Larry had, indeed, spent that Monday afternoon screaming into his pillow.
He'd barely stepped into his room before it hit him — holy fuck, why did he do that?
Yeah, teasing her was fun, but did he really have to push it like that? What was he, insane? He liked her, sure. She liked him, yes. They were friends, obviously. But that didn't mean he could just — do that. Say things like that. Drop his voice like that.
Especially when her flustered and embarrassed expression was now burned into his brain and playing on repeat every time he closed his eyes.
He spent most of Tuesday reminding himself to tone it down, no toeing the invisible line that might not even be there, just in case. And it was fine. Normal. Totally under control.
Then, during lunch, Penguin leaned against him like it was nothing and told him her mom was fine with him coming over on Wednesday. She was gonna drive Travis home and then head to her place, and since he had his truck, he could just follow behind her. She explained it all while resting her cheek on his shoulder, gesturing with her hands to map it out, and he almost missed half of it because some of her hair was tickling his neck.
He spent the rest of the day bouncing between excited and nervous. Excited because he was going to her house! They were gonna hang out and work! Nervous because — oh my god — he was going to her house. To hang out. And work. Alone.
That night, he was back to obsessing over wrinkles in his clothes. That night, he jumped in the shower, practically emptied his mom's hair products, and went to town with a brush. Honestly? He liked how his hair turned out. Maybe he'll start doing that more often, even without the incentive of wanting to look good for her.
…Nah, probably not.
Then today, when the group met up again, Penguin gave him this look. Not in a bad way, but in a 'wait, what?' kind of way.
She didn't say anything, just tilted her head a little and stared at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle. And he got it. His hair looked different. Usually, it was a little wild, kinda greasy, but now it was, he dared to think, almost silky. Not perfect, but way softer and smoother than normal. He thought about saying something, maybe joking that his mom attacked him with a bottle of conditioner, but before he could, she just shrugged and smiled like, huh, okay.
Not that it mattered, because later, in English, she immediately started messing with it.
Since they were partners now, their desks had been shoved together, and while their teacher rambled about structure or whatever, Penguin had reached over and ran her fingers through his hair.
He froze.
"What are you—?"
"Shh," She didn't even look at him, her other hand flipping through their notes while she twirled a piece of his hair around her finger.
His brain stalled.
He said her name softly.
"Hmm?"
He leaned back slightly, but her hand followed, combing through another section.
"What are you doing?"
"Your hair's soft," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, before leaning closer and tugging some of it. "What did you use? It smells nice."
Larry was going to die.
That's what he thought, over and over, through the rest of the day. Through English class, where she played with his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. Through lunch, when he turned his back to her to talk to Todd and felt her fingers carding through it again, no warning, no hesitation, just her casually running her hands through his hair.
And then, when she reminded him what the plan was — how she'd drive Travis home and he'd follow her to her house — he was hit with the realization all over again. Oh, right. He was going to be alone with her. At her house. For hours.
God help him.
He thought it again as he climbed into his truck after school. Thought it as he followed her car down the street, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. Thought it when they pulled into her driveway, and he finally got a look at where she lived.
It was a nice house. One story, painted a dark shade of blue and gray, with a big tree stretching out in the front yard. There was a big garage door, and next to it the porch had a rocking chair off to the side and a little table with some kind of sign on it, though he couldn't make out what it said from the driveway. Flower bushes lined the base of the porch, and they were in full bloom, though he didn't know what type they were, all pinks and whites and purples.
And somehow, knowing this was her space, her home, made his nerves spike all over again.
He cut the engine, leaning back in his seat and giving himself one last second to breathe before he grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and climbed out of the truck.
Penguin smiled and waved at him from her car door, giggling out a "Hi!" like it was the funniest thing in the world to greet him, even though they'd seen each other not even fifteen minutes ago. It actually soothed his nerves a little, and he waved back, chuckling as he walked over to follow her up to the porch.
As they passed the flower bushes, he brushed his fingers across one of the blooms. "Curious?" she asked, catching him in the act.
"Yeah, maybe," he admitted, grinning a little. "Not every yard has stuff like this around here."
She laughed softly and pointed at the bushes. "Those ones are lilacs, those are azaleas, and, um… I think these are called laurels?" She tilted her head like she wasn't quite sure.
"Fancy names for some fancy flowers," he teased lightly, scratching his chin as he bent down to see the flowers closer. "Did you plant all these yourself?"
"I did, yeah. When we moved in, the yard was all barren and sad," she explained, smiling as she gestured at the bushes. "I missed seeing flowers, so I begged mama to let me plant them. She's not a fan of pink, but she's admitted it was a good idea."
He tried to picture the house without flowers — just dirt and brown patches — and nodded. "Yeah, I can see it. All sad and bare."
"Exactly," she huffed, climbing up the porch steps and pulling her keys from her pocket. She shoved them into the door's lock. "Jayden's been sick for a bit, so he's already inside. Probably holed up in his room."
"Hope he feels better soon," he said, following her up.
