Love Him Like He's Yours [FPJones] [JugheadJones] [O.F.C]

2002

The first time Nerys Miller heard her nephew call out for her specifically, she was sixteen years old.

Her heart seemed to stop completely before her chest began to feel a kind of pressure she had never experienced before.

It seemed she was swelling with some sort of pride and as if it were somehow possible, she found herself falling even more in love with the raven haired toddler.

She would look down at Jughead, who at just over a year old, already seemed quieter and more reserved than other children his age.

Unless she or FP was around, the pink faced toddler was known for calmly staring into your eyes, and what felt like your soul, for what could be hours on end.

When with her however, he would thrust his little arms up and demand her undivided attention. He wanted to be picked up, he wanted to snuggle into her and stay there, and of course, he wanted his afternoon snack.

The kid knew their routine well and he just wanted his Auntie to move things along already.

Nerys would laugh at how easy he was to please. She would hold him to her as he ate, and together they would settle down into FP's worn sofa before watching reruns of old cartoons on the TV.

These simple moments would go on to become some of Nerys' all-time favourite memories.

Later, she would hold tightly to them, hyper focused on every detail whenever her frazzled mind needed a safe place to hide.

When the time would come for her to take one for the team and protect her family, as well as her neighbourhood, she would let herself think only of Jughead and his well being.

She wouldn't think of the increasing distance between herself and her best friend FP, and his darkened sad eyes staring down the latest bottle.

She wouldn't think of her sister Gladys, who wore her instability like a badge of honour and would run around with other Southside men whenever FP was passed out or at the Wyrm.

She would think only of her sweet nephew.
His full head of dark waves, his bright eyes and round little cheeks.
His happy, innocent laughter would echo through her mind long after the cherubic toddler had grown into a pensive schoolboy.

She would think only of Jughead as she put on her well worn jacket one last time and willingly walked straight into hell.