

He released a hiss of heated satisfaction when he finally did.

His first decent find was a candid, her hair tousled. The harsh light, casting a shadow under her unibrow in a way that make her dark-rimmed eyes look smoky, had him nearly groaning through his bitten lip when he jerked himself off; at how hot she was, and at finally being able to just—freely look at her.

And though he'd had so many moments he'd craved her rarer, softer side, there was a tough edge to her that called to the part of him that still wanted a fight, that was still mad, and God.

He imagined how she'd have looked when she pleasured herself, matching her features to the sounds he'd heard. That long, lithe body of hers on the bed, with her legs pulled back and her hands reaching down, rubbing her clit and thrusting that toy in and out of her as she moaned.

Closing his eyes and cursing under his breath, he threw his head back—against all the pangs to decency he felt, to doing the right thing—and said fuck it to guilt, surrendering to a fantasy where he could own the ugly wants he also had.

Indulging the buried part of him that wished he could be back in her room at that moment. How badly he wished he couldn't just hear her again, but watch.

The same part of him that burst out of her closet in his mind's eye and threw her back on the bed. Smothered her embarrassed, outraged shock with a dominating kiss she at first resisted, yet eventually returned; fighting him back with one of her own, rough and demanding as she twisted under him.

But his demand is greater, and he would not let her win.

Every movement between them was sought for power, until he finally pinned her down, grabbing her toy. And, stunning her hot-cheeked and speechless, licked an obscene path across its soiled length with an open smirk at her mortified expense.

The blush never left her face. And, she still couldn't find any words to say, until he'd pushed her down and fucked her into a begging, sobbing mess.

Good sobs.

"Fuck, Helga…"

Arnold knew there was no way he could stop himself from cumming when he imagined her coming undone, and came himself, grunting harshly through his teeth as he buckled against the door.

Fuck…

He'd only just caught his breath as he hung back on the frame to recover, but he was already shaking his head at himself.

You know it'd never be like that…

He wiped his hand down his jeans and stripped out of them, along with the rest of his work clothes. He staggered toward his bed with a kind of exhaustion that went well beyond a killer orgasm.

Even if you didn't spring out of a closet after eavesdropping on her like a creep, she'd never take any kind of advance from you that well. And not just because she's such a spitfire.

She hates your guts.

…Shit, though, he mused anyway, looking through his skylight as he laid out on the comforter. If she didn't, would she be the type to like it rough when she got mad...?

A beat passed, the hunter green of his eyes darkening as he looked through the glass.

I can get her mad…

He shook his head a moment later, shoving the thought to the back of his mind.

You already have. Not helpful. And, besides…it's not like you could be so rough to begin with.

You're just not that kind of guy.

And, he had a point. Understanding and considerate, and not without some shyness on his part, he'd always been the gentle type with the few girls he'd been involved with. Though it came with a mounting frustration that definitely taxed him at this point, he'd fallen into the role of Mr. Let's Take It Slow, and seemed to attract nice girls, (he'd always liked nice girls) who were comforted by his patience.

Still.

For a girl like Helga…?

Arnold shifted on the bed, closing his eyes as he bit his lip. Damn. He just came a few minutes ago, and she was already stirring him up…

He caught himself, and rolled his eyes.

Christ, though. Come on.

Honestly? Seriously?

It's sick of you to want a girl this bad who hates you this much.

And doesn't just hate you, but, I mean... Jesus, he facepalmed. You're actually falling for your old bully, for Christ's sake. And she's still making your life hell!

And for the love of God, I can't understand why the hell I'm so crazy about her in the first place…

There's no question that I want her, but…I'm not so shallow that I'd only want her, for…

Arnold frowned at the path of his unfinished thought, knowing full well where it would go…then went wide-eyed with realization.

Rubbing his temples, he boggled at the fact that she'd not only taken his sanity…but, if she wanted it, he'd absolutely let her take his virginity, too. God.

He couldn't believe he could just—tell that, about himself. But, when he looked inside, deep down…

He so would.

