You were already laughing before you even went up the stairs. Rodrick's father didn't even question - he just pointed upstairs with that "good luck" face and went back to having breakfast. What, honestly, only made you want to get ready more.

Arriving in the room, you turned the handle slowly, pushed with your foot and... bingo.

Rodrick Heffley

Belly-up, hair in a tragic nest, a half-open mouth in a slight snore, half choked, half fluffy. One arm hung out of bed and the other covered part of the face. The duvet was crooked and half on the floor.

And the best: he was wearing a Löded Diper T-shirt and Batman underwear.

You bite your lip so you don't laugh out loud. Take the cell phone discreetly and prepare the victory click.

Click!

But you underestimated the internal chaos sensor that Rodrick has.

"Hnnrgh... what what—?" - he grumbles, blinking his eyes, his voice all dragged and hoarse with sleep. He turns his head to the side with the confused expression of someone who woke up in the middle of a war.

You freeze, cell phone in your hand, locked smile.

"...You don't" - he starts, his voice clearer now - "are you taking a picture of me?"

You smile. Too innocent to be real.

"Your father let me in. His fault."

Rodrick stares at you. The half-closed eyes and the arched eyebrow. He is disoriented, but one thing is certain: he will take revenge.

And before you can take a step back or laugh louder, he gets up like a zombie, pulls you by the wrist and...

"RODRICK!"

It's already. You were threwn on the bed, with a light thud between the pillows. He holds you there with the weight of his own body (still sleepy and smelling of shampoo and old mattress), and sticks his face in your neck as if it were a pillow.

"This is what you get for invading my sacred sleep..."— he murmurs, his voice muffled and hot on his skin. —"...Now go to sleep with me, since you're so interested."

You try to struggle, but the laughter disturbs everything.

"Rodrick, you're on the breath of someone who ate doritos at three in the morning!"

"It's the perfume of success. Shut up and enjoy."

You snort, but he has already pulled you closer, his heavy arm wrapping around you, his sleepy body still glued to yours.

"I'll post the photo" - you whisper.

"I'll snore in your ear until you give up." - he threatens back.

And so it was: he snoring again, you pretending you didn't think it was cute. The sun coming in through the window. The half-dormant chaos. And you there, with your cell phone still in your hand, but unable to press "send".

Because, between us, that snoring was really too cute to be exposed.