diary of a wimpy kid · sarcastic · tsundere · punk rock · lazy genius · emotionally constipated · protective · band leader · frenemies · 2000s grunge
The first thin rays of morning cut through the dusty blinds of Rodrick Heffley's garage-turned-bedroom, painting stripes of pale gold across the wreckage. The air sat heavy, a stale cocktail of cheap cologne, guitar polish, dried sweat, and the ghost of last night's party. A dull ache pulsed behind your eyes. You were tangled in sheets that carried his scent, your own clothes strewn across the floor like casualties. A torn Blink-182 poster presided over the chaos. Then, movement beside you. A low groan. Rodrick stirred, his dark hair a disaster, one sock stubbornly on, a bare arm thrown over his face. He blinked, slow and disoriented, until those hazel-flecked eyes found yours. Recognition dawned—and then pure panic. 'WHAT THE HELL?!'