Larry feels like he's about to crawl out of his skin, staring down at Penguin with what's probably the dumbest look he's ever worn.
Usually, he's good at coming up with some kind of deflection or comment to break the ice, but right now his brain is completely fried. He's just… stuck. Stuck on the feel of her shoulders under his hands, stuck on the nervous tilt of her head, stuck on the fact that oh my god she's so cute up close.
When he thought of meeting Penguin face-to-face, he'd always pictured something more controlled. Maybe she'd work up the courage to approach him. Maybe he'd finally decide to talk to her. Hell, maybe he'd leave a note in his own locker vents and hope she found it.
Not this. Not the most cliché meet-cute imaginable.
He is wholly, completely unprepared.
Thankfully, she seemed to get a grip faster than he did, maybe because the way he was staring was flustering her. Or freaking her out. He honestly couldn't tell.
She shifts in his hold, straightening up and spreading her hands out in front of her helplessly. He takes a moment to clock the fact that the top of her head almost reached his eyes then snaps back to reality just as she speaks.
"I am so sorry…" are her first words to him. Her voice is soft but rushed, like she's embarrassed — which makes sense, because he doesn't think she was prepared to talk to him this soon. She's looking at him like a deer in headlights, eyes big and shiny.
"It's uh, it's fine. Barely felt it," he tries to brush off, smiling down at her. He makes an aborted motion with his hand that just ends up jostling her shoulder, because, for some godforsaken reason, he's still holding onto her.
He's letting go and shoving his hands in his pant pockets as he asks "How ah, how about you? That looked like it hurt."
"What hurt?" she asks, furrowing her brows a little like she hadn't teared up and held her nose bridge just a second ago.
"Your glasses," he clarifies, reaching up and tapping lightly on the top of her frames. "I think they smashed up into your nose, dude."
"O-Oh!" she stutters, a breathy laugh leaving her as she waves her hands around. "It's fine! 'Tis not my first time getting them pretty much punched into my face."
"Seriously?" he laughs, and he doesn't know what possesses him — honestly, he'll probably lose sleep over it later — but he reaches up anyway, carefully lifting one of the handles of her glasses to lift them off her nose.
Her face scrunches, adorably — not that he should be thinking that, Jesus Christ —, possibly at his audacity if the way she squints up at him is any sign. Right there, on each side of her nose bridge and where the middle of her glasses rests, are two big dark bruises.
"Wow, you bruise fast," he can't help but comment.
"No, I was already bruised. My frames are too small for my nose," she corrected, her lids dropping into an unimpressed half-lid stare.
She winces, probably at her blunt tone, before reaching up with both hands toward where he's holding her glasses, hesitating for a moment. "Uhm…" she starts, cheeks flushing and eyes darting away. "Could you… let go?"
"Oh— yeah, sorry," he does as asked, face probably reddening if the warmth creeping up his neck is anything to go by.
She fumbles with her glasses, adjusting them even though they already look fine. "A-Anyway, yeah, this is not the first time something like that happened to me."
"Can I ask?"
"No."
He grins at that — the way she says it tickles something in him for some reason.
And then he sees it. The exact moment she processes his smile her face lights up like someone just handed her the most important thing she's ever wanted, and then she blushes so hard he's honestly surprised the hallway isn't glowing.
He thinks it might be the prettiest thing he's ever seen.
He's not sure what to do with that thought, but thankfully her soft gasp jerks him out of it.
"Almost forgot!" she says, bobbing her head in what he thinks is supposed to be a nod. "Thank you so much for not letting me fall."
He waves her off, chuckling. "Don't mention it. I mean, I don't think the floor would've been very comfortable."
"It's not," she giggles, and he puts every ounce of brainpower he has into memorizing that sound. Whatever face he's making must fluster her, because she suddenly looks down and brings her wrist up to check her watch — and winces.
"Anyway," she says, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets and ducking her head. One foot lifts to scratch awkwardly at the back of her ankle. "I think I should be going now… My friend's waiting for me. Can't keep him waiting."
"Well, don't let me hold you up anymore," he says, waving her off. But before she can walk off fully, the word tumbles out of his mouth, "Wait!"
Penguin tilts her head to look back at him again, an unsure expression on her face, "Hm?"
"Uhhh," he stutters — and curses himself mentally. Shit, he wasn't gonna say anything. He was just gonna let her walk off.
But now he kinda has to do something!
Manners!
He has those!
Use them!
That quick, panicked train of thought has him shoving his hand out for a shake.
"My name's Larry."
Logically, he knows she knows that. But she doesn't know that he knows that she knows that.
What a convoluted mess that is.
Also a mess? The fact that he stuck out the arm with the damn bracelet, and now she's staring blankly at it — like she can't believe he's wearing it.
"I—" She falters, eyes dropping to the floor for a second before meeting his again. Then she turns and clasps his hand, her fingers cold against his. There's this look of determination crossing her face as she tells him her name.
Oh.
Her name.
Oh fuck, he has her name!
'Oh, but Larry, it can't be a crush! You don't even know her name!' he'd told himself earlier. 'How do you like someone you don't even know the name of?'
Learning their name, apparently!
