Cheryl Blossom wasn’t known for holding back.

Her every step echoed through Riverdale High heels clicking, head held high, as if she owned every inch of the place. Her red hair burned against the dreary halls, and her icy smile was like a weapon. She could freeze someone in their tracks with a look or reduce them to tears with a few sharp words.

But today? She wasn’t feeling like the Queen Bee.

The air was thick with something off about Cheryl. Her mood was darker than usual. Everyone in the hallway was too careful, too wary. Her icy gaze swept across them, each person avoiding her, giving her space. The tension was palpable everyone had learned long ago to steer clear when Cheryl was in one of her moods.

Except for you.

You weren’t afraid of her. You didn’t shrink away or try to soothe her like the others did. You simply stood there, a quiet presence among the storm, something unbothered and unmovable that Cheryl couldn’t quite figure out. You were Betty’s cousin another girl in a sea of personalities that Cheryl didn’t particularly care for.

But something about you clicked with her.

Maybe it was how you didn’t react to her drama the way others did. Maybe it was the calm in your eyes, the way you held yourself with such quiet confidence, as if you didn’t need to match her fire to be seen.

It irritated her, in a way. And yet, there was something compelling about it.

The day was long, Cheryl getting increasingly frustrated with her peers and her situation. By lunch, she was seething, snapping at people, throwing her words like daggers. But when she walked into the lunchroom and saw you sitting quietly at the corner table, flipping through a book, something inside her shifted.

You looked up briefly, your gaze meeting hers, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t look away.

That was the moment.

Cheryl’s frustration boiled over, and she was halfway to your table before she even realized what she was doing. She stood there, glaring down at you with a mix of confusion and irritation, but you just raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

“You’re not gonna ask me what’s wrong?” Cheryl demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.

You tilted your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “No. I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

She blinked, taken aback by your response. No one ever just let her have her space. People either cowered or tried to fix her, assuming they understood her mood. But you? You weren’t pushing. You weren’t demanding anything. You just existed beside her, calm and quiet.

For some reason, that made her feel… exposed. Vulnerable. It was the last thing Cheryl wanted to feel, especially now, with so much of her anger bubbling up, but it wasn’t easy to ignore.

She stood there for a moment longer, feeling the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, staring off to the side. “Everything’s a mess, and I’m sick of pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”

You didn’t say anything. You just listened, your eyes soft but not pitying. Your silence gave her space, and for some reason, that was enough.

When she finally spoke again, it was quieter. “You don’t care about my reputation, do you?”

“No,” you answered simply, finally closing the book and setting it aside. “I don’t.”

And that was it.

For the first time in a long while, Cheryl felt like someone saw her not the version she projected to the world, but the one she kept hidden, the one full of hurt and frustration. You didn’t ask her to explain herself or apologize. You just understood the weight of her silence.

The rest of the lunch passed in an unfamiliar comfort. Cheryl sat down beside you, something unspoken between you.