It's Monday, May 10th, and they've been meeting regularly for the past two weeks to work on their project.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, it's the same routine: meet at her house, work, eat, attempt to work again, and somehow always end up asleep on top of each other. Larry isn't sure if it's the food making them so sleepy or if they're just finding excuses to press up against each other and call it cuddling.
Not that he's complaining.
It's always a little different. That first Friday, she'd fallen asleep against his back again, only this time, she'd sat on the back of his thighs before draping herself over him, chest pressed snugly against his spine and almost giving him a heart attack. One meeting later, she'd propped herself up against the wall with a pillow behind her and dragged him between her legs, pressing her chest against his back again as she let her head drop on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Another time, it was his turn to be on his back, with her tucked into his side, head on his shoulder and her leg tossed over his.
The point is, she's gotten a lot more touchy-feely, and he's definitely not complaining. Sure, sometimes he has to close his eyes and focus on his breathing to keep his body from betraying him, but hey, he's not about to ruin a good thing.
The problem with getting this comfortable with her was that it didn't stay confined to just her house. Somehow, that ease bled over into the rest of their time together — like during lunch or when they passed each other in the halls.
Before, Penguin's affection had been more lowkey: tugging his hair into a braid or running her fingers through it, grabbing his arm to shake him like a ragdoll whenever she got excited about something, or poking him and yanking at his clothes when she had something to say. But now? Now it was a whole different game.
She'd started leaning on him.
It wasn't subtle, either. She'd plop down next to him at lunch and immediately drape herself against his side, chin on his shoulder as she scanned his tray to see if he had anything she wanted to steal. Or she'd hook her arm through his while they stood in line for the vending machine, using him as a human backrest like it was her God-given right.
Larry, meanwhile, was struggling not to combust.
"Awfully close these days, huh?" Ash had teased him once after catching Penguin looping her arms around his neck in the middle of the hallway, trying to lean over his shoulder to see whatever doodle he'd been adding to his notebook. She'd wiggled her eyebrows at him like she was in on some secret he hadn't been let in on, and then she wouldn't let it go for the rest of lunch.
Sally wasn't much better. He didn't say anything, but the way he'd pointedly glance at them from across the table and nudge Todd with his elbow every time she leaned against Larry told him everything he needed to know.
Even Todd, who was usually the most composed of the group, had this barely-there smirk on his face every time Penguin dragged him along to something.
And then there was Travis.
Every now and then, when he thought no one was looking, he'd glance their way with a furrowed brow and a slight downturn to his lips, like watching them casually press themselves together was some kind of great moral failing. Probably thought PDA was a cardinal sin or maybe he just didn't know what to do with it.
Honestly? He wasn't sure what to make of it. On the one hand, it was kind of funny watching Travis stew in his own quiet awkwardness. There was something satisfying about seeing him squirm over something so harmless. But on the other hand, there was something else under the irritation. Something more... thoughtful? He wasn't disapproving, exactly — just thrown off. Like he was still figuring out how he felt about it, even while he tried, and failed, not to stare too long.
Whatever it was, it was hard enough for Larry to keep his own reactions in check without feeling like Travis had taken it upon himself to be some kind of awkward third-party observer.
Not that he was going to say anything. Having her pressed against him all the time, her warmth bleeding through her clothes into his skin — yeah, it was worth the teasing.
He just wasn't sure how much longer he could keep playing it cool, though.
Right now, he was following Penguin's car back to her house again, but this time was going to be different. It wasn't their usual routine of sitting on her bed with their notebooks scattered between them and slowly turning their project meetings into nap sessions. No, this time they actually had a reason to leave.
It had taken them way too long to realize it, but midway through planning and sketching out their poster idea last meeting, they'd discovered they were somehow missing supplies. Like, important ones. So today's plan? A supply run.
She'd suggested they leave her car at her house and just ride together in his semi-beat-up truck. "What's the point of going to the same place in two cars?" she'd said after school, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He had agreed, of course, but now that he was behind the wheel and trailing her through the quiet streets of Nockfell, he was starting to get nervous.
Not about spending time with her — he was all for that. No, this was something entirely different.
His truck was… a disaster. There was no sugarcoating it. Wrappers and receipts cluttered the floorboards, a graveyard of empty soda cans rattled whenever he made a sharp turn, and crumbs were embedded into the fabric seats like they'd fused with the upholstery over time. He'd given up on trying to get the faint smell of weed out ages ago. It was just part of the truck at this point.
