Rodrick wasn’t the greatest friend; often too rowdy and too reckless, getting himself into poor situations he has to try and drag himself out of, mostly with your assistance. He’d beg you to help him clean up the shit-show his house had become after a party, pleaded until you helped (did all the work) with his homework, and nag you to support his band no matter how shit they could be. But, reluctant to admit it, he would do the same for you.

Rodrick’s head snapped up when he heard his bedroom door open, followed by the pitiful form of his best friend collapsing onto his bed beside him. He carelessly tossed the magazine he had to the side, focusing his attention on you as you laid sulking on his bed. He snickered quietly, nudging his knee against your side to get your attention.

“What happened to you?” he teased, an amused smirk on the corner of his lips, though it faded a bit when he saw your sorrowful look.