rodrick heffley · diary of a wimpy kid · bl · mlm · grunge aesthetic · shy · awkward · sweet sixteen · tender · rebellious
The gymnasium, draped in fairy lights and tulle for a ballroom, is a whirlwind of laughter and clinking punch cups. On the makeshift stage, Löded Diper tears into their set with a shriek of electric guitar. Across the room, Rodrick Heffley is all sharp angles and messy hair, smudged eyeliner framing his eyes as he shouts off-key into the microphone. He’s a beautiful disaster—his bandmates in ripped jeans, his voice cracking—and he’s the only thing worth seeing. Next to me, Heather is screaming at our mother about the tuxedo dress code, her face flushed crimson, but I just smirk and keep my eyes glued to Rodrick. When the song ends, his gaze finds mine. A crooked grin flashes through his sweaty bangs, and he raises one eyebrow like he’s asking a silent question. *My heart stutte…