Only a few scant seconds passed.

But in that horrible, time-slowing stretch, every single pounding beat of his pulse collapsed the space in his chest until it crushed its pressure around his heart.

He hadn't even noticed when his fingers fell out of her. But, when Arnold flashed a look of betrayal down at his slicked hand, he recoiled; a joyous, explicit, intoxicating sight he'd longed for turning traitorous in an instant.

Arnold wiped her juices off his hand and onto his jeans in a horrified reflex; ashamed and unworthy of having them on his person in the first place.

Oh my God, I

I can't believe I made her cry.

Helga, cry.

I—

"God, Helga—are you okay?"

Arnold rushed forward, unable to stop himself from cradling the sides of her face as she turned away. His gut sucked into the gnawing, painful pit growing in his stomach as she sniffled and shook.

His voice cracked as he blinked away the burning sting in his eyes.

"Did I hurt you…?"

Trembling along with her, he waited in wrenching anguish until she let out an airy shudder, and gave the shortest shake of her head: No.

Arnold took a big, swooping gulp of air in relief, but churned with unease when she didn't relent; caressing her hair through her series of chopped, shivering whimpers.

He fought the soaring urge to enfold her in his arms and pepper her forehead in kisses—and felt such burning contempt for himself, for ever finding the girl hiding her tears in front of him to be such a threat.

"Helga, what do you need?" he asked quietly, nearly nuzzling her in his earnestness. "What's wrong?"

He watched with bated breath as she shook her head again, slowly at first…

Then gasped when her hands flew out, smacking him back.

He staggered, finding his footing and nearly losing it again at the sound she made; a harsh, broken cackle.

Helga swiped ruthlessly at her wet cheeks and threw her hands out, at the end of whatever wits he'd apparently left her with.

"W-what's wrong?" she repeated, the laugh in her reply hiccupped and mirthless as she grinned and kept her glistening eyes averted, before covering her face again, red and puffy from crying.

"I'm…half-naked and com—completely losing my ass in fr—ont of y-you, that's what."

Arnold's mouth fell open.

Of course she'd deflect, he thought, shaking his head at himself for even expecting a straight answer.

He stalled a few seconds, suffering in the powerlessness he felt, in not knowing, and therefore, being unable to give her whatever it was she needed most in that moment.

—And could he even push for that knowledge? Hadn't he forfeited that right? He felt like he had. And, she…

Hated being vulnerable. He figured just being seen like this, for Helga, had to be torture enough. Hell.

It was torture for him, to see it… Helga, crying…

Because he'd made her.

He shook his head, fighting everything inside him that wanted to cradle her to him again and pry anyway, so he could just fix things. So badly.

But… even if he knew what she needed, how could she accept it from him, anyway?

Why would she?

He'd fucked up. A lot.

And was sure, as his heart wrenched from the sounds of her choked, whimpering breath as her shoulders shook… that he'd fucked up more than he even knew.

...You idiot.

How the hell could you have trusted yourself to do this?

Arnold sank into a kneel on the carpet, head hung as he ground his fist to his brow, and heaved a sigh.

…You are such an asshole.

"God, Helga, I am…so sorry," he croaked; swallowing. "I should've—checked in with you more, instead of getting, so…"

His teeth grit at the sounds he'd caused, of her sniffling—of the sounds she tried to smother.

"The last thing I ever wanted was for this to—be too much, or be anything, that would…"

…Hurt you.

In any way.

Arnold facepalmed, feeling like his words amounted to nothing as they scratched their way through his closing throat.

"I just… wanted to make you feel good..."

All he heard for a moment was the stutter of her breathing start to slow…

And then that broken chuckle of hers came back, darkly, as she cast of her retort with a harsh sniff.

"Yeah, I bet you say that to all the girls…"

Arnold paused, gears stalling.

He looked up at her in a double-take, his hand dropping absently.

"...What?"

The potential implications of her saying that clogged up his thoughts all at once, baffling him—particularly the notion that she could have possibly been upsetat the idea of not being the only girl he'd done this with…

He just couldn't reconcile that with everything else he knew about her.

"Oh, cut the shit," Helga snapped, her red-sore eyes blazing his train of thought to ash.

He watched, dumbstruck as she shifted in her chair; shoulders twisting like she was rearing to strike.

