Chapter Text
Arnold watched the tail lights of the beat up delivery car disappear around the corner of the street, his lips still stretched in an easy curve as he ran through his strange interaction with the blond delivery girl. He'd lived his entire life in Hillwood - all 21 years so far- and had met almost everyone in town at least once or twice; yet, with even only a short amount of time interacting, he knew he had never met anyone quite like Helga.
It was for that exact reason that the odd pang of familiarity he felt upon hearing her name confused him so much. The feeling settled just under his skin and he could tell that it was something he'd have to resist picking at - like an almost healed scab.
It was something that would make Arnold curious and Arnold knew that his curiosity, if left unchecked, could lead to trouble. So for now he tried his best to push the errant thought to the back of his mind and focus back on the task at hand. By the sounds of it, the hungry group inside was getting less and less patient by the second.
Sucking in one last deep breath of the crisp night air, Arnold prepared himself to re-enter the house, attempt to calm the now hungry and restless group inside and enjoy the rest of his evening.
It was a wonder he managed to place all seven of the pizza boxes down without dropping them considering the sheer amount of shoving and crowding from all the boarders upon Arnolds re-appearance. As soon as he settled down the last one, he took three large steps backwards and sat on the arm of the worn green couch. He'd wait till the rest had gotten their fill and eat whatever was left over; from previous experiences, it was not worth the effort to try and get first picks.
Arnold looked to his left at his mother and father, still cuddled up in their corner of the couch underneath one of the many plush blankets that littered the room. His dad watched warily as the pizza disappeared at a frightening speed and his mother simply shook her head at the display before reassuringly patting Miles' leg. Whispering something about left overs and snacks into his ear and causing his previously creased face to soften with what seemed to be relief.
Some rustling from the loveseat adjacent to the couch drew Arnold's attention. The loveseat, in comparison to the couch, was a new addition to their living room. Just barely fitting into the already cramped room, the lavender coloured two seater clashed horribly with the rest of the décor, which obviously meant it fit right in with the rest of their eclectic household. His parents had suggested getting the extra seating so there would be more room for people to spend time together; so of course when his Grandma fell in love with the second-hand couch at a nearby thrift shop, it just had to come home with them.
Secretly, Arnold also had a fondness for the garish thing, but he'd rather sit on the cold hard floor then admit that. Plus, he couldn't imagine asking his grandparents to scooch over to fit him, not when they looked so comfortable and at ease - something that they had gone without for a majority of Arnold's life with them. Phil cleared his throat and proceeded to look pleased when Arnold fixed his attention on him.
"You sure took your time getting those pizzas Shortman, or was the blondy distracting ya?" Phil wiggled his eyebrows as he spoke. Arnold immediately felt his face warm, words of denial bubbling up his throat as he began flapping his hands in front of him in as clear of a dismissive gesture he could think of.
"Grandpa! I wasn't-" before he could finish, Arnold felt a hand on his shoulder, immediately causing him to stop and look back at his father. Miles gently patted his shoulder in what he guessed was supposed to be a calming gesture before turning to Phil.
"Dad come on. We shouldn’t be ribbing Arnold about trying to flirt with a girl-" Arnold's eyes widened and his blush deepened, "DAD!" Arnold spun around, eyes wide and face now sporting a deep flush across both cheeks and the tips of his ears.
Miles looked surprised at Arnold, clearly thinking he had been helping the situation. Stella and Gertie tried to stifle their laughter as Arnold got up and escaped to the kitchen hoping to catch a moment alone. Not a second after he'd left, Phil eased himself out of his seat and followed.
Arnold stood facing the windows above the perpetually cluttered sink with his hands covering his still warm face. Upon hearing the tell tale footsteps of his Grandpa however, he peaked over his finger tips to watch the reflection in the darkened glass before him. Phil's teasing grin had shrunk to a small smile and - as he often did when Arnold did something he found endearing - he shook his head slowly as he entered the room.
"Was she nice?" Phil pulled out two of the kitchen chairs and settled into one of them as he spoke. Arnold looked at the empty seat. He knew that there was no way he would get out of this conversation, and as much as he loved his dad, he knew Grandpa would know exactly what to say if Arnold needed any advice. The blond sighed, pulling out the chair a tad more before sitting across from the older male. He looked into the aged face of his Grandpa and found an open and honest expression.
A genuine question then.
"Yeah, she was." Arnold looked away briefly, still acutely aware of the flush lingering on his cheeks.
"I know I only spoke with her for a few minutes but she -" he cut himself off, looking up at the ceiling as if he would find the right words written on the ceiling. "- she's got this way about her. She responded to Grandma without hesitation or judgement -" he looked back at Phil, his voice getting a little surer with each word- "she's - she's…" Arnold trailed off, unable to put any more of his thoughts into words.
