"Saving this spot for anyone?” He wasn’t sure if she’d heard his footsteps coming up the gravel path, littered with larger stones, twigs and pinecones that had fallen from the trees above. He hadn’t meant to be quiet, but he had a lazy gait and that often lent itself to a stealth he used to his advantage. His voice rang through the quiet evening air, sun hanging low in the sky and lighting up the old tracks, long since rusted after falling into disuse. But still, the tops remained a polished silver, and welcomed him to sit upon them metal with his legs stretched out across rotted wooden supports across the tracks.
A fading warmth lingered in the air, and the heat of the day spent at the skatepark had his freckles blooming on his arms and neck. He had plenty of secret spots in town, but some were less secret than others, and this one was particularly loved by drunk teenagers and young rebels who liked to walk the rails like they were living out an old Western story, something Jughead had done himself when he was a kid. He didn’t turn towards her when he spoke again, mostly because he didn’t need to. It was just them and the birds. “If you’re here to play chicken with the trains, you might be waiting a while.”