joneshead:
Thinking about stuff. Jughead felt the immediate need to point out the redundancy of her words, that in fact thinking at all required stuff to think about. But he bit back his critique and offered a shrug as he commonly did. It was his most unknown form of kindness – to not say something that was unhelpful, no matter how strong the urge. People couldn’t know just how often he did it, how much was filtered before blunt words came off his tongue. “If they didn’t want people eating on the job, they would hire robots,” he answered with a matter of fact, knowing tone. For him? It would have been impossible to work anywhere that served food without him blowing a week’s paycheck in the span of two hours at that same joint. Maybe that was why Pop Tate really needed a vacation – to get away from Jughead. “Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t. And I especially can’t say anything if my own mouth is full –” he said, waggling his brows. “If you catch my drift.”
there’s a flicker of a look on his face, but jughead just shrugs instead of saying anything for a moment. barbara tries not to let it unsettle her - things left unsaid have always made the back of her throat sting in an odd and uncomfortable way. words dead before said. she fiddles with her notepad and gives a soft smile and a matching laugh at his words, “fair enough - not like we’re gonna run out, anyways,” there’s always a surplus of baked goods at the end of the day, usually split up among the employees and brought home in plastic baggies, “that i do. what would you like? we’ve got a whole ton of snickerdoodles, if that’s something you’re into.” it’s nice to get her mind off of things with work - off of home, and molly, and the way her mom looks at her, and the stack of homework on her bed pushed aside in order to make room for scripts and monologues to memorize. here she has too many little things to worry about that the big ones are forced to the back of her mind.
