He's surprised he didn't crash and kill them all on the way to the apartments.
He's pretty sure he spent half the drive replaying every interaction he's had with Penguin and the other half imagining her stepping into his room — and it's not like he's known for his great focus behind the wheel to begin with, what with his music blasting at full volume and muffling every sound on the road.
The school day had ended with most of the group meeting up at the front. Maple, Chug, and Todd had already left for the buses, but the rest of them stuck around to plan. Penguin and Travis had decided to drive back to their houses to check in with their parents, while he took Ash and Sal back home.
The plan was simple: leave the two of them on the first floor with a keycard so they could let Penguin and Travis in when they showed up. Easy enough. He'd even given Penguin his address so she'd know where to go.
And then he left them upstairs.
So he could warn his mom.
And panic clean his room.
But they probably didn't know that part.
Though with how loud he'd yelled "Where's the broom!?" when he burst into the apartment, they might've heard him.
"What?" Lisa poked her head out of the kitchen, her brows furrowed.
"Mom," he started, already feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck, "everyone's coming to hang out, and I need the broom!"
Her expression softened like that explained everything — until it didn't. She stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel as her brow furrowed again. "Dear, everyone's seen your room when it's messy. Why do you need the broom now?"
Damn it. He should've known she wouldn't let that slide. She'd teased him enough times about how he lived like a raccoon in a cave and wouldn't bother cleaning unless he had to. And she was right. He'd never once cleaned before someone came in.
But he needed that broom as fast as possible right now, so he swallowed his pride, braced himself, and said it.
"She's coming."
The words were barely out of his mouth before his mom froze mid-step and whipped around, eyes wide and a grin already spreading across her face. "Oh," she said, drawing out the word as her smile turned downright devious. "She's coming."
He immediately regretted saying anything at all.
She pointed the dish towel at him like it was some kind of weapon. "I knew it," she said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I knew there was a reason you came home looking all flustered early last week!"
He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes like that would block out both her voice and the sheer amount of smug radiating off her. "Ma, please—"
"Nope." She spun toward the hall closet, throwing the doors open so hard they rattled. "You don't get to 'ma, please' me. Not when you're panic-cleaning for a girl."
"Mom."
"And not just any girl — the girl."
"Mother."
She pulled out the broom and shoved it into his hands, still grinning ear to ear. "Oh, I'm gonna need details later. So many details."
He let out a long-suffering groan but didn't stick around to argue. He'd barely managed to snatch the dustpan before she started calling after him.
"Don't forget to get under the bed!"
"Mom!"
"And wipe down your dresser! Oh, and—"
He slammed his bedroom door behind him, cutting her off.
He wasted no time, throwing his bag down god knows where before relentlessly sweeping the carpet, dislodging all sorts of shit he didn't even know was in there — crumbs, a few bottle caps, and what he was pretty sure was an old guitar pick, which makes no sense because he's never had a guitar.
Kicking everything into a sad little pile, he grabbed the dustpan and scooped it all up, sprinting to the trash like the floor might explode if he didn't get rid of it fast enough. Then it was back to his room to tackle the disaster zone he called his desk.
Papers were crumpled and shoved into his already overflowing trash can. Sketchbooks were stacked unevenly, almost toppling over when he tried to force them into a corner of the desk, and his pencils — where the hell were the rest of his pencils?
He threw himself to his knees, peeking under the bed to find at least three of them along with some candy wrappers and a sock he definitely didn't remember losing. He grabbed all of it, except the sock, and tossed the pencils into a cup on his desk before shoving the wrappers into the trash and kicking the sock under the bed again.
Turning around, his eyes landed on his clothes — the massive pile spilling out of his laundry basket. He tried to somehow shove all of them in before haphazardly throwing one of his bigger pieces on top to cover the mess.
Next came the art supplies. His paints, brushes, and half-used canvases were everywhere. He gathered them up, stacking what he could and pretending it didn't look like a tiny, unstable mountain.
He stood back to inspect his work, already sweating. The room looked better, passable, but he still wasn't sure if it was Penguin-ready. He couldn't do much with the little time he had.
