#hilfley

Of all the things Rodrick wanted to be doing, being stuck at home on a perfectly good Friday afternoon to clean was not one of them. And normally, he'd find some way to pass on all of his responsibilities to Greg, leaving himself free to do whatever. So why wasn't he doing that now? Well, the answer is pretty simple: today was the day that Harris was coming over for dinner. As reluctant as he was towards the whole idea, Susan was absolutely determined to thank Harris Hills for somehow getting Rodrick motivated enough to get his grades up. Little did she know, good study habits were hardly the reason for whatever improvements Rodrick was making. No, the fact of the matter was that Rodrick was a little obsessed with his tutor, and that extended to hanging off of every word he said and filing those words somewhere in the back of his head to be called upon later. It was annoyingly effective, if not a bit pathetic.

Tonight though, he was putting in a little effort. He cleaned rugs, tidied up pillows, and made sure Greg and Manny were doing their parts too. That mostly entailed picking up toys for Manny, but Greg was given much bigger tasks, like cleaning the kitchen counters and clearing off the table. Once things were finally shaping up and looking good enough that Susan Heffley was satisfied, it became a waiting game. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor.” Frank comments, eyeing Rodrick suspiciously as he pauses his pacing. “What's got you so worked up anyway?”

Rodrick groaned, rolling his eyes. Of course now his dad chose to actually pay a little attention to his family. “I'm not worked up,” he lies, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm fine. I just think this is stupid.” Which wasn’t entirely a lie– he definitely hadn't wanted his mother inviting Harris over at all, but it was happening now. And Harris was due to arrive any minute, which definitely wasn't nerve-wracking– Oh, who was he kidding. He was nervous as all hell for Harris to meet his family. Lord knows they don't act normal on the best of days, but his mom had been raving over him being friends with such a good influence (“He's such a good kid, Frank,” she had been telling his dad. “He volunteers to tutor struggling students and actually helped Rodrick improve his grades!”) and he just knew she'd be completely embarrassing. Frank just sighed and walked out of another room, leaving Rodrick to pace in front of the door in peace.

Harris Hills has officially been pacing outside of the Heffley house long enough for it to be considered loitering. He had arrived a full twenty minutes earlier than he had meant to on top of trying to arrive ten minutes early, in his sister’s car that he had to blackmail her into letting him borrow. He was also dressed up for the occasion– granted, not enough that anyone looking at him would notice that he was putting in more effort than normal, but enough that part of him was worried that Rodrick would think he was trying too hard. Maybe he should’ve ditched the flowers– because yes, he grabbed a small bouquet of sunflowers to give to Mrs. Heffley for inviting him over in the first place. 

Now that he had been waiting around outside for a bit, the looming feeling of being overdressed had settled deep in his bones. He felt a bit like he might vomit, if he was being completely honest. Harris checked his phone, noting that it was finally near enough to the agreed upon time that it wouldn’t be weird for him to finally knock. He walks up to the door, but hesitates. He walked back towards his car. Took a breath. After psyching himself a second time, he walks up to the door and knocks. His knuckles had barely made contact before the door was pulled open by a wide-eyed Rodrick, who immediately started stammering.

“Harris! You’re here– are those flowers?” he asked, his cheeks pink. Had he been waiting by the door or something? Harris swallowed down his anxiety and made an attempt at a smile.

“Uh, I guess? I brought them for your mom since she invited me and stuff,” he explained, fiddling with the twine holding the bouquet together. Now that he could actually see Rodrick, he realized that yeah, he was overdressed. “It’s supposed to be good manners, or whatever…”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Okay,” Rodrick mumbled, stepping back to let him inside. Susan must have overheard, because she walked over with the brightest smile, taking off a pair of oven mitts and tucking them under her arm.

“Thank you, Harris! You are the sweetest young man I’ve ever seen,” She beams, taking the flowers and marveling at them. “Frank, can you find me a vase?” she calls over her shoulder, walking back inside. Harris’s ears were pink, and he glanced back at Rodrick, who looked like he was trying not to cringe. They could still hear her gushing over the flowers to Frank. “See Frank, I told you he was a sweetheart! Maybe Rodrick will pick up on his manners.”

“Sorry,” Harris whispers, running a hand down his face as a sheepish smile pulls at his lips. “I didn’t think it’d get that reaction.

“It’s fine,” Rodrick sighs, showing him to the kitchen. Greg was halfway done with setting the table, and Manny was in the kitchen with Susan, lingering underfoot and getting in her way. “I don’t think dinner’s ready yet, but we can go up to my room?” he offers, watching Harris survey the house.

