He's a goddamn middle school girl.
That's what he thinks as he stares blankly at the ceiling. The room is dark, and his clock reads 1 am. He's been lying there for what feels like hours, but sleep keeps slipping through his fingers like sand. Every time he closes his eyes, Penguin's face pops into his mind. Her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at him when they held hands, the feeling of her lips—
He groans, pressing his hands into his face. This isn't normal. He's never been this… what, distracted? Obsessed? His body feels restless, his mind running a thousand miles a minute. He rolls over to try again, pressing his face into his pillow, as if somehow that will help. But it doesn't. He just ends up kicking his legs under the covers like an idiot.
For fuck's sake.
At this point, he's going to start fake calling her through his imaginary rotary phone, twirling the nonexistent cord around his finger like some lovesick teenager in one of those cheesy movies his mom loved.
For fuck's sake.
God, he needs to relax. Maybe a smoke would help.
With a heavy sigh, Larry throws back his covers and drags himself to the edge of his bed, his feet hitting the old carpet. He shuffles to his dresser, the sound of the drawers sticking slightly as he pulls open the bottom one. Squatting down, he pulls out a familiar plastic bag, the loud-ass crinkling making him wince in the silence of the room.
"Quiet, you," he mutters under his breath, as if the bag will suddenly cooperate.
Inside, smaller bags are packed neatly, each one labeled with thick, black letters scrawled in his handwriting. Even in the dark, he can make out the words, but he doesn't trust himself not to screw this up. Not tonight. If he grabs the wrong stash and ends up wired out of his mind, thinking about every single detail of the day, there's no way in hell he's sleeping.
He reaches up blindly, groping across the top of the dresser until his hand brushes against the familiar shape of his lighter. He flicks it on with a soft click, the small flame casting an orange glow over the bags.
"Okay… mellow, mellow… where are you?" he murmurs, shuffling through the options. A bag labeled "Daydreams" gets shoved aside, followed by "Buzz Booster." Finally, he lands on the one he's been searching for, "Knockout." His lips quirk in satisfaction as he pulls it out.
Grabbing an empty tray from the drawer, he sets it down on the floor next to him. The routine feels second nature as he pulls out a grinder, a rolling paper, and a small, crumpled pack of filters from the depths of the drawer. He moves quietly but quickly, pausing now and then to listen for any creaks or signs of his mom waking up.
He's gotten pretty damn good at this — years of practice will do that. He grinds up the pot with steady hands, the soft crunch filling the otherwise silent room. Once it's perfect, he carefully pours it onto the rolling paper, spreading it out evenly before slipping in the filter. His fingers move with practiced ease, rolling it up tightly and giving it a little lick to seal it.
He sits back on his heels, admiring his handiwork for a second. "Perfect," he mutters to himself.
Then, with a sigh, he reaches for the little bag, tucking it back into the larger plastic one before shoving it into his drawer. The grinder follows, then the papers, everything packed away where it belongs. Only once he's sure it's all hidden does he grab his lighter and stand up, making his way to the basement stairs before carefully pushing open the door.
The cool night air greets him immediately, wrapping around him like a blanket straight out of the freezer. For a second, he just stands there, breathing it in, letting it cool him off from the inside out. His thoughts feel a little less like they're racing each other, but it's not enough. Not tonight. With a flick of his lighter, the end of the blunt glows softly, the first inhale filling his lungs as he exhales a slow, steady stream of smoke into the night.
"Here's to knocking myself out," he mutters, letting the weed do its work as his shoulders finally start to relax.
It works faster than he expects. By the time he stubs out the blunt on the side of the building and shuffles back inside, he's stumbling, his limbs feeling way too heavy for how much effort they're putting in. Every blink lasts a little longer, his eyes begging to stay closed, and when he finally drops back onto his bed, he doesn't even bother trying to air out his clothes. He's out cold the second his head hits the pillow.
When he wakes up, he feels pretty well-rested, all things considered. He blinks up at the ceiling, his brain still catching up, until his eyes flick over to the clock on his nightstand.
He's late. Not super late, just late enough for it to be annoying. He's been here before, though, and it's not like anyone expects him to show up bright and early anyway. Rolling out of bed, he pulls on some clean clothes, grabs his bag, and makes it out the door with just enough time to spare.
Sally, Todd, and Chug must've already taken the bus, seeing as they weren't waiting for him out front like they usually did. Not a big deal — it's not like they hadn't ditched him before when he was running late. With a shrug, he climbs into his truck, the familiar creak of the door echoing in the quiet morning. He starts it up, the engine rumbling to life as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads toward school.
It's a short drive, barely enough time to get a decent song playing, but somehow it feels like forever. His mind keeps wandering, bouncing between the usual morning haze and the one thing that's had him twisted in knots since yesterday: Penguin.
How was she going to act when she saw him? Would it be any different? Should he act any differently? Maybe he should say something about what happened. It wasn't like he hated it or anything. If anything, the thought of it still had his stomach doing weird flips.
