That was how her mom found them.
Larry, fast asleep on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, with Penguin curled up halfway on top of him, using him like a human pillow.
To be honest, he didn't even remember falling asleep. He remembered lying there, her weight warm and solid against his back, counting their breaths as they synced up. He'd been trying not to focus on how nice it felt — how steady, how close — and somewhere between one breath and the next, he must've drifted off.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up to some slight shaking against his side.
His eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and bleary, and he lifted his head just enough for the room to tilt and steady itself. It took another second for him to register where the hell he even was.
Neat posters, a bag on a bean bag, trinkets lined neatly on a nightstand.
Right. Penguin's room.
Shifting slightly, he turned his head and spotted a plump woman bent beside them, poking at Penguin's thigh and giving it a gentle shake. The motion jostled him, too, just a little. When she noticed he was awake, her mouth lifted into a soft smile, and she let out a low grunt as she eased down to kneel beside the bed.
"Hello," she greeted, her voice whispery-soft and light with laughter, a slight accent coloring her words. "I see my daughter and granddaughter found you a suitable pillow."
He blinked at her confused, still half-asleep, before something shifted on his lower back. Now that he thought about it, there was a smaller weight perched just above his hips. Jayden must've checked in on them and let one of the cats in at some point.
Propping himself up on his elbows with a soft huff, he reached up to rub at his eyes. Penguin shifted against his back with a quiet murmur, settling in again like she wasn't planning to wake up anytime soon.
"Hi, Ms. Montes," he rasped, brushing some of his hair out of his face. He was a little embarrassed, because he'd spent all day worrying about being at Penguin's house, about making a good impression, about not being weird or awkward, and he'd completely forgotten to worry about her mom. And now that was her first impression of him: half-sprawled in her daughter's bed, probably snoring like a chainsaw, with Penguin draped across his back like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He didn't know whether to laugh or climb out the window.
"Janette is fine," she waved him off, bracing her hands against the edge of the bed and wincing as she stood up, knees popping. "I was just trying to wake her up. But—" she sighed, adding a little nickname, "—could probably sleep through the house falling down."
"Really?" He huffed a quiet laugh.
"Oh, yes…" she grumbled, placing her hands on her hips as she looked them over. "Maybe you'll have better luck. If I keep trying she'll start kicking, and I'm right where she can hit me." Shaking her head, she turned and walked off, leaving the room.
Larry stayed propped up on his elbows, head tilted and eyes flicking between Penguin's sleeping back and the doorway her mom had just disappeared through.
He didn't move right away.
It wasn't that he couldn't — he just didn't want to.
They were comfortable like this. Close in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever been with anyone other than his mom or Sally before, and it hit him, suddenly, how natural it felt. Her head and arms rested against his back, tucked near his shoulder blade, and even though she was heavy enough to make his lower back ache a little propped up on his arms like that, he didn't mind. Not really. The steady rise and fall of her breaths was soothing, almost hypnotic. He could probably fall asleep again if he let himself.
But her mom had already woken him up, and she'd asked him to wake Penguin too. So, with a quiet groan, he shifted his weight from side to side, just enough to rock her gently.
It did nothing.
She only let out a small annoyed noise, something close to a whine, and turned her face further into his back, completely unmoved. The cat on his hips, however, was not so relaxed. She stood and stretched, claws pricking through his shirt and into his skin just enough to make him wince.
"Dude," he muttered, biting back a grimace. "Come on."
The cat jumped off, revealing Layla, tail flicking like he'd been the one to inconvenience her.
Huffing, he tried again, this time turning slightly to the side and reaching across his body with the arm opposite where she was sprawled. He settled his palm against her back, fingers curling just enough to give a gentle shake.
"Hey…" His voice came out softer than he expected, still rough and heavy with sleep. He cleared his throat and tried again, giving her another shake and calling her name this time. "Hey, wake up…"
All he got for his trouble was a grunt and a lazy wiggle that pressed her even closer. So much for that attempt.
His next idea was to roll carefully away from her, hoping she'd take the hint and, maybe, wake up on her own. Instead, all it did was get him onto his back with her sprawled across his chest, one arm thrown over his ribs like she had any claim to them.
For a second, he just laid there, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief.
"Seriously?" he muttered, but the only answer he got was a quiet exhale against his collarbone.
Sighing heavily, he let his head drop back against the mattress. Because as much as he enjoyed cuddling — and god, did he enjoy it — he couldn't just lay there forever.
He did need to go home at some point.
...Probably.
He shifted just enough to glance toward Penguin's nightstand, trying to catch the time on her clock. No luck. It was either angled wrong, buried behind some random trinket, or both. He sighed through his nose and tilted his head back instead, aiming for another view — and promptly froze.
There, standing in the doorway with the most unimpressed look Larry had ever seen, was Jayden.
