He didn't know what to focus on first — the design or the way it looked on her or the fact that she had one in the first place — but before he could embarrass himself further, the door creaked as Todd poked his head inside.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. "I had to pick up Chug's chemistry notes from his apartment before I left."
Larry barely spared him a glance, nodding vaguely in greeting, because holy shit, Penguin had a tattoo.
From looking at her, he wouldn't have thought she was the type. What with the glasses and the normal-looking wardrobe, she looked more like Todd than anything. He would've expected it if she dressed like Ash — or himself, even. Maybe if she dressed like Sal, with all his colorful, mismatched layers and patchwork style.
And yet, there it was. Bold, dark ink curving along her forearm, standing out against her skin in a way that practically demanded his attention.
"Whoa," Ash breathed when she spotted it, leaning in with interest and pointing at her arm. "When did you get that?"
Penguin flinched like she hadn't expected anyone to bring it up so fast, if at all. Her hand instinctively moved to cover it before stopping halfway when Ash shook her hands at her.
"It's cool!" she added quickly, her voice genuine as she tilted her head to get a better look. "The moon and butterfly thing, it's, like, super witchy."
He wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or not, but Penguin seemed to take it as one. She brought her hand up again to brush her fingers against the tattoo instead of hiding it, though her cheeks were still pink. "Thanks," she said, voice a little quiet but steady enough. "I got it a couple months ago."
"Couple months?" Sal piped up, tilting his head. "How'd you— wait, aren't you—"
"Not eighteen? Yeah." Penguin grinned then, sly and just a little bit mischievous. "Let's just say I know a guy."
"I read somewhere that to get a tattoo when you're under eighteen, you need parental permission," Todd said, stepping closer and making a light grabbing motion toward her arm. She rolled her eyes but held it out for inspection without hesitation.
"Your mom let you get one?" Sal asked, following Todd's lead as the group started crowding in to look.
"Ms. Montes has a couple of tattoos," Travis said from behind them, though grumbled might be the better word for it. "She took her to her tattoo guy and had him ink them both. It's a matching tattoo."
"Mama has the other half," Penguin preened, clearly pleased with herself as she tilted her arm so the design caught the light better.
"That's so cool," he said, holding her arm after Todd let go. His eyes traced the lines of the tattoo as his fingers settled gently against her skin. "Getting a tattoo with your mom? Wish that was me."
"Ah— Uh, I don't think— Mrs. Johnson seems chill. M-Maybe you could ask her?" Her voice pitched higher toward the end, and when he glanced up, her cheeks were flushed.
For a second, he was confused. Then he realized he'd been absently rubbing his thumb over the ink. "Oh! Um— Sorry," he said, finally letting go of her arm. His hands hovered awkwardly for a second, before he shoved them in his pockets and cleared his throat. "And, uh, yeah, I don't think my mom's the type to get a tattoo. She'd probably just laugh if I asked," he tried to laugh too, but it came out a little strained.
Honestly, he'd gotten lost in her tattoo: a crescent moon and a butterfly wing.
In every drawing he has from her, hidden in his dresser, there are moons and butterflies and stars in the corners. Was that on purpose? Did she want him to see her tattoo at some point and just know?
God, he wants to ask so badly.
Well, not ask, he already knows. But he wants to tell her. That he knows she's the one who's been leaving him gifts. That he knows she likes him. That he likes her back.
But they've only known each other for two weeks — technically. And now isn't the time.
He knows how to hold his words, how to keep a couple of secrets, but every time she looks at him, he wants to open his mouth and blurt it out. Every time she's close, hanging out, talking, smiling like she doesn't want to be anywhere else, it wrecks him. Because she looks like she's having the best time of her life.
Like this — him — is all she's ever wanted.
And it makes him stupid.
Stupid in the way his heart jumps when she laughs, in the way he catches himself staring, and now in the way his brain keeps circling back to her tattoo, those butterflies and moons like she's been hiding little pieces of herself in the drawings this whole time, just waiting for him to notice.
And he has.
God, he has.
He doesn't know how much longer he can wait for the 'right time'. It's killing him.
Maybe he should've taken his friends up on their playful offer to give them some alone time so they could talk. But it's too late now.
He's never been the impatient type. Usually, he's good at waiting things out. But this? This is different. Because if he has to wait too much longer, he might actually rip his hair out.
Maybe he should take some action instead of waiting for her to come to him. They're already friends, and she's happy to touch and play around with Travis. He and his friends are pretty physical too, so maybe she wouldn't mind if he started doing the same?
The thought sticks, and he can't help but picture it — tossing an arm around her shoulders like it's no big deal or pulling her into one of those quick side hugs as a greeting. He's caught himself thinking about it more than once since that first week she sat with them, but he's always managed to hold back by the skin of his teeth.
It's not like she hasn't already crossed into his space. Just last week, she had grabbed his arm to drag him down the hall and to their shared class, and he didn't stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. But that had been her. If he did it, would it feel the same? Or would it be weird?
He already knows he's overthinking. He always does. But if he's going to start closing that distance, he doesn't want to screw it up.
"Larry?"
He blinked and looked up, his focus snapping back to the real world just in time to see Sal and Todd staring at him like he'd grown a second head.
"Are you good, man?" Todd asked, eyebrows scrunched with concern.
