@joneshead
His fingers ghosted up the curve of her bare back, pads brushing skin along her spine until they met the tangled red hair. There was no smile on his face, just an idle sereneness that no one had seen him wear in years. His limpid eyes followed his hand as it moved back down again, slowly tracing her spine to the small of her back.
Rolling his head back into the pillow, he turned his attention back to her eyes which had been locked on his when she’d broken the soft silence between them.
then don’t leave, he was tempted to say. His brow knotted in the middle, the frown reflecting the storm of thoughts that had clouded his previously empty mind.
“You know, when I built this house, I think there was always a part of me that knew I could never live in it without you,” Jughead said lowly, eyes flickering to her bare shoulder. “And I didn’t really. live. Not without you.” A breath. “Does that mean – are you going to stay?”
It had been too long since they'd exchanged poetry like what she'd said. Words more often found within lyrics or novels instead of actually being said, but Archie and Jughead have the luck to love someone who thinks in the whimsical and voices it too. Through life the most beautiful things spoken to her came from him. She clung to his book for those words, memorized page by page, starved for the stringing of sentences she'd taken for granted in Riverdale. Having that back again even for the smallest of time was a miracle she had not earned. His fingertips outlined her existence, something that has been blurry since the day she moved to Chicago. The touch was soothing — a sharp contrast to life on the road and the demands of the music industry. Everything was fast paced there. She had to put out new material all the time, be on her A game, constantly in the know and the spotlight. From the beginning Archie never wanted fame just the chance to love her craft: weaving music together with words to express herself (drabs or not). Connecting with people on a level unseen. Wasn't that how Jughead felt when he wrote? The songwriter and the author. They matched like king and queen on a chessboard. A game of sacrifice they knew all too well. She kept her eyes locked on him to memorize every movement, each expression, all that she had missed in their time apart. He is more precious to her now that he had ever been. Now Archie knew what it was like to lose him. Why did it feeling like a countdown — being here? An expiration date fast approaching. An honest answer to his question will make him sad so she stayed mum for a moment. Archie reached out to touch his lips gently as he waited for her answer. What will I do in Chicago? Be with me? Her hand falls to rest again the smooth skin of his chest. She felt her ribcage expand with each measured breath, pillow soft against the side of her face. White afternoon light trickled through the windows and Archie wished she could capture this moment, the flash of a Polaroid or scene in a snow globe, and live in it forever. "What will I do in Riverdale?" She echoed, but not out of cruelty. A Juilliard degree didn't amount to much in a small town. She could teach music, but memories of music teachers left a bad taste in her mouth. Being with him...would they get married? Have a family? Archie attempted to picture herself here. A permanent fixture in this house. Waking up to him everyday to write together and grow old in the comfort of the home he had built. It was too beautiful a life to be real. She didn't deserve to be that happy, not after she'd broken his heart. "I should have stayed back then. We'd never have to wonder what we missed."