SUPRALIMINAL MAYHEM. jughead jones

iii

KOOKY CREEK

-

There wasn't much thought in Y/n's head when he took a picture of Cheryl in her dramatic all black attire. The two portraits of her twin on display behind her, a bitter reminder of his face in case anyone had forgotten. Not that anyone would. They plastered his face all around town; the newspapers yapped about the Blossom family's supposed shame to no end.

Y/n leaned on the gym's large door frame, listening to her cherry-picked recollection of Jason. He scoffed. Jason doesn't love everyone, he wasn't the saint his twin portrayed him as. And maybe that was better.

"Which is why I've asked the School Board to not cancel the Back-to-School semi-formal," the students erupted into cheers at the announcement. It was a pleasant break from the talk of tragedy, the stress of a missing person. Cheryl smiled, "Let's use this as a way to heal, collectively, and celebrate my brother's too, too short life on this mortal coil."

Through the towering concrete poles and the sea of students clapping, there was a split second where everything aligned. Y/n L/n and Cheryl Blossom made eye contact, the latter's face twisting into a scowl as she stalked away from her podium. Y/n averted his gaze, "What a bitch."

-

The next thing he knew, he carried a lunch tray full of food, filled with stale fries, some chicken and a musty slop the staff liked to call nutritious. With his feet, he wedged the door to just small enough for him to slide in. He stumbled a little as he entered, but finally set his tray down on the metal table. The red light gave it an even more unappealing look, the slop, in particular, akin to blended guts.

"For me?"

Y/n craned his head to see Jughead at the farthest corner of the room, away from all the papers hung in a cheap rope. The white light that his screen emitted was barely distinguishable from the red light the room had. Jughead raised his brows, a smile full of mischief on his face.

Y/n took a handful of the fries, staring wide-eyed into Jughead's eyes as he shoved it into his mouth. He chewed and shook his head, setting his camera down.

"Come on, just one," Jughead stood and went to him, reaching for the chicken strips slathered in what he assumed to be ketchup. His hand was slapped away, and Y/n gave him one strip. The tiniest, most pathetic looking chicken strip he had ever seen. He frowned. "What the hell is that?"

"A chicken strip," said Y/n. "The juiciest one."

"Are you kidding?" Jughead scoffed. "This is just ketchup, it's barely even chicken."

Just as he spoke, the condiment slathered onto the tiny piece of meat dripped off and landed with a splat on the table. There was barely anything to hold on to, and now that the chicken was stripped of its clothing, it looked even more depressing.

Jughead snatched one from the tray, dipping it into the sour ketchup without drowning it. He grimaced, regretting his decision as the chicken absorbed all the moisture in his mouth. He swallowed the crumbled meat, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "Why the hell would you eat this monstrosity?"

"It's good, you just gotta hydrate," said Y/n, pointing at the slop.

Jughead pushed the tray away, picking up the camera instead. He took a second to inspect the gold-rimmed leather casing, gingerly prying it open. "Picky bitch," said Y/n, checking each picture which he hung to dry. He unclipped one photo, looking at it with great admiration. It was a picture of Harold on the driver seat of his Porsche, the majority of his bagel body covered in the seatbelt and a sign above him stating "Harold's driving drunk again."