Because when you still have a million other fics to go through, and are still halfway through the majority of your next chapter updates, obsessing over another fandom is the way to go. I present to you: Riverdale's finest, Bughead (in Harry Potter form). Warning: slowwwwwwwwwwwwwww buuuuuuuuurn.

Please note that I don't own anything aside from my own words, and that I am aware of Jughead's canonical asexuality. I have no issue with that, but I just need to say that asexual is not the same as aromantic. Nothing is preventing him or anyone from pursuing a relationship whilst still being asexual.

Also, I'm Australian so I literally had no idea the world of Archie Comics® existed until I started watching CW's Riverdale. What I write is based on my understanding of what I see on the show, and I am sorry if you feel personally offended.

"Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody."

- J.D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye

It happened over the summer.

Blades of grass whipping against their legs, white muslin cloth flying back against the wind, the roaring of Sweetwater River as it thunders through the forest.

Blazing hair the colour of fire against a backdrop of blue and green.

That summer, Jason Blossom was declared dead, his body lost to the pull of the water, his sister drowning in her sorrows.

He works twelve-hour shifts at the Chock'lit Shop, wears the cheese-yellow uniform with a perennially unhappy grimace, and lets the white apron crumple at his waist out of passive-aggressive spite.

Jughead Jones, on principle, isn't a big smiler. He has a deadbeat dad who spends his days consuming more alcohol than either of them can afford, Headmaster Weatherbee's demanding him to stay on lockdown in the sleepy no-maj town of Riverdale for the summer vacation, and he has to smile 24/7 to get paid minimum wage at a job as hopeless as his dad.

And his name is Jughead, to boot.

Or, Forsythe.

Pendleton.

Jones.

The Third.

On the bright side, Pop Tate gives him free hamburgers during his (many) lunch breaks - they're the only things keeping him sane in this dark, dark world he calls his home.

In reality, however, it's not dark. Riverdale is wholesome, at the very least, like Betty Crocker's house imprinted itself across the entire town. There's green parks with duck ponds and white picket fences with blooming red rosebushes lining every street. No, really. Jughead wishes he's joking.

He's surrounded by people who talk, dress and act like they're in a '50s sitcom. He's fifteen, and he hasn't met one person besides maybe Archie who can relate to him on a nice, toned-down wavelength. It helps that they go to 'school' together, too.

With Betty Cooper, who he suddenly realises is sitting in a corner booth with the heels of her palms massaging her temples and her features scrunched up into a frown. The rest of the diner is empty, and Pop is busy wiping at invisible particles on the juke box, so he sets his tea towel down and walks over.

"Hey," he mumbles, teeth barely separating when he enunciates his greeting. She jolts up, evidently surprised, then gives him a forced grin before motioning to the empty seat.

"Hey, Juggie." Jughead takes a seat, a little thrown off at the lack of chattering exuberance he's come to associate with the youngest Cooper.

"Bad day?"

She gives him a look, a cross between shock and indignation, though he isn't sure what to think of it just yet. Is it something on his face?

"You mean you don't know?"

Betty stresses like the last word like she's expecting him to be the first one to know. And in many cases, he is. He's the town sleuth. But he's also been stuck inside a diner since nine in the morning so in all fairness-

"It's Jason," Betty continues when his expression remains blank.

"He's dead."

-misspandalily