For a second, he catches himself grinning like a moron. "Get it together, dude," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. It's just Penguin. The same girl he's been hanging out with for weeks. The same one who always leaves him those little gifts in his locker. Except now, every time he thinks about her, he's stuck replaying the feeling of her lips brushing against his cheek, soft and warm and—
He slams the brakes on that train of thought — damn near slams them on the truck too — giving his head a quick shake, sending his hair flying anywhere. 'Relax,' he tells himself as he pulls into the school parking lot. 'Just act normal. It's not like she's gonna bite your head off or anything.' Probably.
With a deep breath, he parks and steps out, slinging his bag over one shoulder as he makes his way toward the school entrance. The usual morning buzz greets him: kids milling around, some rushing to finish homework on the steps, others huddled in their little groups near the doors. His eyes scan the crowd automatically, searching for the one person he's been looking forward to seeing the most.
He spots Travis first, leaning against the brick wall like he owns the place, his expression its usual mix of bored and annoyed as the group talks around him. But there's no sign of Penguin. No familiar flash of her jacket, no glimpse of her hair, or the way she always seemed to brighten up the space around her.
Weird.
Larry's steps slow as he approaches the group, his brows furrowing. "Yo," he greets, tossing a nod to Travis, who barely acknowledges him. "Where is she?"
Travis raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "How the hell should I know?" he snaps, but there's something off about the way he says it, like he does know, but isn't about to share.
"Wow, I see how it is," Ash cuts in, crossing her arms with a mock pout. "No 'good morning,' no 'what's up, guys,' just straight to 'where is she?' Nice to see you too, Larry."
He rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn red. "Morning, Ash," he grumbles, glancing at her before turning his attention back to Travis. "She didn't come in with you?"
"Does it look like she's here?" Travis shoots back, gesturing vaguely toward the empty space beside him, where she would normally be.
He huffs, forcing himself to stay casual. "She's probably in the bathroom or something," he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. But his brain won't let it go. She never skips the morning meet-up.
"Uh-huh," Travis deadpans, his tone flat as he adjusts the strap of his bag.
He tries to play it cool, leaning back on his heels as he glances toward the entrance. "I'm just saying," he adds, almost like he's convincing himself.
"Right," Todd says with a hum, clearly enjoying his obvious unease. "Totally not strange at all how you're acting."
"Can we not?" Larry groans, running a hand through his hair. He did not need their teasing so early in the morning, thank you very much.
"She dropped Travis off and then went inside the building," Sally, his savior, takes pity on him.
He's quick to shuffle to his side, leaning down a little so he could talk without the eight foot height difference between them, whispering, "Do you know why she left? Did she say anything?"
He squinted up at him, amusement flickering behind his prosthetic. Instead of answering right away, he grabbed Larry's jacket sleeve and tugged at it, guiding him a little ways away from the group. Once they were safely out of earshot, Sally finally said, "She looked really, really anxious, man. Like, eyes bouncing around, about to throw up anxious. It was weird."
"Oh shit, really?" He frowned, and Sally nodded, crossing his arms as he elaborated.
"Yeah. She walked up with Travis like normal, but as soon as they got here, she said goodbye and bolted inside. Ash wanted to follow her," he added, tilting his head toward their red-headed friend, "but Travis shut that down. He told her to leave Penguin alone and grumbled something about her needing space."
He felt his heart thud painfully in his chest. She didn't even stick around? Not for a minute? He hadn't seen her since yesterday — since the kiss — and she was already avoiding him?
His chest tightened, a tangle of frustration and doubt blooming in the pit of his stomach. Was it because she regretted it? Did she think it was a mistake? Did he do something wrong?
The thought made his jaw clench, and his hands balled into fists in his pockets. A quiet voice in the back of his mind told him not to jump to conclusions, but it didn't stop the gnawing unease. She wasn't like this yesterday, so why now?
Sal, of course, noticed.
"Dude, relax," Sally said, his voice cutting through the spiral. "It's probably not as bad as you think."
He blinked at him, trying and failing to shake the tight knot in his chest. "You sure about that? 'Cause it kinda seems like she—"
"She held your hand yesterday, didn't she?" Sally interrupted. "And she didn't pull away. And yeah, she kissed you. Maybe it was a spontaneous thing, and now she's embarrassed. Just... give her some time, man. Let her calm down."
Larry wanted to believe him, but the doubt still lingered. What if Sal was wrong? What if she really didn't want anything to do with him now?
But for now, he just nodded. "Yeah... yeah, maybe."
Truth be told, if he'd pressed a kiss to his crush of four months' cheek, he'd probably be fucking freaking out too.
The bell ringing snapped them out of the conversation, and they both went their separate ways to class. Before he left, Travis sent him a weird look. Not his usual glare, but something more annoyed, and… was that pity? Larry had no idea what the hell that was about, but it was too early to deal with Travis's cryptic bullshit. He shoved it to the back of his mind and trudged off to his first class.
