❝ 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 heart fly to your service, there resides/To make me slave to it ❞
☺ ☹ ☺
Rosario shook his head, forcing himself to forget the words exchanged between both he and Kevin. It didn't matter, at least, Rosario told himself it didn't matter, but when he entered the screening room where Jughead waited, phone held in a tight grasp, Rosario knew it mattered. "Kevin just texted me," Jughead explained as Rosario sat beside him. "About?" Rosario hummed, forcing his voice to steady itself as he spoke.
"About what happened just now. Outside. About Jason Blossom."
Rosario stiffened. "So?" asked Rosario, attempting to remain indifferent. Rosario extended a carton of fries toward the other, who returned a dark glare. "What?" Rosario asked, his stare flickered downward to the tray. "Is there a hair on it?"
Jughead scoffed as he stood up, whirling to face Rosario. "Stop acting like you're always so clueless," Jughead said—his cheeks darkening a deep, crimson red of anger. "A kid is dead, Rosario! A kid whose body you found!"
"So, what?" demanded Rosario, the nonchalance held in his voice fading. He held the food tray tighter—the plastic sinking deep into his flesh, but he didn't care. He needed to be distracted, he needed to feel something other than this ache. He needed to feel something that distracted him from what he saw.
Henrik.
"It's just a body—" he hesitates, as if unprepared for the words he his next to say. Jughead watches. His heart matching the rapid pace of Rosario's own. Rosario knows he cannot allow the silence to stretch much longer; he knows he can't allow the face of a cynical man, absent of love, start to appear as if he cares. Somehow, though, Jughead always found away to make it known Rosario cares all too fucking much. But, with the image of Henrik raw, he knew he couldn't care. "It doesn't matter."
Jughead raised his hands in frantic, fierce gestures as he said, "It matters to Cheryl Blossom. It matters to his family—his friends. It matters to the entire town of Riverdale!"
"Oh, please," chuckled Rosario, the sound bittersweet. "You only care for your novel. You can stop playing the high road."
Jughead jerked back, as if slapped by his words. "Wow. Is that all you really think of me?" Rosario forced himself to look away from Jughead. No. He wanted to say. He needed to say it, but his tongue was captured in the claws of the cat. His throat was clenched in the hands of his secrets. He couldn't speak—but, that's where the problem lied, wasn't it? Because it wasn't a matter of couldn't, but a matter of wouldn't that he continued to delude himself with the lie that it was a couldn't.
