You hadn’t even meant for the picture to be a big deal.

You and Toni had bumped into each other at Pop’s, chatted for five minutes, and Toni snapped a quick selfie to post on her story — both of you smiling, a strawberry shake in the background.

Cute. Innocent.

Harmless.

You didn’t think twice about it.

…But Cheryl Blossom did.

Your phone buzzed violently less than a minute later. Then again. And again.

You frowned and unlocked your screen.

18 notifications. All from Instagram.

One repost. Five comments. Twelve likes— And one very dramatic notification that stopped your heart:

CherylBlossom commented on a post you’re tagged in.

You tapped Toni’s story.

There it was: A harmless photo of you two smiling.

And underneath, in perfectly typed Blossom fury:

CherylBlossom: Delete this.

You rubbed your forehead. “Oh no…”

Another notification. And another.

You opened the comments fully:

CherylBlossom: Delete this. CherylBlossom: Immediately. CherylBlossom: I’m not kidding, Toni Topaz. ToniTopaz: Girl relax 😂 CherylBlossom: I AM CALM. ToniTopaz: Sure you are.

You barely had time to process before the doors to Pop’s flew open like someone had kicked them with expensive heels.

You didn’t even need to turn around.

Only one person in Riverdale entered rooms like a wrathful Greek goddess.

Cheryl Blossom marched toward your booth, hair perfect, eyes blazing, phone in hand like she was holding evidence for a murder trial.

She stopped right in front of you, hands on hips, voice low enough to be dangerous.

“Why,” she began, “is there a picture of you and Toni Topaz circulating the internet like some kind of gay promotional poster without my prior approval?”

You blinked. “Cheryl… it was just a selfie.”

“A selfie,” she repeated, offended. “A selfie that makes it look like you two are—” She froze, jaw tightening. “—close.”

Toni, still sitting across from you, sipped her milkshake loudly. “We were close. It’s a picture.”

Cheryl shot her a death glare. “I swear on every shade of red lipstick I own, Topaz—”

You grabbed Cheryl’s wrist gently. “Hey. It’s not a big deal.”

She turned to you, expression cracking just the slightest bit.

“You didn’t invite me,” she said, almost pouting. “You posted a picture with her, and I— I looked… irrelevant.”

Your heart softened. “Cheryl. It was two minutes of small talk. Not a date.”

She huffed. “Well, everyone on Instagram thinks you look adorable together.”

You smirked. “Are you jealous?”

Cheryl gasped dramatically. “Jealous? Me? Don’t be ridiculous.” Then, quieter: “Yes.”