Except ignoring things only worked until they came back louder, and they came back during third period.
Because she wasn't there either.
When the teacher called roll and got to her name, there was nothing but silence. He hesitated, frowning down at the list before looking up at the class. "Huh," he murmured. "She's never missed school. Perfect attendance. Hope she's doing alright."
And just like that, the weight in his stomach settled deeper, the pit growing heavier.
Larry stared blankly at the desk in front of him, barely hearing anything else the teacher said. She never missed school. Hell, her perfect attendance was one of the things she mentioned with a laugh, like it was some kind of fun fact. So where the hell was she? Was she sick? She didn't seem sick yesterday. Had something happened? His mind jumped to a million possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Or — his stomach twisted — was it really because of him? Was she avoiding him after the kiss? She'd seemed fine when he left, but what if she wasn't? What if she'd gone home and decided it was a mistake? The thought sat like a lead weight in his chest, sharp and suffocating.
He tried to shove it down, to focus on class, but it clung to him like smoke, clouding every thought. By the time lunch rolled around, it had burrowed so deep he couldn't even enjoy the idea of grabbing food.
On the way to the cafeteria, Larry stopped by his locker to dump a couple of books he didn't need anymore. He picked the combination lock with a paper clip he keeps in his pocket, opened it up, and froze.
Something felt… off.
Frowning, he scanned the inside of his locker. His bag was there, his pencil cup in place, his sticky notes right where they should be. Everything looked normal, so why did it feel so wrong?
He shut the door and opened it again, staring harder.
There wasn't a gift waiting for him.
It's Tuesday.
His stomach fucking drops.
She's been giving him gifts every Tuesday and Friday for months now. Without fail. Like clockwork. Every time, it's something small but thoughtful. Hell, even when she was sick that one week, there'd still been a drawing folded up neatly in his locker.
But now?
Nothing.
He stares at the empty shelf like it's going to suddenly sprout a gift if he just looks hard enough. His chest feels heavy, his throat uncomfortably tight. She didn't leave anything. Why? Did she… did she not want to? Did he do something wrong? It had to be about yesterday.
A sharp buzz of panic rises in his chest, loud enough to drown out any rational thoughts. He rubs a hand down his face, groaning under his breath. 'Dude, you're spiraling over a missing piece of paper. Get it together.'
Even with the pep talk, the weight doesn't budge. His chest still feels tight, his brain still racing. So caught up in his head, he doesn't even notice Sally standing next to him until his best friend's voice cuts through the fog.
"Dude, are you okay?" Sal asks, leaning casually against the locker next to him.
Larry glances down at him, sighing as he turns with what has to be the saddest fucking look he's ever made. He shrugs, voice tight but trying to stay casual. "She… didn't leave me anything."
Sal blinks up at him for a second, silent. Then he snorts so loudly it actually echoes in the hall, slapping a hand over his mask like that's going to muffle it. "Sorry, dude, but you look like someone kicked your dog. It's just one day, maybe she forgot."
He tries to laugh, but it comes out weak, almost like a wheeze. "Yeah. Maybe she forgot," he mumbles, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. He's aiming for whatever, it's no big deal, but it lands somewhere closer to please pity me.
Sal's laughter fades, and he straightens up to give him a light shove on the arm. "Hey, man. She's probably just… I don't know, distracted or something? Maybe she got all in her head thinking about that kiss yesterday and, like, ran out of time to finish whatever she was making for you." His voice is casual, but his gaze is steady, unshaken. "I told you, she's probably just embarrassed. It doesn't mean anything bad, dude. Don't overthink it."
Larry nods, but the weight in his chest doesn't budge. He shuts his locker a little harder than necessary, the sound echoing down the hallway as he starts toward the cafeteria.
The walk feels longer than usual, the usual chaos of the school day muted under the buzz of his own thoughts. He weaves through the crowd on autopilot, half-listening to the snippets of conversation around him. None of it her voice.
By the time he gets to the cafeteria, the noise hits like a wall, but it doesn't drown out the ache in his chest. Lunch is supposed to be a break, but all he can think about is her not being here — her seat at their table empty, no teasing remarks, no Penguin anything.
With a sigh, he trudges toward the cafeteria bench, bracing himself for a round of picking at the cafeteria's sad excuse for food until a hand clamps down on his shoulder.
"Jesus, what—" He starts, spinning around to glare at whoever it is.
"You're moping around like some sad puppy, back bent so low I'm surprised you haven't started walking around on your knuckles like a goddamn gorilla," Travis snapped. "She's moping like someone killed her cat. You two are pissing me off. She's in the courtyard. Go talk to her."
Larry doesn't even get the chance to process what he's saying before Travis physically spins him around and shoves him back toward the cafeteria doors, muttering under his breath the whole time.
For a second, he's stunned. Travis? Giving advice? Since when? But he wasn't about to start a fight when the guy had a point.
Well. He guessed he was going to the courtyard.