Harris nods, and turns to follow him when Susan returns, waving them over. “No, none of that. Dinner is just about ready, come sit! And Rodrick, can you make sure Manny washes his hands?” Harris stands frozen in the entryway, glancing between Rodrick and the dining room where Susan had gestured before walking off again. 

Rodrick shuts the door, letting out an already exhausted breath. He turns to Harris, running a hand through his messy hair. “You look nice,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small smile despite his efforts to keep his expression neutral. 

“Hush,” Harris groans, crossing his arms self-consciously. “I didn’t know what to wear, so I went with business casual.”

“You’re such a nerd,” Rodrick snickered, all of the tension leaking out of him at Harris’s usual snark. “Business casual? That's what you call it?”

In his defense, Harris's outfit wasn't all that different from his usual attire. He was wearing a pastel pink polo shirt and blue jeans, the only thing that really set this outfit apart from his day-to-day clothes was the brighter colors and the fact that he had actually somewhat styled his hair. “Fuck you,” Harris laughed, shoving Rodrick’s arm. “I’d bet five dollars that you’re wearing a shirt you picked up off your floor.” he accuses, eyeing the faint wrinkles of Rodrick’s homemade Loded Diper T-shirt.

“Excuse you, I grabbed this shirt off of a chair,” Rodrick retorts, swatting Harris back. The tension had fully eased, so when Susan called them over to the table and presented her homemade lasagna, it truly seemed like dinner was going to go off without a hitch. 

As everyone sat down and started making their plates, Susan began conversation by asking Harris all sorts of questions, like his college plans and how he managed to get Rodrick to actually sit down and learn. Harris was keeping up the best he could, but it was obvious that he wasn’t used to this sort of attention. Frank kept quiet for the most part, though he watched Harris and Rodrick closely. Rodrick wasn’t eating with his usual gusto, too busy following the conversation with his eyes. Harris on the other hand, was more picking at his food than eating it properly. 

The lasagna was squishy. That by itself wasn’t necessarily odd, lasagna was a dish that could typically be described as a bit squishy, since it was sheets of pasta baked with cheese and sauce, but in this instance Harris describes it as squishy because the pasta was so overdone that it was practically mush, and the sauce was so thick and cheesy that it all sort of clumped together. No one seemed to want to comment on it, probably because of how proud Susan was when she presented it. Harris didn’t want to comment on it either (he’d rather die than do that, actually), but the thought of actually eating it wasn’t a pleasant one. It barely stayed on his fork, which was another telling sign of the texture. Now, the thing about Harris was that he truly could not handle certain squishy textures, and the feeling of them on his skin, in his mouth, or going down his throat, was bound to make him shudder or gag. The absolute worst case scenario was if he actually threw up, but that didn’t happen often. Thankfully, he had a few tactics to employ to avoid eating things he didn’t like and remain a polite guest, such as focusing on other parts of the meal (like the garlic bread or side salad) and moving the lasagna around his plate to give the illusion of eating.

Once a lull settled over the table, Frank cleared his throat, setting his fork down with a clink. “So Harris,” he began, eyeing him warily. “Susan mentioned that you volunteer your time to tutor Rodrick. For free.” he puts a lot of emphasis on the lack of cost.

Harris has to bite his tongue because his initial reaction was something along the lines of “Yeah, that’s what ‘volunteer’ means”, but also because he wasn’t sure where Mr. Heffley was going with that insinuation. “Yes sir,” he says politely, as he was taught. He can’t help but add onto that though, because he feels like he needs to clarify beyond what is needed for the conversation. “Well, technically I volunteer at the local library to tutor students in English. Not Rodrick specifically.”

Frank didn’t look impressed, but Susan was charmed. “Right, for free.” Frank reiterates, narrowing his eyes. He looked between Harris, with his neat clothes and polite mannerisms, and Rodrick, his son who he knew was generally lazy, crude, and unmotivated. “And you two what, ‘hang out’ at the library? For hours?” he asks dryly. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. A kid like you, good grades, good family, doesn’t spend all of his free time hanging out with someone like Rodrick out of the goodness of his heart.”

“Frank–” Susan begins, her brows drawn up in a concerned fashion. Frank waved her off, muttering “Let them answer.”

Harris frowns, his eyes flicking over to Rodrick, who looks equally uncomfortable. “What are you implying, exactly?” he asks slowly, setting his fork down. He wasn’t particularly hungry anymore.

“Is he supplying you with something?” Frank asks bluntly, squinting between the two boys. From his seat beside Rodrick, Greg was watching the conversation with wide-eyed dread, like he was expecting this to go in a much worse direction. “Or is something else happening between you two?”

