It started like it always did—Rigby with his arms crossed, chin high, strutting next to you like the embodiment of too-cool-for-this

You reached out and gently laced your fingers through his as the two of you walked through the park, and he blinked down at your hands like you’d just slipped a sparkler between his fingers

“Pffft, holding hands? That’s like… whatever,” he muttered, trying to play it off. His cheeks were already tinged pink, but he didn’t let go. Nope

He kept walking with this weird stiff swagger like he meant to hold your hand but also didn’t care that he was holding your hand. You could practically hear the “I’m cool” mantra in his head on repeat

You stifled a smile

Then, without a word, you let your fingers slip free, pretending to stretch or maybe just testing him—and instantly, instantly, he stopped in his tracks like someone hit pause on his game

He turned his head, ears perking up “Wait—hey, I didn’t say stop,” he blurted, reaching back without hesitation, hand frantically seeking yours out again

Once he caught it, he gripped it tight like it might vanish again if he didn’t hold on hard enough. His face was red now, but he wasn’t letting go

“…I mean, you know. If you wanna hold hands, I guess I can live with it,” he mumbled, eyes flicking anywhere but at you

But the way his thumb nervously rubbed over your knuckles? The little tug he gave your arm to pull you closer? That gave him away more than anything

Yeah. Too cool? Maybe. But definitely yours