archie has a shitty truck
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It only takes a few rounds for Cheryl to decide that Jughead is too quiet, has been blending into the walls too well. He’s sitting on the back of the couch when she finds his eyes.
“Jughead Jones.” Suddenly, too many people are looking at him. “You’re up.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile and holds up one hand dismissively.
“I’m not playing.”
“Everyone’s playing.” The look in her eyes is menacing, but calm. You wouldn’t be able to see the complete animosity if you weren’t already looking for it. “Now, spin the bottle.”
He sighs his defeat and the people on the couch make room for him to climb down and reach for the empty beer bottle. The green glass is sticky, and Jughead isn’t sure he wants to know what with. He risks one more glance at Cheryl to see if he can still make an escape. He can’t. There’s only about eight people playing, so no one even bats an eye when the bottle lands on Archie.
No one except Jughead.
- or -
The one where Jughead and Archie end up in a closet together during a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.
(PLEASE READ THE NOTES AT THE BEGINNING OF THE FIC!)