❝ 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 ❝ Love is not love ❞
FROM JJ (JUGHEAD JONES): Somehow, it feels as if I'm the one whose supposed to be avoiding you. Delivered 11:08 AM
FROM JJ (JUGHEAD JONES): Not the other way around. Delivered 11:08 AM
Rosario stiffened at the messages that occupied his home screen — his thumbs hovering over the keyboard with no true idea of what to say. Of what he could say. With a lingering stare, he slowly allowed the phone to slip from his grasp onto the wooden stool beside him; trading his phone for a paintbrush. But, before a hair on the brush could meet the canvas, a voice spoke. A voice that grasped Rosario by the wrist and tugged it back, forcing his soul attention to remain on the voice. The voice he didn't have to see to know.
"So, you are ignoring my texts. And calls."
"It—" Rosario attempted to explain, but his tongue was tied. Tight. "It isn't—"
"When was the last time you were this nervous, Rosie?"
Rosario stiffened. Henrik.
"With me, wasn't it?"
"Rose," Jughead called, his tone rising. "Don't you have anything to say to me?"
"I'm jealous."
"Go away—" Rosario clamped his jaw on his tongue. Tight. His expression twisted with horror as he realized the words aimed for him, but struck Jughead instead. Jughead leant back, as if the tone, the words, as if everything, had been a fist to his face. A fist to his heart.
"I always thought I was complicated." the Jones son confessed, the tone of a bitter amusement hinted on his tongue. "But, you... You're something else, Rose."
Rosario's grasp tightened on the neck of the brush. His knuckles a ghostly white.
"You think I don't know that?"
A jaw in his muscle twitches.
"You think I don't know just how fucked up I am?"
He whirled to face Jughead. The Wall he'd built that Jughead had slowly managed to pry through—to crack—breaking once more. "You've only seem a glimpse of how twisted I am. The newspapers, the media, you—you don't know. None of you know." Rosario but his tongue because he could feel it. He could feel the tears prickled at his eyes. Tears he never dared to reveal in front of anyone or anything. Tears he convinced himself didn't exist and foolishly believed. "And none of you will accept it. You won't accept it. So, why the hell are you here?"
Jughead stepped back. Afraid, almost.
Afraid of the tone. Afraid of the words. Afraid of the sharp tongue. Afraid of the tears.
"I— I don't know," Jughead could only stutter, the true words he desired to say unspoken. Unheard. Unknown. "Something... I just— something..." Always leads me back to you.
Rosario sucked in a sharp breath and looked away. Anxiously, he fiddled with the hand-towel littered with paint that hung loosely on his shoulder. "You... You should go." It was too painful to look at Jughead in that moment. "Kevin will be here soon." It was unbearable.
"So... you and him..."
"Yes, him and I."
Jughead flinched at the voice spoken only a mere few feet from his ears.
Kevin.
"K— Kevin," Jughead forced himself to greet as he twisted to face the brunette, wide-eyed.
"Jughead." Kevin nodded, the formality no less forced than Jughead's was. "I'll walk you out, yeah?"
Jughead gritted his teeth, his stare casted to Rosario who had returned to his painting as if he were alone.
