Riverdale Imagines

Late Nights⇔Jughead

"Need another milkshake?" You looked across the counter over to the booth two down from the door. The boy, whose name you learned was Jughead, shook his head without even moving his eyes from his screen, his pale skin illuminated by the glow. Sighing, you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You would be here until late and you knew it.
Every night was the same. He'd come in around four, be the only customer for a while. Around six, people would start coming in to pick up food for their families, or sit down for an hour or so to wind down. Then gradually things would get busier and busier, and he'd just be that guy taking up a four person table by himself. And then things would wind down, and he'd still be around.
In all honesty, you had no real legitimate reason to be intrigued by him. He was standoffish, and often just ignored your questions... Even though you were just doing your job.
But there was something about him. Maybe it was the little smile he'd quirk every once in a while at something on his computer screen, or perhaps his soft tone he'd use even through the sarcastic remarks he'd make to people who recognized him, or maybe even the determination you saw in his eyes even when he was doing something as simple as eating a cherry off his milkshake.
Working at the Chock'lit Shoppe meant you knew most people more than you thought you would. You knew who was dating who, which relationships ended and how, how most people of Riverdale took their coffee, and what the latest drama was. You saw people at their lowest, weakest moments, but also their strong moments of visceral rage.
And maybe it was because you were a creep who loved people watching, or maybe it was because you, as a waitress, just had this two-dimensional feel. People would look through you, and often saw you as something, not someone.
Tonight was different, though.
Just a few minutes after your question to assure he didn't need topping up, he turned to you.
"Who do you think killed Jason?" You nearly choked on your coffee, eyes widened at his blunt question.
"Um..." you pursed your lips. "What?"
"Do you have any theories?" He asked, persisting. He adjusted his seated position so that his eyes were square in your direction. Under his gaze you were slightly intimidated, but you were used to uncomfortable confrontation as a waitress.
"Haven't really had the time to think about it..." You answered thoughtfully.
"Hear any chatter in the booths?" He hopped off of the cushioned chair, walking over and leaning against the counter. You saw now that his eyes were a greyish green, his hair curled in mattes against his forehead. Up close, his skin looked tired, in fact, his entire being just shouted, I needed ten hours of sleep last night and I only got ten minutes. "You've gotta have something for my novel."
"A novel?" You raised a brow.
Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "What did you think I've been working on for months?"
"I try not to think while I'm working," you joked quietly. Though in fairness, it was barely a joke.
"What a waste of an opportunity," he sighed. "You hear everything that's ever been said in this town, being here all the time. And you know nothing."
"I didn't say nothing," you rolled your eyes. "Just no pertinent information. Not for any story you're trying to tell."
He winked, "I wouldn't say any story."
You cocked your head in confusion at his smug attitude. "What do you mean?"
"Well, right here..." He cocked his head, eyes raking over the room, from your hand and your coffee cup up to your own eyes. "This is what they call the beginning."
---
credit to riverdale-imagining on Tumblr