nebulous *✧･ﾟ

THREE

"I cannot believe no one has signed up." Roman slams a hand against the paper, eyes wide. Jughead shrugs, drawing another chip out and popping it into his mouth.

"I guess that's how low we are on the food chain," He says, mouth utterly filled with food. Roman glances at him, only to groan in disgust.

"Chew with your mouth closed, dumbass." She rolls her eyes, turning back to the paper. All the slots were empty, to her surprise. She'd expected at least two people to sign up (or to even take interest in it), but no.

We give out free cameras, what the hell, what other club does that?

"Hey, I'm not a dumbass. I'm also not the one living in the illusion that somebody might want to join a club with two-two morons." Jughead wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, slightly intimidated by Roman's glare. After all these years he's known her, he's still not used to that terrifying look.

"Okay, smartass." She snatches the bag of chips from his hands and takes one before Jughead can rip it out of her grip.

"Do you have any better suggestions?" Roman shoves the chip in her mouth, before she realises how stale it is. Jesus, Jug does anything for food.

"Okay, look," He glances inside the bag briefly, before turning back to Roman, "I know how much the Photography Club means to you, I know how much you love it," Jughead's face hardens for a moment; his eyes are settled on her, his lips are drawn into that serious, thin line. He looks exactly the way he does when he's working on his novel. Serious.

"But you might have to let it go."

Roman scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. She appreciates Jughead's advice, but it isn't enough. His words aren't enough to convince her that it's going to be alright. The Photography Club did mean a lot to her, and she did love it. She'd been apart of it since last year, it was where she belonged.

And after all that had happened to her, it was the only place that made her feel safe.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, Jug. All you do is take pictures of Pop's Place, food, and The Twilight. Do they even mean anything to you?"

Jughead gasps, a hand pressed against his chest as he looks at her with pure disbelief.

"Mean anything to me? Why, Roman, I thought you of all people would at least understand my undying love for food! Do you know what it feels like to look at a photograph of a burger? A real, good, juicy burger? No, of course you don't! Because the only photographs you look at are of gir-" Jughead is abruptly cut off by the presence of another. He just appeared out of thin air, standing awkwardly behind the novelist. So, of course, no one blames them for what happened next.

"Hey, is this where you sign-"

"HOLY SHIT!" The two are cut off guard by him and jump at least two feet away from the scout. Roman shrinks behind Jughead, who has his hands swinging around in a boxing-like form. His bag of chips are lying on the ground, it's stale contents dotting the floor.

"Be gone, Doiley of The Dark Side. Kch, Kch." Jughead hisses, making air quotes with his fingers, as he is trying to look menacing (and failing miserably).

"Jug, stop, it's just Dilton." Roman steps away from her friend, eyeing him questionably.

"Kch, Kch."

"Jughead." That mother-like tone takes over, and his hands begin to droop down.

"Kch, Kch..."