Grabbing the scent spray from the bathroom, he hurried back into his room and sprayed it — pretty much everywhere.
There.
That was as good as it was gonna get.
Twisting his bracelet between his fingers, his gaze flicked to what he'd started calling the Gift Drawer. Unfortunately, it was one of the top drawers, but no one had the habit of digging through his dresser, so he shouldn't have to worry about that.
Probably.
Still, he kinda wanted to swap out his bracelet for a different one. He figured if he wore the same one too much, it'd end up fraying.
He slipped it off and opened the drawer, fingers brushing over the bracelets inside as he looked for one that wouldn't get caught on anything. The last thing he wanted was for it to snap off mid-conversation — or worse, for Penguin to notice and think he didn't care about it.
He finally settled on one with woven red and black threads, simple but sturdy, and slipped it over his wrist.
That's when the door creaked.
His head snapped up, panic spiking as he shoved the drawer closed with his hip and spun around, leaning against the dresser like he hadn't just been rifling through the evidence of his crush.
Ash stood in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers, and Sally was right beside her. Even with his mask, Larry could tell he was having the same reaction.
"What?" He asked, trying for casual but hearing the crack in his voice.
Ash's eyebrows practically flew off her forehead. "Did we walk into the wrong room?"
Sally tilted his head, his mask shifting slightly as he scanned the room. "Is this... cleaned?"
He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest despite the heat in his cheeks. "Don't act so shocked."
"Dude," Sal said, and that's all he needed to say before Ash cracked up laughing.
He groaned, feeling his face heat up even more as her laughter echoed through the room. "Stop laughing," he muttered, pushing himself off the dresser.
"Relax, man," Sally said. "We just came to tell you Penguin and Travis are already in the living room."
That made him freeze.
"They're what?"
"Talking to your mom," Sally added, and his stomach immediately sank.
No. No, no, no.
His mom was not stupid. She'd already been grinning like an idiot when he admitted someone new was coming over, and now Penguin was in the living room — semi-alone with her.
"Shit," he hissed, brushing past both of them.
Ash and Sally trailed after him, Sal more confused than anything, but Ash was already grinning again. "This is gonna be good," she said.
He ignored her, heading straight for the living room and trying to will himself into not looking like a fumbling idiot when he saw them. His mom was all smiles, standing in front of the couch and talking to Penguin like they'd already been best friends for years. Penguin, meanwhile, looked equal parts flustered and overwhelmed, nodding politely but shooting him a look that said help.
"Hey, Ma," he said, forcing himself to sound casual. "Didn't think you'd be interrogating people in my absence."
"Oh, I'm just getting to know them!" Lisa beamed, clapping her hands together. "It's been so long I almost didn't recognize Travis! And this must be my Lar-Bear's newest friend!"
"Yep, that's —" he cut in quickly with her name, despite the horror he could feel sinking into his bones from her using that cutesy nickname in front of them. Mom, however, was still looking back and forth between them like she was already planning their wedding.
"Larry talks about you," she fucking lied, and he almost choked.
"Mom—!"
"What?" She raised her hands, looking all too innocent. "I'm just saying you're all very interesting! And it's nice to see Travis again, too," she smiled at Travis, who looked about as uncomfortable as Larry felt. "I haven't seen you since you were — what? Eleven?"
"Uh. Yeah." he scratched at the back of his neck.
"Well, it's good to know you've made new friends."
He dragged a hand down his face. "Anyway, we're gonna go to my room now," he said, trying to cut her off before she could keep talking.
"Alright, alright, don't let me stop you," she said with a wink. "You kids have fun!"
He shot Penguin another look before jerking his head toward his room. She started walking over, and Travis followed, but not before Lisa called out, "It's nice to meet you!"
"Nice to meet you too!" Penguin called back, voice pitching high in nervousness.
Ash elbowed him on the way, muttering, "Smooth," and he had to fight the urge to shove her into the wall.