And that…was insane.

"What, the fuck…"

…What was wrong with him?

"That would be…" he muttered slowly to himself, "honestly horrible, if that happened. If you gave yourself up for a girl like that…And you'd have to, what? Just watch her walk away after, like you don't matter? And, of course she would…You're not the kinda guy who could just do that, even if she didn't hate you. You're a—you're a romantic, and…God, it makes no sense, but I…"

He facepalmed.

"...I actually, really like her…"

A moment passed.

Arnold turned on his side toward the wall, his face set in a crumpled scowl.

This problem of his—all of it, brought to mind all the people who'd come to him for advice who'd found themselves in situations he thought were pretty ridiculous, but would help them all the same.

It was with no small amount of bitter irony when he reflected on the fact that he couldn't seem to do the same for himself.

Instead, he went down a rabbit hole he knew was a waste of his time, but couldn't resist all the same:

What if she didn't hate him?

Arnold crossed his arms, and considered the bittersweet path of things if she didn't.

…What would that even look like?

With an aching pit in his chest, he sulked into his pillow, admitting that he already knew.

It was easy for people, as they often did, to pin Helga down to simply being, well, in their words…

A bitch.

And yeah, he'd agree there was some truth to that—or at least she could be. And definitely was to him, he granted, feeling his indignation rising again. But…

He sighed.

The truth was, as easy as it was to reduce her down to her worst at times, there was so much more to her than that.

And he knew—he'd always known, underneath it all, that she really wasn't so bad. In fact, she could be pretty generous at times, though she usually played it up as an afterthought, or an inconvenience you owed her for.

He sighed again, the memory of him uncovering her secret identity and working with her to save the neighborhood as kids surfacing as it often did, and what she'd given up and even risked, no matter how she denied it.

Sometimes, when you'd least expect it, she was selfless, and just…

No, Helga wasn't what you'd typically consider nice. Even when she was civil.

…But, there was more than just nice.

Candace had been nice. And so many of the other people he'd dated, crushed on, or just gotten to know. But of the harder truths he'd learned over the years, one of them stuck out, particularly after his last ex.

Just because someone's nice doesn't mean that they're kind.

And, even if she didn't always act like it, particularly lately; deep down…Helga was.

She was there for him on the docks one afternoon when everyone else had stopped asking if he was alright after Abner died. He was a gift from his parents, one of the few connections he had to them, and it just…hit harder than he'd ever expected.

A few months later, he'd heard his parents' best friend, Eduardo, had slipped into a coma and died after a freak accident in San Lorenzo. And it'd happened just a week before he got the chance to finally meet him, maybe learn more about his parents...Helga found him on a park bench and just…stayed. Just let him be upset, and quiet. And when he finally opened up, she listened.

And those weren't the only times she'd been there for him. She'd done it since they were kids, and always when he'd least expect it. That summer out in Cape Cod…when he'd lost his old hat…

Somewhere, underneath everything about her that made her so unpleasant and infuriating, she was a good person. She always had been.

And…he missed seeing that. He missed her...

So much…

Arnold clenched his eyes shut, swallowing around the thickness in his throat all the way down to the hollowness forming in his chest.

Even the quips they shared back and forth, how they escalated over the years. He couldn't believe he'd just taken them for granted. Sure, she could be obnoxious, and there were times he got so swept up in their banter that all he wanted to do was shake her until she listened to reason, but…

He missed that, too.

And, honestly…

Even though she'd always been rough around the edges, once she'd quit bullying him all the time, sometimes it was actually…kind of fun, having her as an 'adversary." A sort-of friend; brilliant and creative, but with a chip on her shoulder. Who kind of just…got him, in ways others didn't since they were just kids. And there were never really any other girls he could tease back like that, and—

"Holy shit," he actually said aloud to himself, eyes widening, "...I didn't even do that with my exes…"

Wow.

…How long had he liked her?

Arnold shifted position, looking once again through his skylight. Thick clouds today. His brow furrowed as he tried puzzling back…

And hit a few blocks.