For half a second, he thought about panicking. About sitting up — if he could — or scrambling out from under Penguin, but there was no way to do that without making it weirder. He wasn't even sure it could get weirder.
So, instead, he pushed his embarrassment aside and said, "Hey. What time is it?"
Jayden blinked slowly, and then his eyes flicked down to where Penguin was still curled up against his side. If he was judging, he didn't show it. "Seven thirty," he answered, monotone and somewhat stuffy.
Larry groaned and let his head drop again, squeezing his eyes shut. He definitely had to get home. "Cool," he mumbled. "Thanks."
He heard a set of muffled steps move closer. When he cracked his eyes open and tilted his head to the side, Jayden was standing at the edge of the bed, hands on his hips, squinting down at Penguin like he was deciding whether to poke a wild animal with a stick.
"I was trying to wake her up," he said, voice still rough. He shrugged, or tried to, anyway, with Penguin pinning his arm. "She's not letting me go, though."
Jayden only hummed, and he had just enough time to process the shift in his stance before the guy leaned down, grabbed a handful of her shirt and a belt loop on her jeans, and yanked her clean off the bed.
He knew she had woken up when she let out a loud, startled squawk, her hands scrambling for something — anything — to hold onto. Unfortunately, that 'something' turned out to be his shirt. He felt the sharp tug as her weight dragged him forward, and for a second, he thought he was going over too. He flailed, trying to catch himself against the mattress, but his elbow slid out from under him.
"Jesus!" he yelped, his knees digging into the bed as he braced his other arm to keep from dropping face-first onto the floor — or worse, right on top of her.
Penguin's voice hit a sharp note as she landed in a half-sprawl on the floor, still clutching his shirt in both fists like a lifeline.
"What the hell, asshole!" she barked, voice sharp and scratchy from sleep as she squint-glared up at her brother.
"Well, she's awake," Jayden deadpanned, letting go of her clothes and straightening up. He barely dodged the kick she sent toward him when he started to walk out of the room, hopping back with a sharp laugh as she missed. "See? Problem solved."
She growled a spanish curse under her breath, but before she could scramble to her feet, Larry leaned down toward her. He wrapped his hands around her arms and tugged, leaning back to help her up. She made it to her knees but didn't stand, instead tilting her head back and to the side to pout toward the door.
Looking up, he finally noticed her mom giggling at them from the doorway, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle herself.
"Mamaaaa!" Penguin whined, dragging out the last syllable.
That only made Janette laugh harder, slapping a hand against her thigh and wheezing something out in Spanish so fast that he couldn't follow. Whatever it was made Penguin sputter before her mom cackled and walked off down the hallway.
He grinned at the interaction, but the moment he looked down again, his breath caught.
She hadn't moved. She was still kneeling at the edge of the bed, flushed and pouting, her cheek pressed against the mattress. Her hands were bunched in his shirt like she was holding onto him for dear life. "She's so mean to meeee…" she whined softly, her voice muffled by the comforter.
"I can see that," he laughed, but it was breathier than he meant.
He shifted, trying to get his legs under him to give him more leverage to bring her up, but it allowed his knee to bump against the top of her head, which made her let out a little surprised noise. The position they were almost in hit him all at once, flash-banging his brain with an image he immediately buried deep in the back of his mind.
He swallowed hard and sat back.
It took her another second to notice she was still holding onto him. When she did, her face turned a shade darker, and she let go fast. "Sorry," she mumbled, smoothing down the fabric of his shirt with both hands — lingering just long enough to make his pulse spike.
He huffed out another quiet laugh to cover the way his face was burning. "You're fine," he said, voice rough, because it really was fine.
Except for the part where his heart wouldn't slow down.
When she pressed her hands to the mattress and pushed herself to stand, he let himself lean back and watch. Not on purpose, exactly, but once his eyes landed on her, he couldn't seem to make them stop.
Her hair was a little messy, strands sticking up at odd angles from getting dragged off the bed. She still had faint indents on her cheek where her face had been pressed against his shirt, and her eyes were heavy-lidded, sleepy and soft.
She stretched, arms above her head, and let out a sound — half sigh, half whimper — that should not have made his brain stutter the way it did.
Jesus.
He looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck and pretending he wasn't absolutely staring a second ago. He needed to get a fucking grip. She wasn't even doing anything. She was just stretching, good lord.
What was next? He was going to start admiring how she walks? How she talks? How her hair frames her face? How her laugh sounds and how her face scrunches when she smiles and how she kicks her legs while sitting and how she pops and plays with her fingers and how she look so pretty with her eyes locked onto him as he talks and—
Oh fuuuuuck him.
It hadn't even been that long! Two and a half weeks since they started actually talking. Four weeks since the first time he saw her. Three months since the first little gift showed up in his locker, and — Jesus Christ — he'd been walking around like a dumbass with a bracelet she made him for almost one of those months.
