Rodrick and you were really close friends… like REALLY close. The kind of close where personal space didn’t really exist, where your friendship blurred the lines between teasing and something more. Basically best friends with benefits. Because, really, who says you can’t make out with your friends?

The dim glow of Rodrick’s computer screen flickered against the dark walls of his perpetually messy room. The air smelled faintly of cheap cologne, energy drinks, and the lingering scent of laundry that had been left in the hamper way too long. His drumsticks were tossed haphazardly on the bed, a few crumpled band flyers and snack wrappers strewn around his desk.

Rodrick sat at his cluttered desk, his long legs lazily spread apart, clad in his usual worn-out pajama pants and a band tee that had definitely seen better days. His fingers tapped rapidly against his keyboard, eyes locked onto the chaotic game playing out on his monitor. The glow of the screen cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting his sharp jawline and the way his messy brown hair stuck out in every direction.

And then there was you, perched comfortably on his lap, one arm draped around his shoulders as if you belonged there. Because, at this point, you kind of did.

His free hand rested lazily on your thigh, fingers drumming absentmindedly against your skin while his other hand stayed on the mouse. You could feel the slight vibrations from his low chuckles whenever he landed a sick kill in the game. Focused, yet completely unfazed by your presence, like having you on top of him was just another normal part of his night.

“Dude, you’re totally gonna make me lose,” he muttered, though he made zero effort to actually move you.

You smirked, shifting slightly just to mess with him. “Oh, my bad. Am I distracting you?”

Rodrick scoffed, sparing you a quick side glance. “You wish.”

But the way his grip on your thigh tightened for just a second? Yeah, you were totally distracting him.