Meanwhile, her car was like a showroom model. He'd peeked inside once, and it was spotless. Like, frighteningly spotless. The seats were immaculate, the dashboard gleamed, and there wasn't a single crumb in sight. Yeah she had what looked like a hoodie, a sunshade and an umbrella thrown in the backseat but even the cup holders were pristine, for God's sake. He hadn't even known cup holders could be pristine.
So yeah, the thought of her stepping into his truck — a total trash heap compared to her pristine ride — was making him feel a little twitchy. What if she hated it? What if she made some polite comment about the mess, and he spent the rest of the trip dying of secondhand embarrassment?
It wasn't like he could've done much to fix it. He'd shoved some of the bigger junk into the backseat before he left, but there wasn't enough time in the world to make it presentable.
He imagined her wrinkling her nose as she climbed in, maybe even hesitating as she spotted the pile of crumpled fast-food bags wedged against the door. 'God, this is going to be a nightmare', he thought, drumming his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel and cranking up the music like it could drown out the thoughts.
When they got to her house and he parked on the side of the street to wait for her to pull into the driveway, he pressed his forehead against the steering wheel and breathed. 'It's fine. She's not gonna care. She's—'
His thoughts broke off when he glanced up and saw her getting out of her car. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, and even from this distance, he could see the shiver that ran through her. It wasn't that cold anymore, not compared to a few weeks ago, but for someone used to the warm south? Yeah, he guessed it probably still felt like winter to her.
She walked up to the passenger side of his truck and pulled the door open. Whatever she had been about to say — he thought he saw her mouth forming a "hi" — died the moment the pile of crumpled bags chose that exact moment to topple out, landing in a sad heap at her feet.
He wanted to melt into the goddamned seat.
Her gaze flicked to the bags, and for one agonizing second, he swore he saw her eyebrows twitch in something resembling alarm. But then, to his complete and utter relief and growing embarrassment, she just huffed a small laugh and bent down to grab the mess. "Guess they've been waiting for their big escape," she joked, scooping up the crumpled bags like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Hey— don't," he started, fumbling to unbuckle his seatbelt and get out to help her. But before he could even move, she had already straightened up with the trash in her hands, turning toward the trash can sitting at the curb.
"Relax, it's not a big deal," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, tossing the bags inside with a casualness that made his stomach twist. He sank back into the seat, feeling like he'd just been called out in front of a bunch of imaginary people. Sure, she wasn't disgusted — that was a relief — but the fact that she was cleaning up his mess? Somehow, that felt even worse.
When she climbed into the passenger seat a moment later, she dropped her bag onto the floor and turned to him with an easy grin. "There, see? No biggie."
He let out a heavy breath, gripping the steering wheel. "Sorry, though. It's a mess in here."
Penguin shrugged, leaning back against the seat and stretching her legs out like she owned the damn truck. "It's fine. My dad's car used to have a few bugs."
He blinked. "Bugs?"
"Yeah," she said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. He wasn't sure if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse, but it definitely left him feeling a little queasy.
"Were they, like, big bugs?" he couldn't help but ask, even though he was pretty sure he didn't want the answer.
"No, they were little ones," she replied easily, reaching for the seatbelt and clicking it into place. "It's fine, though. The spider usually ate them. That was its rent for staying in the car and not getting murdered."
He froze, his hand halfway to the gearshift. "Spider?"
She only waved her hand dismissively, like it wasn't a big deal. "Yeah, a fat one. It lived up in the corner of the back windshield. I named it Luis."
"Luis," he echoed blankly, staring at her like she'd just told him her dad kept a pet scorpion under his seat.
"Uh-huh. Luis kept to himself, mostly." She leaned forward and adjusted the vents so the air would stop blowing directly at her face, completely unfazed by his horror. "Unless a bug got too close, then it was game over for them."
He blinked a few times, trying to process what he'd just heard. "You're seriously telling me your dad drove around with bugs and a freeloading spider just chilling in his car?"
"Well," she drawled, tilting her head in thought, "Luis wasn't freeloading. He did his part."
"...I don't even know what to say to that."
Penguin shrugged, a small grin tugging at her lips as she settled back in her seat. "Sometimes you've just gotta let nature do its thing."
He shook his head, shifting the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb. "You're unbelievable."
