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Imagine (first person POV): Jughead finding out you cut.
"Y/N? Sorry to just barge in but I really need that shirt back," Jughead's voice floats up to where I am in the bathroom. I'm totally screwed. I shuffle around as quickly as I can to throw out the razor and wipe up the blood when the door opens.
"Jug, don't-" and then there he is, standing in the doorway with a look on his face I never wanted to see. We don't speak for a while, a void of silence surrounding us as his gaze slips down from my eyes to the bloody lines on my legs. "Do you hate me?"
"Of course not. But wh-why do you do this to yourself?"
"I can't help it. Sometimes I just get so mad and tired about being in pain inside that I just..." I can't finish, too ashamed to speak. Jughead nods his head understanding and sighs lightly while he sits on the edge of the bathtub.
"Sit," he instructs, pointing to the closed toilet seat, and pours some warm water on a washcloth. Lifting my legs onto his lap, he avoids my gaze and runs the washcloth against the slashes gently. "I'm so sorry," he whispers.
"Why are you apologizing? I did this to myself".
"We're dating, Y/N, and I'm supposed to be there to share the pain with you," his voice cracks as he speaks. I watch quietly as he places non-stick pads and gauze over the cuts. "Don't do this to yourself ever again. Babe, if you're ever hurting talk to me about it. Whenever you're angry or sad tell me. Even if you feel too overwhelmed to speak, I'll sit in silence with you until you're ready. I love you".
"I love you too, Jughead Jones," I cry out and he pulls me into a tight hug, "I really really love you".