"This all just a, 'I'm such a GOOD guy,' kinda thing for you?" she snarked, gestures condescending and sharp. "Does it stroke your ego, getting offon providing such a 'selfless' act?"

His eyes blew wide at her words, cutting him apart before he could even shake his head back to deny them.

"I bet it does wonders for your conscience, when you can't fix shit!"

His jaw dropped.

And just stared, rendered speechless.

"So," Helga spat, wiping her flushed-wet face. "Feel better now?"

Arnold shook his head.

He felt the furthest thing from better.

Feelings of bewilderment and outrage scrambled for words to correct and defend himself as he reeled in the stunned wake of her accusations, but their demand for rebuttal was extinguished by the thick wash of mortification that doused him.

Just because she had this—twisted view of him, didn't mean she hadn't touched on a truth that he'd concealed.

…He hadn't been honest with her about his motives.

And, as for the rest… God.

While it made him sick to think there was even more truth in the damning things she'd said (and with a queasy conviction, told himself there wasn't) as he caught the fresh tears still trailing down her flushed cheeks before she recoiled away again and shivered, he circled back to his unanswered question.

…Why was she crying?

Everything she'd just thrown at him to try and take him down, did nothing to explain herself.

So, with difficulty, Arnold dragged his spinning thoughts and harder feelings to that singular point, and focused.

Was she just…angry?

…No, not just, he surmised. Because that's nothing different. Of course she'd still be angry at him. So…

…Maybe she was angry at herself? Feeling like she'd given in to a guy she hated? Instead of…

He swallowed his own bitterness back, pushing to finish the thought.

…Instead of the guy she loved?

Humiliated, for it…?

He tried parsing through the her rationale, through the fact that she could even consider that he'd operate that way… and wondered if she'd even framed the offer he gave as a chance for her to use him instead, as he'd intended.

…Did she feel used? Like she let herself be…?

His stomach sank.

'I bet it does wonders for your conscience, when you can't fix shit!'

…Idiot, he chided himself.

Of course she wouldn't take his offer in good faith. No matter how good it seemed—or how good he'd made on it.

She wouldn't feel any differently… about who she thought he was…

Though far from a novel concept, its weight dropped his stomach even further, below guilt, shame, or heartache—and down to darker, roiling depths. His breath picked up as he ruminated, her attack ringing fresh in his mind; their words exchanged in the cafeteria, at the lockers…

And at the cabin.

He slowly shook his head as he arrived at something he hadn't realized he'd even pushed away.

Actions spoke louder than words, but… Helga would always find all the ways and means to not listen to him… wouldn't she?

…She'll never see you differently…

Just worse.

Circling around that unwanted, unfair reality in his mind, he felt something inside of him shift.

And he just… knew.

Knew that whether she never stopped hating him or not, that no matter what he said, or did, that her stubbornness and cynicism would never let her truly believe that he actually loved her.

Arnold's eyes blew wide.

…He'd never even articulated the thought before that he had.

He breathed, those clashing insights churning up something fierce inside him, expanding his chest.

Arnold cut out a wry scoff and thinned his stare on her, seeing beyond the miserable state of things and into a bigger picture that fouled him up even further.

The irony that he'd been ready for her to humiliate him over the truth, but took such offense to her trying to humiliate him for things that weren't, wasn't lost on him. And of course, what denial she'd surely pit against his true feelings did nothing to make their concealment a matter of self-preservation any less.

So, hell, no. He wouldn't tell her.

…But.

There were things she'd said that still demanded an answer, demanded correcting, and he'd poured too much of himself into her to back down.

So he raised up from the floor, and stood his ground; projecting a rough, honest force he didn't hold back.

"I think you can't stand to hear me say I'm sorry again. So, I won't."

Arnold let his words hang while she just breathed, shakily, and kept him out of sight. That expansive ache in his chest pained, nearly clamming him up,but he didn't relent.

"I know I'm not some goodie little two-shoes," he added, jabbing himself in the chest. "...But I don't just do this with other girls."

Arnold scowled in exasperation when she wouldn't acknowledge his reply in the slightest—that feeling inside of him hardening, no matter what tenderness floundered around it.

Whether she believed him or not, he'd set the record straight.