When he shared his I love you's in the past, he'd meant them, at the time. It was so easy to say you love someone when you're just a kid, and over time he'd stopped throwing that word around so freely.

Or so he thought.

It had been…oddly easy, getting dumped by Candace, in comparison to his other exes. Like something had worn down enough that eventually what they had just dissolved, their relationship meeting an unfortunate, yet natural end. Still, it'd definitely given him a lot of pause.

Wasn't he so sure he loved her before…?

After that, he made a choice to really slow down, and not be so hasty with that word…Looking back, he knew he'd definitely had feelings for Candace. But, he wasn't sure he was ever really in love with her.

Either way.

As much as he'd like to say he'd only started having feelings for Helga since that incident at her place…he had this suspicion he couldn't place, somehow, that he likely had them well before that. But, he hadn't let himself see it…

Because she's Helga.

Arnold frowned, thinning his gaze through the glare on his ceiling as the moment stretched, until his thoughts eventually drifted back to the cabin, when so much had just…changed. And, he figured, when it became too late for things to be any different.

He wondered, on that note, what could have happened if he'd just apologized to her in private like he originally wanted to instead.

His eyes slid shut as he slipped into another fantasy, this time of him taking her back to the room he had shared with Candace that night, and offering his apology in there. And saying more—what he now wished he had.

The expression on Helga's face when he entered the main room, just before he'd made his apology—instead of watching it harden in front of company, she softened to him in private. Making that wide-eyed look she sometimes made when she was taken off-guard. Almost vulnerable.

Just thinking about it caused a warmth to bloom in his chest… In the fantasy he reached out to cradle her jaw, and—

Not that you'd have ever cheated on Candace, came the mental rebuke, but he pushed it aside. Of course he wouldn't've…But, he figured, it didn't matter.

And so, he allowed fantasy him to step close, tilt her chin, and brushed his lips over hers in a kiss.

Arnold closed his eyes, brows knit as he imagined kissing her softly like that. He never had, and his breath deepened into that feeling behind his sternum, making it tender and ache.

He wanted more than anything to just kiss her like that…

The heat of his palm pressed over his stomach as the daydream went on—his kisses growing longer, hands smoothing up her arms, pulling back to murmur how he really felt. Each touch another unspoken apology and reassurance, a comfort. Whether she needed it from him or not, she was soft back, and sighed as his kisses moved to her ear, down her throat, her breasts as he nipped at their peaks, over her shirt, and lower. He imagined her breathy shudders, the grip of her fingers in his hair, as he pushed her back against the dresser, kneeled to the floor, and planted a warm kiss between her thighs.

God, yes, he thought, sliding his very real hand down to stroke his hardened cock as daydream-him pulled the fabric of her pajama shorts aside and covered her down there with another kiss; one that was wetter, lingering and deep.

His tongue swelled to the roof of his mouth as his mind overflowed with thoughts of tasting her; tossing his head back with a low groan as they pushed him over the edge.

God damn…

He panted as he came back down.

And down, he went.

An unexpected wash of melancholy left him feeling blue and burdened in a tainted afterglow.

The comedown from such an intimate fantasy was somehow so much worse than the aggressive ones he'd had, and he thought he knew why…

The ones where he took control and fucked her hard satisfied baser needs, instead of tugging at heart-strings with what he knew couldn't be. And…even if it were possible at some point…anything even remotely resembling that would be impossible now.

He let himself fall back on the mattress like his body was made of lead. Then wiped himself off, shut his eyes…

And just laid there.

"It's just...not in the cards," he uttered to himself, his tone low in his throat.

Despondent.

"You're still just…falling for a fantasy. You know you won't get what you actually want."

Arnold opened his eyes to the skylight again, his face cast in the shade as he felt that hollowness in his chest come back with a force.

"It'll never work out with her..."

Under the shadow of the clouds, he didn't move for a long spell.

Eventually pushing himself up, he lingered on the bed before slowly crossing the length of his old, eclectic carpet to his desk. He hesitated, and opened the drawer.

