⚠️ spoiler warning if you haven't seen episode 21⚠️
One word; shOOk.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The aftermath of what happened to Jughead. (But seriously F.P is so hot 😍) #
Archie Andrews despised hospitals. For all sorts of reasons. The main one being that they reminded him of a time he'd rather forget. When he had to sit around waiting for news on the condition of his father after he nearly bled to death in his arms. He can still recall the feelings that haunted him that day, they refused to leave him like his dads blood under his finger nails, or stains on his varsity jacket.
Now, he was here for a different story, another person, but still fearing for their existence, still weighed down by the oppressing sensation of dread as it stirred in his stomach.
Archie wondered what life would be like without Jughead. It wasn't a particularly comfortable thought and he tried not to dwell too long in it because it's obvious Jughead would recover and complain about having to use crutches and demand Archie call him a hero. It wouldn't be the same if Jughead did slip into the darkness that's for sure— no day would ever feel right—normal— if Archie didn't see his boyfriend at least once. He would constantly be searching for that happiness again, whilst knowing full well that he'd never find it. Not if Jughead didn't make it.
Archie's fingers gripped hard against the plastic cup in his hands, untouched, now cold, coffee filling it. It tasted like dishwater and he wasn't particularly thirsty— F.P had fetched for him after doing the length of floor between the coffee machine and the waiting area for the second time since their arrival. He couldn't sit still, not while his son was fighting for life, and Archie could just about stay upright.
He sighed, weary, forcing the images of a beaten Jughead from his mind, wincing from the memory of his swollen eye and the blood staining his skin. At the time, witnessing Jughead limp in his dads arms, emerging from the gloom, Archie had just gone stiff and all he could physically do was gulp. Time had stopped ticking and only a silence rang in his ears. Eventually, his legs had responded to his panic and he raced over to his boyfriend, shouting his name in a blur, reaching for his hand and waiting desperately while F.P searched for a pulse. He may have looked dead, bruised beyond recognition, but his heart still refused to give up— beating in a slow but persistent rhythm.
And Archie clung onto the fact that Jughead's pulse still throbbed in his neck like a lifeline— the only thing stopping him from storming away from the hospital and doing god knows what.
F.P's form finally came to rest beside Archie in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. For a while the pair of them just sit in silence, watching as the hospital around them rushes around and continues on with the every day.
"Archie," F.P starts but then stops, it's obvious he's trying to think of something to say, anything to ease Archie's concerns, but even he's struggling because he's not sure how to word such things. He sighed, then glanced down at his boots before looking to Archie's alert eyes. "He'll be okay," he goes for and it's the cliché thing to say but literally the only thing he can think of. "I know my boy, he's a fighter, always has been."
