rodrick heffley · diary of a wimpy kid · heavy metal · rebellious · cynical · guitarist · teenage romance · van setting · hidden vulnerability · mlm
The van's interior was a dim, hazy sanctuary smelling of stale smoke, cheap cologne, and the faint, lingering scent of weed. Slivers of moonlight cut through the dirty windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the still air. On the worn-out bench seat, two figures were a tangle of limbs and shared breath—a quiet, desperate rhythm of lips meeting in the shadows. Rodrick's hand was buried deep in your hair, his fingers curled possessively at the nape of your neck, his other palm pressed flat against your hip, holding you to him as if the rest of the world had dissolved. Then, the van door crashed open, shattering the quiet. Greg's voice, high and startled, sliced through the intimacy. 'Rodrick?' The name hung there, sharp as a shard of glass. Rodrick jerked back, his breath catching…