And just stood there, staring down at his sketchbook.

He dragged it out at last, paced back to the other side of the room, and sat cross-legged on his bed.

Pulling a charcoal pencil out of the ring loops and flipping to a blank section, he finally drew her.

In the span of an hour he'd rehydrated, downing the bottle of water he'd left on his bookshelf and nearly filled a spread of two pages. Drawing from memory, from Phoebe's social media, to his best attempts to recreate that rare, unguarded look of hers that stole his attention more than he ever admitted.

The weight of all the things he'd run from turning out to be true sank him down to the point where he felt unmoveable.

That it wasn't just some obsession.

That he liked her. A lot.

That he'd liked her for a while.

That he'd somehow fallen for a girl who could be such a torment.

Was.

And who wanted someone else so bad that she wouldn't even bother to look his way—even if she could stand him.

And, once they graduated, she probably would leave.

And it'd be just him, with all his feelings, and with nothing to show for it.

God…

No wonder she hurt to draw.

And yet he didn't let up; every mark felt like another word in a long goodbye he couldn't bring himself to stop saying; stalling for more time. Something.

I just want her so much—

And that's just too bad. You…need to drop this.

Right. Like I haven't been fighting this every day for like a month now. It's not working.

Well, you still need to.

I know, and I can't stand it! And, dammit, it doesn't feel right. There's never been a girl I liked that I didn't at least TRY to—

Quit while you're ahead. You know you'd be barking up the wrong tree.

…And what if I don't?

Then you'll just suffer. Look, you can't woo her, alright? She doesn't want you. At all.

…Yeah… But, you know…

I could—

You wouldn't.

Don't even pretend you would.

You have never, ever been that kind of guy.

…

Just keep a line in the sand for once.

Okay?

For a long moment he went quiet inside.

Absently, out of habit, he picked up his phone. He watched himself scroll thoughtlessly past a series of science project photos, until he caught something that made his eyes widen, doubling back.

He paused on a selfie Phoebe had taken at the beach—last summer, he guessed, with Helga beside her in a bikini top and swim trunks, her hair catching like gold in the sun. It caught his breath. Seriously…how didn't I notice her before…?

…No, he corrected himself. You had noticed.

You just always shut it down. And it's obvious why, he thought, his mouth set in a firm frown.

Again, because she's Helga.

And just like everyone else—even those gym class assholes, you'd summed her up with all the traits you couldn't stand, even though you knew better, and refused to really look.

…Why else would you have said that shit at the cabin?

Arnold facepalmed, and shook his head at himself.

When he opened his eyes again they trailed the shadowed curve from her tapered waist downward, a feature she rarely showed that drove him nuts, pronounced as she jutted out her hip with disinterest.

…And, of course, the first time he saw it came to mind.

And, just like that, despite the dolefulness that drained him, he was already beginning to stir, and harden again.

This time he didn't resist giving into inspiration.

Eyes half-lidded and biting his lip, he flipped to a clean page, and drew the shape of Helga's long silhouette that burned into his mind since he caught her standing irritable and naked in the hallway.

So. Gorgeous.

Filling in the private features he recalled, his other hand was already on himself before he'd even thought to put it there.

The memory of the sounds he'd heard through her closet door were already undoing him, despite the twinge of guilt he still felt; unable to stop himself from jerking off to the spoils of a privacy he'd never intended to violate, but reaped just the same.

'Ugh! God, I need you so fucking bad…'

He closed his eyes, trying but struggling to imagine those words being for him, even just to pretend, when he knew they'd never be.

Even if she didn't despise him or want that other guy, that asshole, she still wouldn't have wanted anything to do with him, if she'd ever found out what he'd done.

…And everything he still wanted to do.

God, be bargained, licking his lip. Maybe he really could just—

No. Cut it out, come on.

You're not like that, and especially not toward a girl you actually like. The aftermath of that would just—it would be terrible. Even if it went well.

You know that.

