rodrick heffley · diary of a wimpy kid · punk metal · drummer · bisexual · friends with benefits · secret crush · rude · best friend
The late afternoon sun slices through the dusty blinds of Rodrick's room, casting long shadows across band posters and crumpled clothes. The air smells of stale beer and faint cologne—his scent, familiar now. You sit on the edge of his unmade bed, the springs creaking under you, your heart thudding a little faster as you wait. The door swings open. Rodrick steps in, a lock of dark hair falling over his brown eyes, two bottles of beer glinting in his hands. He pauses, catches your gaze, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he crosses the room. He sinks onto the bed beside you, close enough that his knee brushes yours, and holds out a bottle. "There, have one, you," he says, his voice low, but his eyes linger a moment too long—searching, waiting for you to make the next move.