He barely had time to register the question before Sal added, "You spaced out for a minute. I got Ash and Travis to distract Penguin so she wouldn't notice, but, uh…" He trailed off, his eyes flicking to Larry's face like he was expecting an explanation.
He groaned and let himself flop back against the bed — when did he get on the bed? — throwing an arm over his eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about — stuff."
"Stuff?" Sal repeated, flat and clearly unconvinced.
"Yeah." He peeked at him through his arm. "Important stuff."
Neither Sal nor Todd looked impressed, but they didn't push either as Sal said, "Right. Well, 'important stuff' is about to get back in here in, like, two seconds, so maybe don't look like you're dying?"
He shot him a half-hearted glare before shoving himself upright again. The last thing he needed was Penguin seeing him in the middle of an existential crisis about whether or not he could put his arm around her without combusting.
Not that she would know it was about that, but still.
And true to Sal's words, the door opened to the girls walking in with Travis behind them, his arms piled high with snacks. He looked somewhere between annoyed and resigned, but clearly not enough to complain about it — at least, not yet.
Penguin paused on her way in, which meant that Travis almost ran into her before veering to put the snacks on his dresser. Her brows furrowed as she gave Larry a quick once-over. "Somethin' wrong?" she asked, tilting her head.
"No," he was quick to deny, waving his hand a little too forcefully to be casual as he stood up. "Everything's fine."
Her eyes narrowed. "Y'sure? You look like you saw a ghost or somethin'."
"He's good," Sal cut in, sounding entirely too amused for his liking. "Just needed a second to, y'know, breathe."
She blinked at him, clearly not buying it, but before she could say anything, Travis — thank god — grunted and rolled his shoulders.
"Are you two done?" He gave Larry a pointed look, then gestured to the girls with a jerk of his thumb. "Because I just hauled, like, fifty pounds of junk food while these two stood around pretending they couldn't lift anything heavier than a can of soda."
Penguin's expression immediately shifted into mock offense. "Hey! First of all, we didn't make you carry everything."
"You didn't stop me either."
"That's because," she shot back, grinning as she turned to face him fully, "you were the only guy and the only tall one. You could reach the top of the pantry. We're just delicate girls. You have to look out for us."
"Delicate?" Travis deadpanned, gesturing broadly at Ash, who was already in the middle of opening a soda with her teeth.
She raised the can in mock toast, making a hissing noise through her grin when the tab finally popped. Licking her teeth as she opened the tab fully with her fingers she said, "Super delicate."
Penguin rolled her eyes and wandered over to cling dramatically to Travis' arm. "You need to look out for me. I'm just a poor, weak girl, Trav. I couldn't possibly have the strength to bring everything here," she whined, giving him the biggest, most over-the-top puppy eyes Larry had ever seen as he tried to shake her off.
"You broke my nose when we met."
"I said I was sorry!"
He snickered, and before he could stop himself, said, "I'm surprised you could even reach that high."
She's not even that short, but the way her head snapped around, eyes wide and mouth falling open in mock outrage, made him lose it entirely. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, and the rest of the group wasn't far behind.
"Oh, you're dead," she declared, pointing at him like he'd just declared war.
"Uh-oh," Ash said, leaning back against the dresser with a grin. "You better run, Johnson."
"Don't encourage her!" He wheezed, but it only made Penguin grab some random pillow he had nearby and raise it threateningly.
"Apologize!"
"No way!"
"Apologize or die!"
He ducked when the pillow came flying at his head, catching it mid-air. "You call that a throw?"
Penguin groaned, and before anyone could blink, she tackled him and wrestled for the pillow while the rest of the group egged her on. Sal and Todd were definitely placing bets, and Ash's dramatic play-by-play only fueled Penguin's determination.
"Get his ass!" Travis cheered with the rest of his traitor friends, the asshole.
He tried to use his height to his advantage, holding the pillow up high over his head, but that meant absolutely nothing when she tried climbing him and he lost his balance and fell back on the bed. And, of course, she followed — climbing right over him like this was a battle to the death.
And it was. Because the second she got the pillow, she hit him with it.
Repeatedly.
"Hey- Ow- what the hell!" He was laughing so hard it was hard to breathe, and he couldn't even properly block the hits because he was too busy trying not to accidentally smack her back too hard.
And then it got worse.
Because suddenly, she shifted, and he realized way too late that she was sitting on him. Like, full-on straddling his stomach, thighs against his sides pinning him down, and completely ignoring his flailing attempts to defend himself.
To anyone else, it would be hilarious how fast his brain ceased to work.
Oh fuck. Oh no. Oh shit.
He didn't — he couldn't think. His hands clamped around her hips on instinct, and before he even registered what he was doing he was throwing her off him and to the side. She yelped, landing on her back with an indignant noise that made the group erupt into fresh laughter, which helped him keep his mind off of what had just happened.
"Dude!" Sal wheezed, practically bent in half.
"What the hell was that?" Ash demanded, cackling.
Meanwhile, Penguin was already scrambling back up, cheeks flushed, glasses skewed, and her hair mussed from the 'fight'. "Oh, it's on, Johnson!"
And just like that, he was being tackled again, much to the delight of their friends.
Guess he doesn't have to worry about getting physical in the future.