He could be slow on the uptake, but there were times his best friend had a way of making his thoughts abundantly clear with nothing more than a look.

Arnold dropped back in his seat at their lunch table after leaving the note in her locker and tried to collect himself, wiping sweaty palms down his pants and failing to curb impulsive glances in her direction. It wasn't until the movement of Gerald crossing his arms caught his periphery that he realized one of those very same looks was being pointed at him.

Arnold stalled, thinking of their drunken exchange on Park's roof as that knowing stare dragged…and swallowed. Heart racing, he cast another glance across the lunchroom at Helga's back meaningfully, brought his gaze back to Gerald, closed his eyes…

And nodded, surrendering the truth at last.

The sound of the one-clap that broke across the table, followed by a series of low cackles, made the firm line of his mouth squirm into something between a wry smirk and a scowl.

"Took you long enough," his buddy teased, dumping his fries in Arnold's ketchup.

Who scoffed.

"You didn't even know until a few days ago!"

Gerald sucked his cheek. "True," he conceded with a good-humored gesture, then grinned. "But I still figured it out before you did."

Arnold rolled his eyes but couldn't help the odd chuckle that bubbled out from the pit of nerves in his gut despite himself.

"'Am I obsessive?'" Gerald parroted his question from a while back, shaking his head with new understanding. "Shit. I mean, honestly? I kinda wondered if maybe you liked someone—spaced the fuck out. But any time you fall for a girl, you become the biggest goddamn sap on the planet, so." He shrugged. "I just figured it was something else. But, shit. The fact that you haven't gone all sappy…" he considered with a slow nod, "...makes sense."

Arnold nodded back lightly. Of course it did. How could he otherwise?

She was Helga.

Arnold's lip quirked with a bitter smile. Then facepalmed, squeezing his eyes shut as the encounter he'd just set in motion—if she showed—launched so many butterflies in his stomach that his throat closed up.

Gerald hummed sympathetically; once twice thrice.

"Well, I do not envy you, brother. I mean, I don't know why you like her—but I know when you like a girl, you are stubborn…"

He scoffed a light laugh of reassurance under his breath as he absently tapped his temple fade.

"But. I mean—you, and her?" he emphasized. "You know that's not going anywhere."

There was a pressure to the pause that built in intensity the longer Arnold didn't respond. He could practically sense his best friend leaning forward in his chair.

"...Right?"

Arnold grimaced, sighed, and squinted between his fingers as his hand slowly slid down his face.

Gerald's eyes went wide.

"Arnold…" he exclaimed under his breath, leaning back as he processed in disbelief. When he spoke again he slowly shook his head with something that resembled pity. "Man…c'mon, man. Shit."

Gerald rubbed his brow like there was tension there, closing his eyes. "Well, you're not dead, so that must mean you haven't done anything stupid…"

Every knot in his stomach twisted until they hurt as the resulting silence stretched between them.

It was broken, when at last, Gerald gave a sharp inhale, and dragged his exasperated, withering gaze back to his friend. Then muttered, 'Oh my God, Arnold, are you for fucking real?' under his breath as he facepalmed.

"Alright. Whaddya do, man?" he asked, his tone laced with worn reluctance.

A beat passed where Arnold's thoughts flooded unhelpfully with all the things he had done that he had no intention of sharing. Gerald didn't need to know the sordid details.

Just liking Helga Pataki was crazy enough.

His response was guarded when he finally answered, omitting much, but the little he shared had Gerald wide-eyed and quiet, particularly when he asked if he could do him a favor.

His best friend hesitated, sniffed, and couldn't seem to decide between nodding and shaking his head, which was clearly spinning. And, if he knew Gerald, was likely putting together a few of the things he left unsaid.

"...You bold, Arnold."

… … …

Though most of their student functions took place in recently built or renovated areas, the highschool itself was quite old, and the use of its most outdated section had been limited to only a few slots a week. And that day, Mr. Reid's classroom was the only one that had been left open in the whole wing.

Until he locked up after the final bell, that is.

Distracting the teacher enough to stop the door from sliding shut all the way after he'd set the lock was a lot easier with Gerald going off on a complicated question about his economics class. He hung back after Mr. Reid finally brushed him off impatiently and left, sticking his hands in his red hoodie as they shared a long look.

Arnold nodded, feeling those butterflies fluttering with a force, that closed thickness in his throat.

Gerald nodded back with a dubious edge that never quite left.

"'Kay, man. S'all yours," he said, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "Dial 911 if she tries to kill you, alright?"

Arnold let out a breathy scoff, but declined to comment.

Truth be told, he might just let her.

They signaled a long-distance version of their special handshake before Gerald shook his head, muttering 'bold ass muthafuckah—' as he walked off.

And, at last, left him standing by the door, alone.

The wing got very little traffic, but not none. He ducked behind the door and drew it nearly all the way shut, closing off the commotion from a nearby wing that echoed down the hallway. Arnold peered through a gap between a poster and the embedded window it covered. He watched as a teacher eventually walked by with their things to leave for the day, slipping their notice, and…

There was a big part of him that still couldn't believe he was doing this.