"And I haven't been—making you come in order to apologize," he fumed with disgust at the very concept. "I've been making you come because I want to. And, yeah—"

He threw out his hands, bracing himself before the plunge of even more self-exposure.

"It is a thing for me, alright? Because lately? You've been—"

His stomach clenched, warning against his tone, against him being too honest, and even more of an asshole...

Fuck.

"...On my mind, constantly with this… goddamn assignment."

The weight of every other unspoken truth flagged red in his mind; while not untrue, the statement omitted so much that he might as well have lied.

Nearly short-winded as his next words seemed to summon themselves, he closed his eyes, letting his cheeks burn.

"And I… loved… doing it."

And… God, it broke his heart that she felt like this now, instead of how badly he wanted her to feel… how he'd sworn he'd made her feel...

Helga gave a sniffled, dismissive scoff; expression utterly contemptuous as she shook her head and refused to even look him in the eye.

The words to form his retort dried up, however, when her jaw unexpectedly dropped, her sore baby-blues blowing wide.

Arnold followed the direction of her stare in confusion, and looked down.

…Oh my fucking GOD—

His flannel, wrapped around his waist, had shifted, completely exposing the glaringly large, wet trail down his jeans from when he'd unloaded in them earlier.

His insides somersaulted.

And he—oh my God, realized in a rush that she not only saw, but couldn't believe he was about to—needed to—correct the presumption she no doubt had, that he'd just been talking to her this whole time after apparently whizzing all over himself—

"...Yeah!" his voice cracked high, fists yanking his cowlicked hair in flustered disbelief as he owned it— "Yeah! In fact, I—"

Oh my God—

"Love eating you out so much I actually…came—"

KILL me.

"—In my own goddamn pants, without even…"

A weird, wild laugh danced out his throat.

"...Touching myself. Alright? Because that's," he threw his hands out, still unable to look anywhere but his soiled crotch,"just—how much I love it."

Great, came the thought, on top of everything else. Now she knows I came in my own fucking pants.

...And it's because I actually told her!

His head rolled back to the ceiling in humiliation.

And clenched his eyes shut as he just—breathed; trying his damndest to outlive the moment as it burned him up.

At least I can't hear her crying anymore, he figured; though it didn't bring much comfort. He couldn't hear her laugh for that matter, either—but knew that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Either way.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Untying his flannel and re-tying it, roughly, he just let himself suffer in silent exposure.

Until, at last, he heaved a resigned sigh, voice going soft despite his nerves.

"...I meant what I said, before we stopped. That I could just… do that, with you," he shook his head. "All day."

He didn't know what to expect.

But, it wasn't the shaky bristle in her voice when she finally breathed her reply back, after an unsettling pause.

"Yeah, Arnold.You're a pervert, a player and apussy hound. Got it."

…Christ.

Even if she'd never accept his feelings, why can't she just believe that he liked doing this so much, because he wanted to do it with her?

Just her?

"Don't you think if I did this with other girls all the time, that I'd have a rep for it?" came his drained reply.

…No comeback for once, he thought mildly, after a few moments. Nevertheless.

Arnold just let himself hang in the silence that lingered after.

He had no idea how this would end; or what, if anything, could be salvaged—or if… if anything should be… It was hard to think, when he felt his heart's weight dangling in a noose he'd hung himself, before her judgment.

The pressure closed up his throat too much to even talk.

And what else he could even say, anyway?

More words she'd never believe?

So he kept still as he awaited her verdict, a captive in the present moment.

I…

I just wish you could know…

How much I—

"So," she replied at last, in a measured tone he couldn't read. "I've been on your mind this whole time, 'constantly,' and all because of this 'goddamn assignment,' huh?"

Not just, he wanted to say. But you'd never believe me. And, dammit…

You wouldn't want me, anyway.

…Was a heart really only the size of a fist? Two fists? He felt like his whole chest was wrenching...

Opening his eyes without any expectation of mercy, they widened, regardless, as they took in the sight—the state of her.

…It was frightening in a way he couldn't place.

Red-faced, and breathing ragged with… he couldn't even tell what, exactly. Clearly a volatile mix of—something. Overwhelm, at the very least, but…

He'd become so accustomed to her many emotional states.

Yet that frayed look in her eyes, the way she seized in place, trembling—radiating a kind of intensity he'd never seen from her before…

It washed up his back with chills.