When he stepped aside and turned to watch her walk in, he could've sworn his heart was about to leave his chest. Yeah, he'd cleaned as much as he could, but now that she was actually here, standing in his room, it somehow didn't feel like enough. He suddenly wished he'd done more — scrubbed the walls, vacuumed the ceiling, something.
Penguin stepped further inside, her eyes bouncing around his room, pausing to take everything in. She blinked at his desk first, then tilted her head as she scanned his posters.
And then she noticed the paintings on the walls.
He saw the exact moment it clicked. Her eyes lit up, and she let out a soft, appreciative sound, something like "oh!" but quieter — like she didn't even realize she'd made it. That tiny noise pretty much exploded his ego. He could feel himself preen under the attention, his shoulders pulling back as if he hadn't been stressing about this exact moment for half the day.
"You made those?" she asked, her voice warm and light — not disbelieving, but impressed, like she couldn't help but admire them.
He swore his heart flipped.
"I did," he said, maybe a little too proud if the side-eye Sal gave him was anything to go by, but whatever. He could deal with Sally's teasing later. For now, he crossed the room to stand next to Penguin, looking out at his paintings like they were worth something just because she liked them.
When he glanced down at her, she was already grinning up at him. "I love the way you use color," she said, voice breathy as she looked back to his wall.
He didn't know what to do with himself. Compliments weren't exactly foreign — Lisa praised his work all the time, and even Ash and Sal had said his art was cool — but this was different. This was Penguin.
"Thanks," he said, and hoped it didn't come out as strangled as it felt.
"You're, like... really good," she added, softer this time, like she wasn't sure if she was even supposed to say it out loud.
"Yeah?" He smiled, a little crooked despite the heat on his cheeks. "You're not just saying that 'cause you're in my room right now?"
She snorted, finally looking back at him. "No! I mean it. They're amazing, dude."
His heart might've actually stopped.
Because here she was, standing in his room, smiling up at him like that and complimenting his paintings like she meant it. Like she really meant it. And he was already crushing so hard it wasn't even funny, but this? This was dangerous.
He didn't know how long he stood there just looking at her, but it was long enough for the spell to break when a voice called out from the doorway.
"Uh, should we give you two a minute?"
His head whipped around so fast he might've pulled something. Sal was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and Ash was grinning like she was about to start howling. Even Travis, the asshole, had his hand over his mouth like he was covering a laugh.
"We can leave," Ash added, dragging out the words. "You know, if you need some privacy."
"Shut up!" He barked, immediately defensive as he felt his face burn. "We're literally just talking!"
Penguin, to her credit, didn't burst into flames on the spot, but from the way her face flushed deeper, it wasn't for a lack of trying. "Don't laugh!" she whined at Travis, whose face scrunched up as his shoulders shook harder and muffled giggles escaped him. "Don't laugh!"
It did absolutely nothing to stop him — or Ash, who practically doubled over and braced her hands on her knees as she howled. Sal wasn't far behind, muffling his laugh into his sleeve.
Larry loved them. He really did.
But god, how he'd like to strangle them just a little bit right now.
Penguin turned back to him then, her head ducked as she fiddled with her backpack strap before taking it off and holding it in her arms. She wasn't meeting his eyes, and her cheeks were still lit up, and it did absolutely nothing to calm the storm of nerves in his chest.
"Where, uh..." she mumbled, her voice soft. "Where should I put this down?"
He jumped at the distraction like it was a lifeline, already reaching out to grab her bag despite the wide-eyed look she gave him when he grabbed it. "I'll- Uh, I'll just… put it over here." He crossed the room so fast it probably looked like he was running from a fire. Setting her bag carefully in the corner by his desk, he straightened and took a second to breathe, thankful to have something — anything — to do with his hands.
He turned back just in time to catch her shrugging off her jacket, her movements quick and jerky like she was fighting whether to take it off or not. "It's hot as hell in here…" she mumbled, not looking up as she folded the jacket over her arm.
And he might've just said something stupid like, Yeah, guess the heat's on too high, except his brain immediately paused when he caught sight of her arm.
There. Inked high up on the inside of her forearm, obvious against her skin, was a tattoo.