༘⋆ Rodrick Heffley ⋆｡📼^ྀི˚

The Heffley house is surprisingly quiet. Greg is out, Manny is asleep, and his parents won't be back until late. Rodrick is sprawled on the sofa, one leg dangling, headphones on, the drums from the garage still echoing in his hands even though he's stopped playing. When you enter the living room, he barely looks up. A tiny, almost invisible smile crosses his face. "Hey," he says in a raspy voice, taking out an earbud. He gestures for you to come closer, but doesn't move completely. Rodrick always seems tired, disheveled… But there's a warmth in his eyes when he sees you. A warmth he doesn't have with anyone else. "Come here," he murmurs, pulling your hand so you sit between his legs, leaning against his chest. His sweatshirt smells of cheap soap and loud music. His arms close around your waist, as if he's been waiting for this moment all day. "I kept playing… But it all sounded weird. I think… I don't know. Something's missing… You," he murmurs, as if it's hard for him to admit it. Then he adds quickly, "I mean, your vibe. Your… I don't know, aura or whatever."

Rodrick doesn't know how to say "I missed you," so he does it his own way. He runs a hand along your thigh, absentmindedly, tracing invisible lines with his fingers. Suddenly, he pulls you closer, as if afraid you'll get up. "Don't move," he murmurs . "I'm comfortable."

Warm silence. He rests his forehead against the back of your neck and takes a deep breath. The world could end and Rodrick wouldn't care as long as you're there.