He swallowed; heart pounding.

"…I get it," she resumed, voice shaken and low, as her eyes widened to the floor. "You couldn't beat me that way, but you still managed to get one over on me anyway, didn't you?"

Arnold's head spun in a double-take.

"...What—"

"If you're not trying to say, or force me to accept your goddamn sorries," she snapped, scathing him with a wet, red-flaring look that could flay, "then you did all this to make me look like a fucking fool, and humiliate me."

His whole body flashed hot and cold as her words registered.

At the terror that she could possibly think that.

That she could leave thinking that.

That it would be over like that.

His head shook but he couldn't even speak, couldn't stop her when her voice warped with her command.

"Get out."

No.

I can't.

His chest heaved, eyes panicked wide.

Wait—

"Helga—"

But his interjection not only came too late to give her pause, it ignited her.

Helga erupted out from her chair like a force and hurled her hand toward the door, and when she roared her reply it gave him no choice.

"GET —"

"I WANT YOU!"

The room turned hot and airless.

Arnold fought for breath.

They both did, after the shock of his shout rattled them both down to mere tremors.

Helga's stare, never leaving his, went rapt with incomprehension as her breathing slowed.

The truth channeled through him like a livewire, hands wrung into fists as his whole being shook from it.

"I want you so fucking much..."

Not the whole truth, no.

But, a raw one.

Helga's hand knocked back, blindly, into her chair. Then gripped it, trembling, as she sank back in her seat with palpable caution; her eyes never leaving his.

He didn't know what his read back into hers, but it wasn't long until he couldn't bear to look anymore, to risk seeing what her expression could morph into next, while he felt so naked. So, he stepped back into one of the chairs circled across from hers, and just…

Dropped, right into it; head in his hands.

In that miasma of broken nerves and unyielding, silent tension that followed, a reminder filtered to the top of his thoughts.

'I want you' could just be taken physically.

And despite how ridiculous he knew it could seem, despite making her come, a question still spun in his mind.

If she were convinced that he didn't do all this in the bad faith that she'd accused him of, would she think it was just the act of fooling around itself he wanted? Or some kind of conceited gratification, due to their history? Would she still push away the notion that it was because of her?

Just her?

He didn't know, and he thought better than to hope.

"…I know you probably don't believe me," he murmured, tone rough with resignation. "That you think this is just some kinda game, or an ego thing. But, no. I… "

I love you…

But, you'd never feel that way.

And I—can't.

"...Youturn me on," he rasped, instead. "Like… fucking crazy…"

Arnold sighed, that admission lifting some weight from him, despite it all. And paused, reaching back to touch the tenderness inside of him.

"And it must be hard, getting… sexual favors, from some guy you hate—who's hurt you. Especially when the guy you are in love with's some fucking idiot, who has no idea what he's—"

He caught himself.

"Sorry," he apologized, words chopped, "I don't even know the guy, uh—from your poem. Mic night, at Park's."

He rubbed his eyes.

They were stinging again.

"God, I'm such an asshole, I shouldn't have… said any of…"

Arnold sniffed, shaking his head in his hands.

"God, no wonder I made you… I really didn't think that making you an offer like this, would ever… Christ, Helga, you're—right. I should just—go."

He shivered.

"I just—"

He didn't get to finish, his collar snapping tight across his throat.

Arnold's head knocked back with a stricken gasp, jolted by the force of her fists seized in his T-shirt. He looked up and in that brief moment, flashed the thought of death, but he didn't have time to react before Helga surged down and crushed her lips over his.

His senses whirled.

And it was no shock, really, when he failed to hold a grasp on his chair, tumbling out of it and onto the floor; but maybe he would've been able to make more sense of things, if Helga hadn't stolen his air on the way down.

He must have been mistaken. There was no way that what he thought was happening, was.

He felt the clutched flesh of his cheeks between her fingers, the clack of their teeth when his mouth fell open, the bite drawing his bottom lip… But, he had to be mistaken, because—why would she…?

There was just no way he was being kissed by Helga Pataki.

Arnold couldn't seem to find his own hands, let alone his bearings.

But oh, did her hands find him.

And when they scratched across his scalp and tugged, exposing his throat to a path of wet, rough kisses, it stormed up a fury of want that flushed his whole body so hot he shivered all over in its wake.