It was the same part that reminded him that even if she did show up, he could still take this back. In fact, it wasn't too late for him to just leave.

But, anchored deep in the chaos of doubts and anxious thoughts, was a fortified, unmoveable truth that wouldn't budge.

This was the one shot he thought had any actual chance of potentially working, and he couldn't not try. Even if it backfired or, quite frankly, hurt.

In fact, he was too far gone not to try. And what gain he could get…he couldn't pass up. No matter what he thought about it—or tried not to.

Gerald had questioned how he could expect this to work earlier, but he didn't bother correcting his misunderstanding. This wasn't an act of expectation.

He knew better than to expect.

…Still, an odd sensation stole over him as he watched through the gap and waited. Even if this went badly, what did he really have to lose that actually mattered, that, deep down, he already hadn't?

The knowledge lent a strength to him that dulled the butterflies and made it easier to breathe, and focus.

His breath caught, heart pounding when he spotted the movement of her turning the corner down the hall nonetheless.

A silhouette cut from soft and dark edges, she wore a pink tulle skirt under a punk tee and leather jacket, floating in asymmetric layers all the way down to the ankles of her black combat boots.

In stark contrast to the rest of her outfit, its flowing femininity swept him up in a swooning ache; its softness a sore temptation. And, a reminder of what he'd seen of her very own—and knew, for him, was out of reach.

But, resolved and steeling himself through the constriction he felt in his chest, he'd take what he could get.

With that, Arnold turned the handle. Opening the door part way and adjusting his bag, slung over his front surreptitiously, he waited with bated breath, listening to the sound of her boots over the beating of his pulse as she approached.

Her face was unreadable before she stopped a few feet from the door, and paused. He swallowed, keeping his expression as neutral as possible as she sized him up, and looked like she had half a mind to leave without even giving him a chance to speak. Not that he could—despite his commitment to do this, the words wouldn't come.

Her unibrow lifted up past her bangs when he just stood there, clammed up.

"They in there?" she asked with flat impatience, pointing from her hip.

Arnold nodded, keeping himself steady and tight.

"Not yet," he answered, clearing his throat when his voice cracked a bit and returned it willfully to its normal, husky timbre. "You're the first to show."

Arnold heard the leather of her jacket crinkle as she crossed her arms and frowned, thinning her eyes at him. It did nothing for his nerves, but he shrugged in response, keeping it together. And, with deceptively casual head tilt as he gripped the handle in his sweaty palm, he indicated that she join him in the empty classroom while they waited for the others. Unsurprisingly, Helga scoffed, cocking her brow at him like he was an idiot.

And, already in too deep, challenged her with a boost of audacity as he cocked a brow back. "You wanna get kicked out?"

"For what?" she sassed. "Being a student in a hallway?"

"For loitering, obviously," he countered. "There's no reason we should even be in this wing. You think any staff walking by wouldn't find that suspicious?"

She rolled her eyes, gazing off as she considered the truth in what he said during a pause that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise with uncertainty. Until, at last, she leveled him with an unimpressed, no-nonsense glare.

Then sighed.

"This better be good, Shortman."

With that, she pushed past him and into the room, missing the soft gasp he made from her brief proximity as she did, leaving him in the tantalizing wake of what he still swore was a shampoo smell, she didn't seem the type to wear perfume or anything scented; that soft vanilla coconut…cola, something.

He closed his eyes for a second to gather himself. Trembling, he shut the door at last, now locked from the inside.

And, slowly, turned to face the interior of the room as he braced for whatever came next.

Mr. Reid's classroom showed the hallmarks of its age. Double-length, outdated and hung with scroll-down maps and old carpet, even wooden chairs separated from their desks, some of which were free standing along the outer wall in something like a loose circle. Helga dumped her bag and slumped into one of them, crossing her arms and legs as she absently gazed through a broken slit in the closed blinds.

He hesitated, struck by the way the filtered afternoon light cast her in a warm, irresistible haze.

…Seriously, he wondered, heart twisting as he looked at her. How the hell did I ever manage to deny how much I…

Arnold assembled what he could of himself with a set, determined inhale.

Dammit…

This…

This was happening.

Hands balling as they tightened, he came to the other side of the room, lowered his bag, and sat down, leaning forward in a chair facing hers in that loose circle.

They sat silently for a bit as she ignored him.

"I'm actually surprised you even came," he admitted, voice thick as he looked away. "I wasn't sure if you cared enough about the grade to even show."

Helga shrugged.

"Eh," she said, still peering through the slit in the blind. "I could take or leave the grade."

Arnold did a small double-take; genuinely puzzled.

"...Then why're you here?"

She scoffed, and shot her first look at him since she'd entered the room.

"For a laugh," Helga replied with amused derision. "You've sure been falling from grace lately, haven't you, Mr. Integrity?"