“Frank, are you serious?” Susan muttered distractedly, too caught up in trying to keep Manny from getting his food everywhere.

Rodrick’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he just stared at his dad in complete disbelief while his mom scolded him. There was a heavy pit in his stomach, because while he expected tonight to be embarrassing, he hadn’t considered his dad accusing them of that. “What the hell, dad?” he spluttered, face pink from embarrassment. Harris stood abruptly, his chair squeaking against the hardwood floor. Rodrick watched with wide eyes as Harris’s usually expressive face remained unreadably neutral. 

“I don’t know why this is apparently hard for you to grasp, but I do genuinely enjoy hanging out with Rodrick.” he says, his voice even. “He’s not even that terrible of a student– I mean yeah, he doesn’t care about school, but he’s not awful when he tries.” For a brief moment, his gaze flickers over to Rodrick and his face softens, but then that moment is gone and he’s back to staring down Frank.

Rodrick was blushing bright red– he had to be. Obviously he wanted to think that Harris enjoyed being around him, but hearing him actually say it? In front of his parents? Hot damn. It was a good thing that he had already come to terms with the fact that he liked men, more specifically Harris, because that would have been one hell of a moment to realize it. 

Frank looked a bit like he was realizing something himself, but if he was going to reply at all to Harris’s outburst, he never got the chance to. Susan was completely exasperated, and had stood up as well. “Frank Heffley, I cannot believe you!” she snapped, her face red. She took a deep breath, and offered Harris a tired smile. “I am so unbelievably sorry. You two are excused from the table.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rodrick jumped up from the table and grabbed Harris’s hand, finally taking him up to his room. Even as they scurried up the stairs, they could still hear parts of the conversation.

“Seriously Frank, Rodrick finally brings over a friend that’s a respectable kid and you grill him?” Susan sighs, frustrated. “Why would you imply something like that anyway?”

“The kid is obviously gay or something,” Frank scoffed. “He was being prissy with his food, and jumped to defend Rodrick–”

“Because they’re friends–”

It was probably for the best that they couldn’t hear much more than that. The second Rodrick’s bedroom door shut, Harris scrubbed his hands down his face, taking a deep breath. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, leaning his back against the closed door. “I didn’t mean to get up like that, I mean, what the fuck is wrong with me? I–”

“What? Don’t be sorry.” Rodrick cuts him off, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry for my family. This is why I didn’t want to do dinner,” he sighs, still sporting an embarrassed flush on his ears and face. Harris just shrugs, crossing his arms tight over his chest, like he’s hugging himself. Rodrick’s frown deepened. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. My dad just thinks I’m a loser and a screwup, so.. Yaknow…” he trails off, not sure how to word it. He knows his dad doesn’t think he’ll succeed at anything, much less music, but how can he tell Harris that without sounding completely pathetic?

“That’s such bullshit,” Harris mutters, understanding despite Rodrick’s struggle to explain. He offers him a half-smile. “You’re not that much of a loser, Rodrick.” He assured him, a teasing lit to his tone that made Rodrick smile too. “Besides, your dad was surprisingly spot on about me. I’m really not that great of an influence.” he admits with a shrug.

Rodrick arched an eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“Well,” Harris smiles sheepishly, hesitant. “I am gay. So there’s that.” Rodrick’s eyes widened comically, his face somehow going pinker. Harris hurriedly moved on. “And I sell weed sometimes. Smoke it more than I sell it, but it's whatever.” 

“What.” Rodrick squeaks, looking completely bewildered. “You’ve literally never mentioned weed. What the fuck?” Harris was gay? If Harris liked guys, there was a chance he might like him. All of his daydreaming wouldn’t be for nothing after all. And weed? Harris has always presented himself as put-together, with a kind of dry humor that never failed to make Rodrick laugh. He never would have pegged him as a stoner.

“It never came up.” Harris shrugged, torn between being amused by Rodrick’s shock, and worried that he’s going to be put off by that first bit of information. “And uh, I never really felt the need to smoke when you were around.”

“And– wow. Holy shit.” Rodrick muttered, more to himself or anything. “So you, uh.” Harris winced a bit at his floundering. “You like… guys?” Smooth, Heffley. Why don’t you just ask him what his type is next?

Harris shrugged, he seems to be doing that a lot tonight. “Yeah,” he confirms, drumming his fingers on his arm self-consciously. “That’s not gonna make things weird, is it?”

“What? No!” Rodrick almost shouts in his haste to assure him. His mouth was running faster than his brain, and he found himself blurting: “No– that’s.. I’m also. You know.” he can’t quite meet Harris’s eyes for a moment. “Into guys.” It felt strangely cathartic to finally say it out loud, to admit it to someone other than just himself. Harris’s eyes widened slightly, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Huh. Small world.” he jokes, the tension easing from his frame. “You’re into both, then? Guys and girls?” Rodrick nods, sitting on his bed and patting the spot beside him. Harris joins him, a fond sort of expression settling on his face. “Cool.”