And just because you're crazy about her doesn't mean what she's done is okay—doesn't mean you're still not mad. And you have every right to be. And…doing that would be, so…

Humiliating.

Pathetic.

And, despite the ways he'd let himself down lately, he liked to think he had more self-respect than what his thoughts kept tempting…

He swallowed and leaned forward, bracing his weight on his hand as he jerked himself off to the indecent chorus of sounds she'd made while he hid and roasted alive in her closet.

The words she'd begged that broke him ever since.

'I need you to FUCK me...'

The harder he beat his cock, the more he was willing to ignore his inner protests, to do whatever it'd take to be with her at all. Whatever would work, even if she never liked him.

He'd had so many moments when he'd wished he could've taken it all back and never gone to her house in the first place.

Even fleeting seconds when he half-wished he'd jumped out her window, or let her kill him in the hallway instead. And he'd gotten chills so many times, over how close he'd been to getting caught, and couldn't believe luck that he hadn't.

But he'd never fantasized a scenario that came after she opened the door on him in his mind's eye; a deer in headlights caught flushed and with his cum splattered all over her closet. Knowing what he'd done, and over her, in an instant as she loomed over him, naked and tall:

Helga smirked.

Breaking into a series of soft, derisive chuckles at his expense, as she saw right through him.

Knowing he was a joke. And, tugging him by the collar into the room to indulge her at her mercy, one she was amused enough to play.

And Arnold, for all his romantic idealism, self-worth and years of frustration, found himself led willingly to her bed…

And let her.

Hand clawed in the sheets, a groan tore through him as he fell forward, cumming powerfully at the thought.

Unable to do more than pant for a bit, he sagged, heavy yet lightheaded. When he finally pulled back to sit properly again in a haze, feeling sluggish and dumb from his orgasm, he stopped.

And stared.

Arnold Shortman, who'd been in some scandalous circumstances lately, but wasn't a pervert or anything, thank you, had actually cummed into his sketchbook. On his drawing.

Of naked Helga.

While he fantasized about turning his back on any dignity he had left and completely debasing himself for her.

His gears shorted.

Out of all the things that could've risen to the top of his thoughts, came a saying his best friend muttered about him more than once, but he'd dismissed every time he'd overheard it.

'There goes a sick boy.'

…Holy shit.

Gerald was right.

Totally right.

And he wanted to deny it, could feel every urge to, but every time the impulse bid his attention it just came to the surface and died.

I'm not that kind of guy…?

How could he say that?

Shit!

Whoever he used to be, who he was now was a guy who'd broken into a girl's bedroom, splattered his cum all over her closet while listening to her masturbate, jerked himself off so much obsessing over her that he actually injured his dick… stole her journal—jerked off over the fact that if he decided to he could just read it—and now he'd just jizzed all over his own drawings of her, while fantasizing about humiliating himself even further, just for a chance to be with a girl who couldn't stand him.

…How?!

How could he do all this?! It was—just—

He was completely unrecognizable!

And—fuck!

All he did was be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and somehow it just changed him, his want for her so strong it made him something else.

And she didn't even have to lift a finger to do it.

Arnold wiped his mouth, his flushed face—buried his head in his hands while taking deep, heavy breaths.

Oh, my god…

…I am so fucked.

I am, so…

He sniffed, wiping at his face again and failing to steady his breath as his thoughts swirled. What would he do about her, about himself—and about his grades? Fuck. He didn't know what to do…

…But he had to do something.

… … …

When he finally came up with the first part of his plan, he wondered if he'd just been too distracted to really think straight and figure it out before. But when he pulled it off at the end of school on the next day without a hitch, he realized that the difference between then and now, was that he hadn't felt truly desperate yet.

And at this point, he didn't even care if he'd regret it.

A week before the project was due, and blocked on her phone since that winter, he dropped a handwritten note in Helga's locker the next day during lunch.

…

I've figured out a way we can both get a good grade on the project without working together. But, it would involve a few other people who also want to switch, and some cheating. If you're interested, we're meeting in Mr. Reid's classroom after he leaves.