Arnold felt his cheeks burn as she finger-quoted, chuckling at his expense.

"I mean, really. First blackmail, now cheating? And roping other dumb saps into cheating while you're at it? Ha! Honestly, I'm just curious to see you try and connive your way outta this one. Man," she snorted, shaking her head as she smirked, casting her gaze through the blinds again. "I'm really putting you through the wringer lately, aren't I?"

Arnold drilled her with the most dead-to-rights stare he'd ever given in his life.

You have no fucking idea.

The quiet that followed was interrupted when he finally cleared his throat.

"Connive, huh?" he replied, voice low. "You'd be surprised."

"Pff," she dismissed. "Yeah, I bet."

Arnold paused. Feeling, acutely, the tremors that'd kept running through him since he dropped the note in her locker earlier that day; and the way his breath wavered.

But his resolve didn't.

Hardening his nerve, he gave his retort.

"You would, because I already have."

Helga frowned, turning to look at him again, quizzically. Arnold bit his lip. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he laced his fingers.

"Like I said in the note, I figured out a way where the both of us can get a good grade in history, without having to work together. But," his stomach clenched, "that's only half the truth."

He held strong as Helga shifted in her seat, expression escalating to something resembling suspicious outrage.

"I switched history classes yesterday. And no," he added for good measure, "no one's coming."

Helga's jaw dropped.

Arnold held firm as her mouth closed and opened again a few times, processing his news incredulously. On a number of levels, he figured; likely wondering what his motive was, the fact that he tricked her, and baffled as to how he managed to pull this off, when students were never allowed to switch anywhere near this late in the semester. He didn't think that'd ever be possible, either.

Then again, desperation could sometimes be the key to insight.

He wasn't the type to typically consider how many strings he could pull at any given time in Hillwood, and certainly not in connection to the principal…But, if you do enough favors for people and also happen to run into some dirt along the way…

You could cash in.

Helga sputtered, gesturing as she gathered herself with frustration.

"…Then WHY," she emphasized harshly, eyes flaring at him, "am I here?"

Arnold swallowed, at a temporary loss for words.

It's not that he didn't have them, or any clue, but, fuck—

This was it.

"Well?" she demanded, throwing her hand out and scoffing in offense at his silence. "Spill it, bucko! What? Are you just fucking with me? Do you want something?"

She shook her head, face twisted with annoyance.

"Are you gonna come at me with another sucky apology in another pathetic attempt to soothe your conscience?...What?"

"I'm not—" he ejected, then paused.

Because he really should.

But, if he was gonna be a sinner begging forgiveness, it wasn't yet.

"That's not why I did this. There's—" his stomach swooped, "...something else."

Helga's eyes fluttered shut, rubbing her temples with indignant disbelief and dwindling patience.

"I. Swear," she ground out, pointing to her left. "If this isn't good, I'm throwing you out that fucking window."

God. Forget the tremors and unsteady breath.

At this point he was just trying not to pant.

His heart hammered.

He took a deep, summoning inhale, gaze trained to the floor, her combat boot tapping with agitation in his periphery.

"...Look," he began, voice shaken, hoarse. "I know what I'm about to say is—crazy. And trust me, I— know you hate me," he added, swallowing around the strain in his throat. "And now that we're not in the same class anymore, and graduation around the corner, this'll…probably be the last time we ever talk, but…There's something that I…have to say..."

He nearly had enough wherewithal to be surprised at her silence, he never pegged her for patience, particularly at a moment like this—but everything building up in him, leading to this moment, flustered him from the bottom up. His voice went quiet, scratched.

"A-and it's, that, I…"

…Fuck.

This was…so much harder than any other confession he'd ever given.

Arnold had known Helga as far back as he could remember, and she'd always held a more prominent role in his life than he ever dared admit, until now. But, things were going to change.

He knew things were going to change, either way, whether he said this or not.

And, shit. Even if he'd had these feelings for her longer than he could even pin down, things…had changed.

He'd changed.

And, dammit, he'd rise up to meet her, and this new self of his. No matter how humiliating.

…Besides.

How many rules for himself had he already broken?

…Yeah, he thought, flaring hot with words he was about to say in his mind.

Maybe I wasn't that kinda guy before.

But I am now.

Arnold leaned even further in his chair as his hands clenched.

Flushed hideously with nerves, he shivered as heat flared through his chest, roasting him up so hot his whole face burned. When he finally dragged his gaze back to hers he couldn't even filter it, smoldering her on the spot with the force of all the raw want for her that he'd always hidden.

Helga was already drawing back in her chair, eyes going wide before he even spoke, words coming breathy and rough from the back of his throat with an intensity he couldn't help.

"I wanna make you come."

… … …

Author's Note: I wonder if Helga will react the way you think ;)

Edit: Also changed locked from outside to inside LMAO to limit any confusion, Arnold wasn't meant to trap her in there with him, he wanted to keep ppl out for privacy... x_x