“So…” Rodrick begins, his hands fidgeting in his lap. Harris’s leg is touching his and he’s having a little trouble focusing on anything else. “You actually deal weed?” 

Harris snorts a laugh, knocking his knee against Rodrick’s playfully. “What’s it to ya? You interested?” he asks, arching an eyebrow. He had meant it as a joke, but Rodrick just shrugged and bumped his shoulder against Harris’s. 

“I mean… are you offering?” he asks, having the audacity to bat his eyelashes at him. Harris blinked, and took a moment to consider it. He pulled a silver cigarette case and flicked it open, revealing two and a half joints that he had made a while ago.

“Have you ever smoked before?” he asked, taking the half smoked one and flicking the case closed again. From the way Rodrick was staring at the joint, wide-eyed and eager, he’d guess that he hadn’t. As Rodrick tried to convince him that he had, an idea formed. Not necessarily a good idea, but certainly a selfish one. “Have you ever tried shotgunning, then?”

Rodrick tilted his head, then shrugged. “Oh, uh, no?” 

“Open the window,” Harris instructs, following him when he gets up to do so. With the window open, he leans his head out and lights the joint, all while Rodrick watches closely. “Smoking directly might be a bit much for your first time.” he lies, because it doesn’t really make much of a difference.

“Psh, I’ve totally smoked before,” Rodrick bluffs, but it was just as effective as the first time, which is to say, not at all. Still, he watches Harris take a slow draw, just to blow it out the window. 

“Sure you have. Anyway, basically, shotgunning is when someone takes a drag,” he raises the blunt for emphasis. “–and then they blow it into the other person’s mouth for them to breathe in.”

Rodrick’s face is red as he follows along, but he definitely doesn’t seem disinterested. “Uh, yeah! That sounds good,” he says, unable to mask how eager he was. Harris motioned for him to come closer, until the both of them leaned against the window. He watched with rapt attention as Harris brought the joint to his lips, his chest rising as he inhaled slowly. He holds the joint out of the way, cupping Rodrick’s face with his other hand and tilting his head slightly. Their eyes meet briefly, Rodrick in particular finds himself torn between looking Harris in the eyes or at his mouth, lips still slightly parted. Harris presses their mouths together, breathing out the smoke. A shiver runs through Rodrick at the soft press of Harris’s lips on his, and when smoke floods his mouth, he inhales. He has to pull away to cough, but even as he does he mourns the loss of such intimate contact.

“You okay?” Harris asks, stifling a laugh as he stubs out the blunt against the outside brick, not bothering to finish it. Rodrick gives him a thumbs up, gulping down air and stumbling over to his bed. All in all a very dramatic display. “Smoking’s overrated anyway,” he hums, tucking the nearly-finished blunt back into his cigarette case. “It’s fine if you didn’t like it.”

“No!” Rodrick yelped, sitting up straight. “No, I liked it. It was just a bit… overwhelming.” he admits, his ears and neck matching the same shade of red he sported on his cheeks. Above anything else, he just couldn’t stop thinking about if that counted as a kiss or not. Because if it did… He totally just kissed Harris Hills. Kind of. Maybe.

“Fair enough, man.” Harris shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and ducking his head slightly. As a quiet lull settled between them, they could sort of hear a faint squabbling from downstairs. Rodrick’s parents were still arguing, it seemed. Harris frowned, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. “I should probably go,” he mutters.

Rodrick’s face falls, but he gets it. Part of him wants to speak up, to ask for literally any followup about that.. kiss? The moment? He wasn’t quite sure how to define it exactly, but regardless it made his pulse race. It certainly posed the question ‘was Harris into him too? Did he have a shot?’ “Yeah, alright.” he nods, his mouth pressed into a tight smile. “I’m sorry about my dad, again,” he adds, because he truly is, even if part of him was glad that his dad being a dick got him in the situation where he got to both try weed and kinda-almost-definetly-kiss Harris. 

Harris hesitates, but then walks out of the room. Rodrick doesn’t follow him out, but he does watch from the hall as Harris breezes by the kitchen, right by the arguing Heffleys and leaves without saying a word. Rodrick touches his lips, his chest feeling warm and fluttery, and he doesn’t know enough about weed to know if that’s what caused it. He doesn’t think it is. He decides then and there that he has to find a way to actually ask Harris on a date, and then absolutely dazzle him. He has to.