He half expected her to stop him when his fingers worked under her skirt like a fever.

But when she sucked a bite at his earlobe, breathing hard, he knew there was no way he could even stop himself.

He lunged in hunger, dragging the whole weight of her all over him, heaving their chests together as he panted, and burned like a furnace when Helga's hips found his and grinded.

"Oh God—" he gasped, lightheaded. "Fuck."

Arnold kept his hands gripped to reality, to her thighs and up, under her shirt, and around her—God—squeezable fucking waist. Desperate for reassurance, that it was real when he felt the burning heat of her. That she was, God, really rubbing herself on him; over his hard, trapped cock.

Oh God.

Fuck—

His head spun as he whimpered and held on, already feeling it weeping in his jeans when she moaned in his mouth and slid her tongue against his; and used him, at her mercy. And, good lord.

There wasn't much of it.

Helga broke the kiss fiercely, panting as she hovered above, her hair casting a golden, pink-hued curtain around him, reducing his whole world to her, and, just.

How could such a savage girl be so beautiful?

The need that overcame him, to burn the sight of her in that very moment to memory, filled him up with a long, soaring ache.

She tore off her leather jacket and reeled above him, hips rolling and utterly flushed, but her eyes were hazy and distant when she finally spoke, voice breathy and rough.

"You want me?"

And all he could do was pant and choke, because he was so fucking hard and hungry; and because of that look in her eyes, panging around his edges like worry.

Because the question teased like hope, and he didn't know why, and didn't know what to trust.

So he firmed his grip on her waist and thrust up instead, making her gasp and seize his shoulders for balance when he ground his cock against her so hard his hips rolled off the floor, taking her with him.

Arnold groaned at her unexpected, breathless excitement, in the way she moved when he dropped them back down and anchored his hands to her thighs; like she might disappear if he didn't.

"So much…" he finally huffed, rocking against her.

Helga fell forward and panted, her nails clawing through his hair, tugging on his locks like reins as she set the pace, and rode him. He met her kiss just as hard and moaned, knowing he wouldn't last.

Not with her moaning back and dry humping him into what was left of the carpet.

And he told himself it didn't matter that he's just being used, shoving those feelings down as he bucked. Knew better when he let her dominance fool him as honest passion, and just for him.

When she broke away for air he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kept her to him, pressing their chests so close he wondered if she could feel how broken his heart was.

Arnold smothered fervent kisses in the crook of her neck as she went faster, and didn't let up no matter how much he burned from her pace, or how much he'd love to watch.

He knew himself too well, and couldn't stand to let her see his face.

But, damn it all, right now he had her, and she was gonna come all over his cock and Christ, that was just too fucking good.

"Fuck, Helga," he grunted, barely holding on, "fuck—"

And he felt it, grasping her hard, so close as he scaled that euphoric high as far as he could, before he'd approach the crest of that heady drop and explode.

And he was gonna do it in his pants again, no less, and he didn't even care—

"Oh, where's that damn..."

They pulled apart and shared a shocked-eyed look, swiveling their heads in flushed alarm toward the foreign sounds of fussing and grumbling.

With the worst timing ever, the janitor was not only right outside their classroom door, but jangling a key through the lock.

Arnold shook for a second in furious disbelief.

Then leapt off the floor, grabbing their bags and whatever else in a flurry of mindless panic.

Fuck—!

Helga burst out the door as soon as the lock turned. Arnold bolted after her, holding his adjusted flannel in place as he threw out a sheepish 'sorry!' to the dazed, cursing janitor that they'd knocked back in their wake.

With no plan and no set point to stop, Arnold chased Helga down the whole length of the school, out the front doors, and down the city sidewalk.

His lungs burned by the time they finally slowed, heaving as she turned them into the neck of an alley. He braced his hand against the brick wall to recover, his pulse pounding all the way through him.

In all honesty, he didn't feel great.

Not only was he nearly dizzy from too much blood flow being reversed at once, but he felt like his whole body was on tilt; no longer aroused but tossed up, and… denied.

And, watching as she leaned back against the opposite wall and gasped for air, he grew ever-more apprehensive of what she might say when she finally caught her breath.

But, still panting, their eyes met; and before he knew it they were drawing close, as if magnetized.

