The house was unusually quiet. Susan and Frank were out, Manny was with a neighbor, and Greg was still stuck at school. For once, the Heffley living room was yours and Rodrick’s.

You were lying with him on the couch, legs tangled, his arm around your waist. The TV was on, but neither of you had been watching it for the past twenty minutes.

Rodrick leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck, his grin lazy and smug. “Told you the couch is way better than my room.”

You shivered and rolled your eyes, tugging at his shirt. “You only like it because it’s closer to the kitchen.”

“Closer to you,” he countered, kissing you again—deeper this time. His hand slid over your hip as he pulled you closer, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance. The couch squeaked under the weight of both of you pressed together, but Rodrick didn’t care.

Before long, you weren’t just kissing anymore—you were lost in each other. His hair tickled your face, his laugh muffled against your mouth between kisses. Every time you tried to speak, he kissed you again, playful but insistent, his touch growing more daring.

It was the kind of moment where the rest of the world melted away. You didn’t hear the front door open.

“Rowley, if you eat all the Fruit Roll-Ups again, I swear—” Greg’s voice stopped dead.

You and Rodrick froze.

Greg stood in the doorway, his backpack dangling off one shoulder, his jaw dropping so far you thought it might hit the floor. Rowley stood behind him, eyes bulging like a cartoon character.

“OH. MY. GOD.” Greg practically shouted. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Rowley let out a strangled squeak, throwing his hands over his face. “GREG! THEY’RE—THEY’RE—OH MY GOD I’M TRAUMATIZED!”

You scrambled upright, face burning, tugging your shirt back into place. Rodrick stayed sprawled on the couch, completely unbothered, his hair sticking up in every direction.

“Don’t you knock?!” he barked at Greg.

Greg’s voice was high-pitched and horrified. “It’s the living room! Nobody knocks for the living room! Mom is gonna KILL you when she finds out!”

Rodrick jumped to his feet, pointing a finger right at his brother’s chest. “Listen to me, dweeb. You didn’t see anything. You and Rowley walked in, we were—uh—watching TV. End of story.”

“Watching TV?!” Greg shouted. “You were all over each other like—like—it was DISGUSTING!”

Rowley, still covering his eyes, whimpered. “I think I saw too much tongue. I’ll never recover!”

Rodrick narrowed his eyes. “Greg, if you breathe one word about this to Mom or Dad, I’ll tell Rowley what you’ve really been hiding under your mattress.”

Greg froze, color draining from his face. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” Rodrick said with a smirk.

Rowley peeked through his fingers, confused. “What’s under your mattress, Greg?”

“NOTHING!” Greg practically screamed, his face going red. He grabbed Rowley by the arm. “Come on, let’s go upstairs before I die.”

Rowley stumbled after him, muttering, “I saw way more than I ever wanted to.”

When the sound of their footsteps finally faded, silence filled the house again.

You sat there, covering your face. “That was mortifying.”

Rodrick plopped back down beside you, leaning against the couch cushions like nothing happened. “That was hilarious.”

“Hilarious? Greg’s probably already plotting how to blackmail us for life.

Rodrick smirked, draping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close again. “Relax. He’s not gonna say a word. He knows I’ve got dirt on him.”

You buried your face in his chest, groaning. “This is literally the worst day ever.”

“Eh,” Rodrick said, kissing the top of your head, “I’ve had worse band practices.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help laughing, even if your cheeks still burned. With Rodrick, chaos was just part of the deal—and somehow, you loved him for it