No wonder she was always on his mind. She'd been there, quiet and steady and worming her way under his skin without him even realizing it. And the worst part, the absolute worst part, was that he couldn't even blame it on being blindsided.
Because he knew. He'd known for weeks now that he liked her. The crush had hit him fast, like a punch to the gut, but it wasn't like he'd tried to deny it after those first two weeks. If anything, he'd started leaning into it.
He liked talking to her. He liked teasing her. He liked the way her face lit up when he did, and he liked how flustered she got when he teased her back. He liked her touches, and he liked that she always seemed to want to be close to him.
He liked her.
But this? Sitting here and spiraling because she stretched? He didn't think he was capable of that kind of stupid.
Apparently, he was.
Good lord, where was his usual laid-back, go-with-the-flow attitude? It's like it got up and walked away the second he got a crush.
And now she was standing right in front of him, all messy hair and flushed cheeks, looking way too good after just waking up and getting dragged off the bed, and he couldn't stop thinking back to how soft she felt, how warm she was, how she curled right up against him like it was nothing.
He was so fucked.
If this was how he felt after like, a month, he's surprised she hadn't jumped on him after three months of loving gift-giving. He's a couple of nuzzles away from sweeping her up in his arms and fucking off into the sunset like they were in some corny romance flick.
"I need to go home," he blurted out, standing up off the bed because if he stayed there any longer, he was going to do something he may or may not regret later.
Thankfully, Penguin didn't look put off at all at how sudden his words were. She only squinted at the clock and then clumsily reached for her glasses, pushing them up her nose to double-check the time. "Oh. Yeah, it is really late, huh?" she mumbled.
Technically, eight pm is not that late, but in this context? Yes, yes it was.
Her gaze lingered on the clock for a second longer than necessary, and then she let out a heavy sigh, dropping her arms in defeat before leaning into him and bumping her forehead lightly against his shoulder. "But you're so fun to hang out with" she whined, the words muffled into his shirt. "And so comfy… Do you have to go?"
He stiffened, her voice hitting that soft, almost pleading tone that made something in his chest tighten. He swallowed hard and leaned back, forcing a chuckle to cover the fact that she had him absolutely spiraling again. "You'll see me tomorrow at school," he pointed out. "That's not exactly far away."
"Still," she pouted, tilting her head to glare up at him, and he almost regretted looking down because — God — how did she make that look so cute? "Tomorrow's not now, is it?"
He tried to play it cool, but his voice wavered. "Yeah, well, unless your mom's okay with me crashing here all night…"
She huffed, letting her hands drift down to tug at his shirt like that might hold him in place before she finally let him go with a sigh, like this was the greatest injustice she'd ever suffered.
And honestly? It felt like one.
"Fine," she grumbled before pointing her finger up at him, almost hitting his nose. "But you're not getting rid of me so easily! We still need to meet up and read and work on the book, so you're coming again on Friday."
He blinked, leaning back a little as her sudden shift caught him off guard. "But—"
"You're coming on Friday."
He snorted, shaking his head even as the corners of his mouth tugged up into a grin. "Okay."
"Good."
She crossed her arms, chin tilted up, but it was too late to hide the soft flush still clinging to her cheeks. And God help him, because it made her look even cuter.
He grabbed his bag and slung it over one shoulder as they left her room, their steps falling into rhythm like it was second nature. Penguin veered toward the kitchen, and he followed without thinking, drawn along in her orbit.
Her mom was at the dining table, half-hidden behind a book and sipping from a mug, but Larry caught the way her eyes flicked up, tracking their movements. He kept close without really meaning to — just close enough to brush Penguin's sleeve when they turned a corner, close enough that their hands grazed when she passed him a container of leftover pasta.
He muttered a quiet thanks, shifting the bag and food in his arms, but his attention flicked back to her mom for half a second. She was still watching, smiling faintly behind the rim of her mug. Not in a way that made him self-conscious, though. If anything, it felt… approving. Like she already knew something he hadn't figured out yet — and maybe he was better off not thinking too hard about that right now.
"Nice meeting you," he said as he reached for his shoes at the entrance, and her mom responded with an easy 'You too' before slipping back into her book.
The air outside bit at his face the second they stepped onto the porch, his breath fogging in the cold as Penguin flinched and hunched into herself, making him resist the sudden urge to pull her closer just to keep her warm. But she didn't linger long — just long enough to nudge his arm with her shoulder and bring him down for her usual cheek semi-kiss that sent his brain sputtering for the millionth time that day.
"See you tomorrow," she said softly, already retreating toward the door.
He nodded, managing to get out a quiet "Yeah, see you," before she disappeared inside, leaving him standing there with the cold seeping in and her warmth lingering all the same.
He exhaled sharply, shaking it off as he hurried to his truck.
But even as he cranked the heat, the warmth that stayed with him the most was hers.