Fluorescent Adolescent~Jughead Jones

eleven

'In riverdale, everyone wears a mask, not just the Black Hood. But every so often the mask slips, and our true selves are laid bare, for all the world to see."

"Good morrow, Jonesy. How are you on this fine morning?" Jughead looked up from his computer to Poet's grinning face. 

Jughead rolled his eyes but smiled. Poet sauntered over to Jughead, sliding into the seat next to him. He stuck his tongue out at Hot Dog who gave a light bark in return. Jughead smiled at the two before shaking his head, continuing to write.

"Whatcha writing?"

Jughead grunted, "It's nothing, really. I'm good at writing or at least I like to think so, so I figured because there's so much shit in Riverdale someone should write about it. And why shouldn't that person be me?"

Poet gave a short laugh, but not one of insult. "You are truly one in a million Jughead, one in a million." He ruffled the Jones boy's hair, knocking of the beanie. Jughead grumbled in annoyance, Poet laughing at his misfortune. 

Poet rose from the couch, heading to the table and pulling on his jacket, not bothering to put on a shirt. 

"Where are you going?"

"Ahh-" Poet ruffled around in his pockets before pulling out the small box of cigarettes, "-they call me Juggie, and I must answer."

Jughead rolled his eyes, trying to contain his concern. "Those things will kill you, you know."

"That's the plan, Juggie Boy"

And with that, Poet stepped through the doorway and into the crisp morning air. He let out a large sigh, throwing his arms into the air, satisfied with the popping in his joints. He lazily smiled at himself and pulled out his black and white checkered lighter(a gift from Lars) and lit his cigarette.

He drew in a deep, smoky breath, the warmth filling his lungs. Truth be told, Poet didn't like that he smoked and had been trying to stop, only doing it in times when he was very anxious or after something that fried his nerves. Now he was down to a pack a week, occasionally two but less since he had met Jughead.

Poet turned to walk down the steps, a crunch catching him by surprise. He moved his shoe off of the object, reviling a plain envelope with his name written in large, print letters on the front.

A shiver ran up Poet's spine.

He reached down and picked it up to observe it closer, his half smoked cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. It was normal size and weight, obviously containing something inside. He began to pull open the flaps before a Jughead called his name. He looked back over his shoulder. 

"How 'bout some breakfast, Price?"

Poet looked at the letter once more before tucking it away in his jacket. "Sounds great, love."

⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢⇠⇢ 

Jughead let out a loud moan as he chewed his food. Poet laughed at him.

"God, if I knew you sound like that I'd try and make you do it more often." Jughead flipped him off and gave him a teasing glare.

"Don't even try Price, only food can make me feel this way."

Poet raised an eyebrow, "Is that a challenge?"

Jughead swallowed hard, a light brush dusting his cheeks. He bit his lip and thought for a moment before speaking. "Um...about that, I don't...I don't think we should do anything like that for a little while. I don't think it's a good idea."