Phil watched Arnold with a crooked brow, he'd never seen Arnold get tongue tied about a girl before.
"And her name?"
Arnold couldn't help the small curl of his lips as he told Phil her name.
"Hmm, Pataki…" Phil rubbed at his chin upon hearing Arnold response, the name sounded familiar but he couldn't place why. Shaking off the thought, he focused back on his Grandson.
" I gotta say kid, I've never seen you like this over a girl before. Well no - actually there was one time but you were still an ankle biter back then. What're you going to do?"
Arnold sat up straighter, he hadn't even considered doing anything, and he told his Grandpa as much.
"Well, up to you Arnold, but everything happens for a reason."
On that last bit of wisdom, stood slowly from his chair and started back towards the living room. When he failed to hear a second chair moving, he turned to ask Arnold if he was coming but stopped himself short. The young man was staring down at his hands on the table, deep in thought. Phil shook his head again slowly; poor boy was smitten and didn't even know it yet.
A few minutes passed before Arnold finally stood up and made his way back to the living room. A brief look around showed that everyone had already finished eating and had resettled into their respective spots to make small talk. The movie was still paused on the small grainy screen of their old TV so Arnold walked over to the scuffed coffee table, intent on grabbing some of the (probably cold) left over pizza. He opened the first box, unsurprised when he only found a handful of crusts. The second and third boxes were a similar state, but it wasn't until the second to last box that he started to worry that he'd be having a bag of chips for dinner.
He opened the last box.
Crusts.
Chips it was then.
Grabbing one of the mostly full bags, Arnold settled back into the pile of blankets and pillows he'd arranged at the base of the green couch. He pulled one of the blankets around him and got comfortable as Ernie shouted for quiet and played the movie.
Arnold could feel the comforting warmth of his parents legs seeping through his blanket cocoon on either side of him. Once upon a time he'd never imagined that he'd get to spend cosy nights like this, surrounded by his whole family all safe and warm. It was worth the few life threatening weeks in the jungles of San Lorenzo all those years ago just to have moments like these. He sunk even further into his little pillow nest and nibbled on a handful of chips, ready to finally enjoy the rest of the evening.
A hour later and Arnold was helping pack away the mess strewn around the room with everyone else. The movie had ended a few minutes ago, but honestly, Arnold couldn't name a single thing that had happened if you asked him. Despite trying his best to concentrate on the feature, his mind had wondered back again and again to his interaction earlier that night.
Even as he prepared for bed, it was like his body was going through the motions while his thoughts drifted. Glimpses of light wispy hair, piercing blue eyes and the crook of soft pink lips. Again, and again, and again, like a broken slideshow.
He couldn't help but toss and turn as he lay in the cool light of the moon under the tangle of his sheets. Hands clenched in frustration, eyes screwed shut as if he could possibly get the images to disappear if he tried hard enough.
This was getting out of hand… It was a single 3 minute interaction with a stranger he'd probably never see again…
So why was his brain so insistent on keeping him from sleep with the utter chaos of his thoughts.
Frustrated and now fully awake despite it being almost 2am, Arnold threw back his sheets and made his way to his desk. The surface was cluttered with piles upon piles of notes and sketches. A pile of textbooks, a multilingual dictionary and a handful of pens quickly found their way into an already crammed drawer as Arnold made room for his sketchbook.
The sketchbook was torn and falling apart, some pages hanging down and the stickers on the front peeling and stained from years traveling with him to classes and cafes. He was one of those artists that drew mostly on loose papers and sticky notes, which was why he'd had his current book for the few years. The pages were covered with doodles, thoughts and notes scrawled between the scratchy drawings and splashes of paint.
The blond opened it up to a blank spread and settled into his worn desk chair, already reaching for the nearest pencil. Trying not to focus too much on what he was actually drawing, he poured those images the plagued him onto the blank paper.
Sketches of eyes framed with long lashes.
Splashes of blue and pink.
The sweeping arcs that made up plush lips.
The suggestion of a tall lanky frame through a collection rough lines.
All of these interspersed with attempt after attempt at recreating her face. But each one was scribbled over; blacked out with a thick layer of graphite. Just like his thoughts, the likeness of her face was jumbled and shattered into parts. The parts he could remember of her, his brain seemed fixated on sorting through them repeatedly as if that would help him piece together that damned feeling that lingered at the edges of his consciousness.
It would be many hours before Arnold would finally succumb to his growing fatigue. In the morning, he would awake, still slumped over pages of densely packed frantic sketches. His cheek would be smudged grey where it had laid on the page and he would inevitably scramble to hide the results of his sleepless night. His cheeks would be pinked with both embarrassment and something else he wouldn't dare look at too closely.
But that would all happen in the morning, for now, he stayed bowed over the pages in front of him. Spotlighted in the darkness of the night and running from everything he couldn't grasp hiding in the dark corners of his mind.