"Thanks," she said brightly, like it was a compliment. There was a beat of silence before she added, "Seriously though, if Luis ever got any closer to the front or, God forbid, touched me, I would've killed him."
He snorted, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as he turned onto the main road. "So, basically, it was a mutually assured destruction kind of deal?"
"Exactly," she nodded, her tone completely serious.
He shook his head, fighting the urge to laugh as the conversation tapered off. The quiet stretched between them for a moment, but it didn't feel awkward — it felt comfortable, like the hum of his truck's engine beneath them.
Fiddling with the radio, he cranked up the volume a little, letting the heavy riff of a guitar fill the space. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat, sneaking a quick glance at her to see if she'd protest. Instead, she was bobbing her head along, her fingers tapping the beat clumsily into her thigh as she looked out the window.
It struck him then, with a jolt of surprise, that he didn't even know what kind of music she liked. For someone he'd spent hours working with, talking to, leaning against, sleeping with notlikethat— it was a glaring oversight.
He remembers the first thing he'd asked Sal when they met was if he liked metal, and Sally wasn't leaving gifts in his locker. Meanwhile, Penguin, his secret-admirer-crush-friend, was sitting right there, and it hadn't even crossed his mind to ask her? God, who even was he?
"Y'know, I don't think I've ever asked," he started when they stopped at a red light, hoping it didn't sound too abrupt. He lowered the music just a bit, glancing over to catch her blinking at him curiously. "What kind of music are you into?"
For some reason, she looked amused at his question, her lips twitching like she was holding back a grin. "Well, rock, mostly. I can listen to whatever as long as I like it, but I'm definitely more into rock. Comes from having two parents who listen to it a bunch."
"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your parents listen to rock?"
"Dude, my mom has a bunch of tattoos and a couple of piercings," she said with a laugh, her voice laced with disbelief, like his question was ridiculous.
"She has piercings?" That was the part he got stuck on. He'd been to her house multiple times, and not once had he noticed anything like that.
"She has to take them out for work," she explained, leaning her elbow against his seat and using it to prop up her cheek on her hand. Her casual posture made his stomach do a weird little flip. "But yeah, she's got a lip ring, a belly button piercing, and even one in her tongue."
His eyebrows shot up. Her tongue? That was… not what he expected from a woman in her late thirties.
"I was actually thinking about getting— green light," she cut herself off suddenly, and when he tore his eyes away from her and back to the road, sure enough, the light had changed. Muttering a curse under his breath, he hit the gas, and she picked up right where she left off, like it hadn't even happened.
"Anyways, I was planning on getting snakebites, the ring kind," she mused, her voice taking on a thoughtful lilt. "I think they'd fit me."
Fuuuuck.
The image of her with snakebites floated, unbidden, across his mind. He could see it so clearly — those little silver rings encircling her bottom lip, catching the light whenever she smiled or talked. The thought was enough to make his stomach clench and his grip tighten on the steering wheel.
He'd always thought piercings were cool, hell, he'd wanted to get some himself for years but hadn't been able to yet. Seeing her, even just in his imagination, with something like that? It hit him like a punch to the gut. Why the hell did that, of all things, mess with his head so much? It wasn't like it was real — just his overactive imagination messing with him.
Except Penguin clearly caught something in his reaction, because the next thing he knew she was leaning closer and brushing her cheek against his shoulder, her voice dipping into a soft, teasing whisper into his ear,
"Wouldn't I look nice with them, Larry?"
He sucked in a breath so sharply it was a miracle he didn't choke. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he willed himself to focus. Do not jerk. Do not swerve. Do not crash the goddamn truck.
"You tryin' to get us killed?" he managed, his voice strained but steady enough to cover the sheer panic thrumming in his chest.
She just laughed, low and smug, shifting back to her seat with an air of victory. When he shot her a glance, she looked entirely too pleased with herself, the faintest smirk curling her lips. "Guess that's a yes," she said lightly, like she hadn't just scrambled his brain and nearly made him miss a turn.
He huffed out a breath, trying to steady his nerves. "When the hell did you get so damn bold?"
Her smirk widened, and she rested her elbow against the door, propping her chin in her hand like she didn't have a care in the world. "You can't tease me back if you're concentrating on the road."
His fingers tightened on the wheel as he glared at the road, his jaw flexing to keep from grinning like an idiot.
"Oh, you little shit."