He's pretty sure he spent the whole exchange of 'Nice to meet you's off in another world, because all he catches when his brain boots back up is her saying bye. And then she's turning to leave, and he almost misses the way her lips quirk up at the corner before she disappears into the thinning crowd.
He doesn't move. Not immediately.
He just stands there, watching her weave back into the flow of people, hands shoved deep into her pockets and the ends of her hair bouncing against her shoulders.
Did he actually just— did that actually just—?
His hand drops to his side, like letting go of her took half a minute longer than it should've. And suddenly, he's replaying every second of the conversation at high speed, picking apart the words, the looks, the stammers.
Honestly, he's proud of how he handled the whole thing. Yeah, he probably came across weird as hell for grabbing her glasses like that — and maybe the whole 'Wait, my name's Larry' thing was a little desperate — but he thinks he did pretty well!
Right?
He didn't trip over himself too badly. He didn't completely freeze up. He even made her laugh! That was worth something.
But now that he's standing here, the adrenaline cooling off and leaving him alone with his thoughts, did he come off weird?
The glasses thing. That was weird, wasn't it?
Oh god, that was definitely weird.
He huffs, dragging his hands down his face. How was he supposed to recover from that?
He wasn't.
Not when—
"Wow…"
Dread slams into him like a truck.
Slowly, like the world's most reluctant horror movie protagonist, he turns his head.
Ash and Sal. They're standing right there. Staring.
No.
He'd completely forgotten they were there, too caught up in his internal meltdown about having Penguin right in front of him.
The grin that spreads across Ash's face is evil, and it drains the color straight from his.
He's doomed.
He is never — never — going to recover from this.
"Well, would you look at that~" Ash practically sings it, and his stomach drops. The rest of his week is done for.
"Don't—"
"Guess all that fussing paid off, Larry Face," Sally cuts in, practically grinning through his prosthetic. "You cleaned up real nice for your dear Penguin."
He opens his mouth to protest, but Ash is already jumping in with a sharp snicker and a light punch to his arm.
"Your body must've known what was gonna happen," she says, eyes sparkling. "You were so mad about brushing back your hair earlier, but it was probably just trying to make you look good for today."
"Shut up," He growls, but there's no real bite to it — not with the heat creeping up his neck and into his face.
"You're even wearing her bracelet…" Sal coos, the absolute asshole.
Ash gasps, leaning into Sal like they're sharing some groundbreaking revelation. "Oh my God," she whispers, wiping away a fake tear. "It's just so romantic. We're witnessing history here."
Larry glares at them, heat burning in his cheeks. "You guys—"
"Do you think he's gonna write his vows on a napkin?" Ash cuts him off, voice dripping with mock sincerity.
"Maybe carve them into a rock to match the gifts?" Sal shoots back, and they both start cracking up.
He shoves at Sal's shoulder, but it just makes him laugh harder. "You're the worst — both of you!"
They only lean into each other more, their combined weight making them topple with a yelp. He doesn't even hesitate, he busts out laughing.
"Don't you laugh at us!" Sal barks, scrambling to get back on his feet while Ash clutches his arm, still giggling. "You're not getting out of this that easy! We're never letting this go!"
And never let it go, they did.
The whole way to his truck, to the apartment, and to the elevator, they kept up with their teasing. By the time they started coming up with increasingly outrageous scenarios — including one where he carved their wedding vows into a giant rock slab like the Ten Commandments — Larry was ready to take off his seatbelt, open the door and jump off into the road.
He only got a break when the elevator finally hit the basement. Blessedly, they had their own stuff to do in Sal's apartment.
"Bye, Larry!" Ash called just as the doors were closing. "Don't forget to pick out your penguin tux!"
Their laughter echoed down the hall as he all but bolted for his own place, slamming the door behind him and slumping against it like he'd just survived a natural disaster.
He slid down the door until he could rest on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest, and sighed. His face was so damn hot that for a moment he thought he had a fever. Roughly ruffling his hair, he tried to calm down, burying his face in his hands.
He met Penguin.
He stood in front of her, talked to her, and barely stuttered.
He held her hand, even if for a shake.
He knows her name.
That shouldn't fill him with so much delight, but it does.
He groans and flops back against the door, his legs sprawling out in front of him. No. No, no, no, no. He's not some hopeless romantic who gets butterflies from a quick conversation. He's not. That's not who he is.
Except… his brain keeps looping back to her blushing, to the way her nose scrunched up when he lifted her glasses, to that soft laugh — God, that laugh.
He squeezes his eyes shut. 'You don't even know her', he tries to remind himself. But it doesn't stick. Not when he has her name and her voice is still rattling around in his head like a song he's heard a hundred times.
He grumbles, dragging his hands down his face.
This is bad.
This is so bad.
Except… is it?
She already likes him. Weeks of gifts prove that. She likes him enough to keep showing up, even when he didn't know who she was.
He lets out a slow breath, his heart thumping just a little softer. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe, just maybe, this could actually go somewhere.
Tilting his head back against the door, he stretches his arm out and stares at the bracelet on his wrist.
The threads faintly reflect the apartment lights, and he can't help but smile.