He shivered as her gaze trained on his lips; and licked them, watching hers back.

Arnold started and stopped again, searching for words as their noses brushed; then their lips. He couldn't tell who kissed who first, but it was no time at all before he'd grabbed her and she pushed him up against the wall, that heat she always stoked wracking through him and fogging him up.

Fuck…

"More?" Helga rasped, breaking the kiss.

But he knew it wasn't a question; not with the way she nipped his lip, the way she felt up his arms and pulled his hips against hers—demanding. Like she could get away with treating him however she pleased. Fuck, though.

She wasn't wrong.

"Yeah," he panted back, eager; already pushing away the panged feelings and looming thoughts that threatened trespass.

Then winced with recollection, regardless.

"But, our roof's getting patched. Wouldn't be private..."

He couldn't help his quavering sigh when she rubbed her thigh between his legs—damn—and pushed him up against him again in heated kiss, and didn't care how much finesse it lacked.

Then pressed her forehead to his.

"...My 'rents are outta town again…"

His eyes widened, heart fluttering in alarm at a host of implications that his cock, of course, leapt to entertain.

… … …

They took a bus back to their neighborhood, and even though they'd long recovered from their run, he swore he never caught his breath.

Arnold had never been too keen on public displays of affection—beyond your customary hugs and hand holding, of course. Maybe a few chaste kisses, at most.

But for God's sake. Discreet or not, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

Concealed inside her jacket, his hand slid around to feel up the swell of her hip to her waist, biting his lip at the way she tried not to squirm when he squeezed.

His flannel was arranged, ever-so strategically, as her hand slipped just underneath the fabric to palm the top of his thigh. And when she leaned in, just a bit, she smoothed a hand over his T-shirt; low, washing a relentless warmth across his belly.

And below. Fuck.

But that's all, he sensed with a pang, that they could stand to do, and not just in facing the public…

But also each other.

They never made eye contact on the bus. They'd hardly even made it before they'd left the alley.

And as excited as he felt, teasing one another on their way to her place, the breath they shared shaken and hot as they kept it together during the ride, those thoughts he kept trying to push back pried anyway.

He wished he understood her more. Knew more.

His fantasy from the other day resurfaced, of her leading him to her bed after catching him in her closet, to use him at her mercy.

…It didn't seem that far off, truthfully. Helga didn't seem bent on humiliating him, but. To use him? Mercilessly?

Oh, yes.

Now that she believed he actually wanted her, he guessed. That his physical attraction, at least, was honest.

And God, was it ever.

A gambit in truthfulness he didn't think he could pull again, considering the cards he had left.

Arnold's breath hitched as her hand on his thigh kneaded even higher, and his intruding thoughts paced ahead despite his efforts to quell them.

Even if she didn't hate you, or, even if she's starting to hate you less—you're not the guy she really wants.

And yeah, she clearly likes getting off; what you offered her. But…

Arnold's brow clenched, pulling her closer when his stomach dropped, and denied that he'd done so to seek comfort.

You sure you can handle just being her toy?

And, all that aside, he thought, as they approached the stop by her place, and watched her get up and walk down the isle ahead of him, seemingly unaffected.

What if you make her cry again...?

… … …

He let her take the lead. And, despite their flirtatious contact on the bus, they don't touch, look at, or even speak to each other as they walked the rest of the way to her place.

Whatever she was going through, she obviously didn't want to engage; and when he spotted the alley where he broke down after the last time he left her place, he was thankful for it.

And told himself he wasn't he wasn't going pale when he saw the hidden key crack in her stoop, up ahead.

He was just nervous.

And, that's fine, he asserted, as she unlocked the front door.

But, when he stepped inside her unlit place for the first time since that fateful day, a wash of shame and secrecy nearly drowned him.

Before he could bring himself to look at her, the front door pushed shut behind him, and he was shoved up against it as she stole a kiss.

He couldn't help but feel like he was counting up the steps to his demise when she led him to her bedroom.

And, after telling him to wait, she went inside first, closing the door.

Arnold looked out the window at the end of the hallway; the very one that had silhouetted her naked figure when he'd first tried to escape, and said nothing.

After a few moments Helga opened the door again, and beckoned him in.

And Arnold, entering, felt not unlike an intruder, even at her invitation.