oneshots and other shit

6: it might make it easier, but it won't make it true (jughead/archie)

for his eyes narrow and widen again like shadows cast under the travelling sun. and they are nothing if impossible. for the ice thaws over and every locked doorway opens itself back up.

archie, timid, red-faced, smiles and says:

"aren't we?"

jughead.

doesn't.

breathe.

for it's like this knot in his stomach. this knife in his throat. twisting. twisting. twisting. tugging away with gnarled fingertips until theres nothing like. this incessant ache tearing apart his insides until he is all shadows and specs of dust. and never. never. never enough. for their first night is cast in burning lights to the back of his retinas to the end of time, for no matter what archie says. he will. never. be enough.

archie coughs.

jughead breathes.

he doesn't think he can tell archie's soft eyes that's exactly what he's been having nightmares about. for jughead knows little of hearts and breaking them, but if there was any way to do it, that would be the one.

but archie deserves better than that. archie deserves better than him.

archie deserves someone who will look at him in the middle of the night. someone with something to give him. something more to give than just take. take. take. take.

jughead shoots one last glance across the room. archie's covered the hole his fist made in the wall with a poster. something jug can't make out in the dark. he hasn't told fred. jughead knows that's because he'd have to tell fred why.

and archie's fine with words like dating and arms around his waist. as long as the lights are out. jughead wonders how many times archie's even said the word 'bisexual' out loud.

but archie deserves a boy who won't question him into oblivion. to tear away at every piece until there's nothing left.

so jughead gives up and goes to sleep.

-

kevin's boyfriend is nice. all blue eyes and smiles.

jughead stares and wonders if that's what love is supposed to look like.

because archie andrews is more like late night realisations, ever-growing black holes, and the fucking end of the world. but only in the darkest of holes can sunlight shine the brightest.

archie is quiet. for once. it's odd.

he's not overcompensating for something. he's not the centre of the room. it seems, for the first time, it's only jughead with eyes upon him.

jughead likes that. jughead hates that he likes that. but it feels right. a tightening in his chest nonetheless, but like a spring stretched to breaking point finally settling back into place.

and then those words chase him out of his own head.

'aren't we?'

and archie must feel the weight of jughead's eyes, for archie is watching him too.

there's this soft, mellow, kind of weight in his chest, like he wants to tear the world apart just to get closer to him.

but the journey is anything but straight lines; it's all jagged edges and misdirections, and jughead doesn't know what he wants from archie, nevermind what archie wants from him. so he does the only thing he can do: he shuts his head up the best he can, and smiles, and just lets himself be.

archie is slower, hesitant in his movements. with dark eyes that take a long sweeping motion from jughead's down to his lips. and jughead may not know a thing of love, but he certainly knows what that means.