When she opened the door, she stepped inside and moved aside to let him in but paused to lean down and untie her shoes. She tugged them off and set them on a small shoe rack just inside the door. He took the cue and did the same with his boots, because he wasn't rude, thank you very much.
She straightened up and closed the door behind him before taking a step further in and turning back to him, her fingers curling nervously around the strap of her bag. "Welcome to my house," she said with a little smile.
The living room matched the outside, painted mostly light gray with dark blue accent walls. A couch and a small loveseat sat in front of him along two walls, one of which had a cutout window looking into the kitchen. To his right was a door he guessed led to the garage, and to the left, a fireplace stood and on the wall next to it there was a TV mounted on a big bookshelf-looking thing.
Before he could check out the bookshelf, movement caught his eye. He turned his head and locked eyes with a cat absolutely glaring at him.
How the hell had he missed it? It was loafing on her couch, tail flicking behind it, a splash of color against the dark fabric. Its fur looked like someone had mashed a tabby and a calico together — white muzzle, white paws, and splotches of orange and black scattered through the rest. And its eyes? Hateful little green daggers.
"That's Skyler," Penguin informed him, following his gaze. "She hates everyone but mama, so… maybe don't try to pet her."
"Noted."
"Bluebell and Layla are around here somewhere," she added with a laugh. "They're way friendlier, I promise."
He opened his mouth to ask how many cats she actually had, but before he got the chance, she grabbed his arm and tugged him further inside.
Penguin led him into a semi-open kitchen and dining room combo. The fridge was tucked against the wall, and next to it were three doors clustered close together. There was also an open space behind the wall the fridge was tucked against that he guessed led to more rooms.
A soft meow and the tinkling of a bell broke the quiet just as the third door creaked open.
Two cats came rushing out like they'd been waiting for this exact moment. One was all grey with a blue collar and a bell, and the other was what he imagined an actual tabby to look like, grey and black and white and full of stripes. Both made a beeline for her, only to change course halfway through and start winding around his legs instead.
"Ah— careful!" she laughed as she bent down to shoo them. "Bluebell, Layla, you're gonna trip him."
"They're fine," he said, but he was also standing completely still, afraid of stepping on a paw as they looked up at him and yowled.
He looked up to see a kid — or not quite a kid, maybe — leaning against the frame, half-hidden behind it. He was taller than Larry by a bit, but he remembered Penguin telling him that Jayden was only fifteen. Tall, lanky, and awkward, he slouched like someone who hadn't quite grown into his limbs yet. His baggy shirt and sweatpants only made him look more out of place, and his short hair, trimmed neatly around the sides, didn't do much to offset the cloud of curls puffing up on top.
Jayden blinked at them, eyes glassy like he'd just woken up or maybe still had a fever.
"Hi, Jay," Penguin greeted, giving him a quick once-over. "Did we wake you up?"
He shifted his weight, one shoulder pressing further into the frame, and rasped out, "Go fuck yourself."
"Yes, thank you, I love you so much and hope you get better," she shot back, rolling her eyes as she gestured loosely in his direction. "This is Larry, say hello."
Jayden's eyes flicked lazily to him. He raised a hand in a half-hearted wave. "Yo."
Larry lifted his own hand in response, matching the energy. "Hey."
The cats meowed again, weaving insistently around their legs, and he had to fight the urge to laugh because suddenly this whole situation felt kind of ridiculous.
He'd spent the past two days overthinking everything — how to act, what to say, whether showing up with his hair looking halfway decent would be too obvious. He worried about stepping into her space and feeling out of place, like he didn't belong.
And then he stepped in and immediately got glared at by a cat that probably weighed ten pounds soaking wet, nearly tripped over her other two, and met her younger brother — who was somehow taller than him — only to watch him half-heartedly insult her before slouching away back into his room like some feral creature that wandered out of the woods.
It was ridiculous. And weirdly, it made him feel more at ease.
Penguin only sighed at Jayden's retreat, tilting her head back like she was praying for patience. She sent him an apologetic look, "'M sorry about him, he's just like that."
"It's alright," he said, glancing down when he felt tiny pricks against his leg. One of the cats, presumably Layla, was stretching up against him, paws kneading at his jeans like she was trying to climb him before she started batting at the loose strings from the rips.
Before he could react, Penguin squeaked and leaned down to scoop her up. "No, no— don't do that, be nice…" She tugged gently, working Layla's claws free, and he had to stifle a grin at how carefully she handled the whole process.
"It's cool," he laughed, reaching down for the other cat that was still circling his feet, guessing who it was from her blue collar and bell. "C'mere, Bluebell." He picked her up, tucking her against his chest, and felt a weird little rush of satisfaction when she started purring immediately. "Hey, see? This one likes me."
She narrowed her eyes playfully, pointing at him once she set Layla down. "Don't let it go to your head. Bluebell loves everyone."
"Still counts."
She rolled her eyes but smiled, gesturing for him to follow as she turned toward the first door. "C'mon, let's get set up before the cats conspire to take over our time."
He gave Bluebell a final scratch before setting her down, feeling a little more relaxed as he trailed after her.
And then she led him into her room and — click — shut the door behind them.