❝ I was never broken. I was cracked. But you― you fixed me. I need you, Jones. Before I really do break.❞
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Rosario Lodge, brother of Veronica Lodge, had known nothing but money, cigerattes, and sex. He didn't know what friendship w...
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T H E B O Y & T H E S E R P A N T JUGHEAD & ROSARIO ❝ My bounty is as boundless as the sea. ❞
☺ ☹ ☺
Rosario would say it was nice — nice, to so easily find comfort within a stranger, he would say it was nice, being accepted so easily and freely by a stranger, but it wasn't nice. It was strange, odd. Peculiar. Rosario wasn't one to "clique". The one person he had ever truly found asylum in — whom wasn't his sister — was a boy. His name, Henrik. But Henrik wasn't like Jughead, no. It had taken weeks, months, before Rosario could even accept Henrik as a friend. Jughead — fucking Jughead Jones — was far quicker than Henrik ever was, and it terrified him.
He had known Jughead Jones a day, hell, he had known Jughead Jones for hours, yet, somehow, Rosario knew, their relationship would increase drastically by the months end. Somehow, he just knew.
And it fucking terrified him.
"Rosario," Jughead stressed from across the booth, his stare narrowing as he peered from the laptop. The uneven light illuminated Jughead's emerald stare, Rosario unconsciously noticed. "Your staring is unsettling."
Rosario tapped the tip of his pen against a napkin, smiling a flirtatious smile. "You should be flattered, Jones. I don't stare at just anyone."
Jughead huffed, only half amused. "Careful, your sister could be listening as we speak."
"Nonsense," Rosario said. "Veronica is attending the dance with Golden Boy and Pepto."
Jughead frowned in thought. "Do you mean Archie? And Betty?" he inquired.
"No," Rosario answered. "I'm almost positive their names are Golden Boy and Pepto."
"You're ridiculous." The Jones' son snorted. "What are you drawing, anyways?" Jughead leaned forward, hand outstretched to grab the scribbled-upon napkin Rosario had barricaded behind a curled arm. Rosario swatted the nearing hand, a teased scowl on his face.
"Who said you could see?"
Jughead pouted. "You were practically begging for me to look at it," he stated.
"That's rubbish," Rosario said.
"Rubbish?" Jughead echoed, mocking a poorly attempted British accent.
"Yes," Rosario said. He, too, attempting a British accent, he said, "bloody rubbish—" Jughead lunged forward, stealing the napkin from Rosario's protection. Rosario gasped loudly, breathing in the heavy, grease stench of Pop's. "You bamboozled me." Jughead didn't answer. Instead, he held the crumpled napkin close to his face—carefully examining the inked details. Rosario didn't know why, but he felt exposed, vulnerable. It was nothing—it was something he had done to use the time he had productively—but, with Jughead looking, no, not looking, studying the drawing, made his heart pound in his chest.
His stomach knotted.
Jughead blinked, and held the napkin further away, his lips pursed and stare knitted as he asked carefully, "Did... Did you draw me as a comic book character?"
Rosario adopted a mock-hurt expression, and held his hand flat against his chest. "Are you not touched?"
"I am touched," Jughead insisted, the words tumbling from his lips rapidly before he could truly think of what he'd say. The Jones son coughed awkwardly, attempting to regain his composure. Squirming from where he sat, Jughead forced a sardonic grim. Rosario could tell, purely from the smile he bared, that a joke captivated Jugheads tongue. Rosario waited, patiently for Jughead to speak, but before he could another voice spoke.
"Can I sit?"
Rosario couldn't understand why he felt disappointed.
. . .
Rosario couldn't comprehend why Archie fucking Andrews would choose tonight of all nights, to enter Pops. Rosario didn't understand why he had been searching for Pepto. Rosario didn't understand why Archie Andrews would ask Rosario to leave, as well. But, above all, what left him frowning at the entire encounter was why he fucking chose Kevin Keller and Moose over Netflix and solitude. "Don't tell me you intend to have a threesome," Rosario said, his words cynical as he approached the brunette, who wore a broad smile.
"Oh, no. Don't tell me you're a virgin," Kevin Keller said, half-laughing. Moose watched as both boys exchanged their words, the car lights highlighting their presence in the dark night. Rosario smiled at Kevin, but there was something empty held in the smile as he did so—it made Moose nervous. Rosario didn't answer Kevin, as he twisted on his heel and strode forward. As Rosario passed, he paused, the fabric of his pea coat meeting the fabric of Moose's letterman jacket as he did so. Rosario, with hand opposite of Moose, raised it to reveal a lit cigar caught between his fingers.
"No lips," Rosario said slowly, amusement hinted in his darkened tone as he took a drag of his cigar, "is that correct?" The scent of his cigar overwhelmed Moose. Suddenly, breathing was hard, if not, impossible. Skeptical, his stare flickered toward Kevin, whose stare remained captivated on Rosario. He was absolutely memorized by him.
Moose forced himself to nod.
Rosario twisted to face Kevin, the smile he wore still present as he eyed the jock. "Classic," the two said in unison, as if reading one another. Moose huffed, aggravated. He was thankful the darkness hid the red that painted his cheeks.
"Are we doing this or not?" Moose demanded, tugging at the tie that suddenly felt unbearable tight. Striding forward, Moose didn't await their answer as he continued to strip, until—
Slam!
Moose grasped his nose, half choking on the air he sucked in as he had fallen. "Are you okay?" Kevin asked, rushing toward the others side.
Rosario laughed a bitter sound at the display. "Can't walk straight?"
"Oh, my god—" Kevin jerked back, terrified.
Rosario sobered at the sight. "What is it, Baby Face?"
