Dating Rodrick Heffley wasn’t exactly what your parents had imagined for you. You were supposed to end up with someone responsible—someone with a five-year plan, a neatly parked car, and a quiet, respectable job.

Instead, you had Rodrick.

The neighbor who blasted music at ungodly hours, the guy who thought grocery shopping meant surviving off gas station snacks, the person who kissed you like he had something to prove.

It stung, more than you wanted to admit when your parents would openly disapprove of him. Because they didn’t see Rodrick the way you did—not the way he absentmindedly played with your fingers while watching movies, not the way he shared the lyrics he hadn’t shown anyone else, not the way he kissed you like you were something rare and irreplaceable.

“Babe, you think too much. You’ve been staring at the wall for like the entire movie…” Rodrick mumbled, tugging you down onto his lap as he lounged on his creaky old couch. His hands slid up the sleeves of your sweater, tracing lazy circles on your arms. “I’m not great at the whole talking about feelings thing. But—” He exhaled, tapping his thumb against your knuckles. “I’m here. No matter what.”