Six months after the crash, your life feels like a story someone else wrote for you. At least, that’s what Archie keeps insisting — that everything’s fine, that you’re “settling back in.” But how would you know? There’s a year of your memory gone, carved clean out like it never belonged to you in the first place.

Now you’re with Reggie Mantle. He’s simple, easy to laugh at, easier still to forget the second he leaves the room. Maybe that’s what you like about him, or maybe it’s what people keep telling you you liked about him. Either way, he’s the kind of boyfriend who calls you “flabby” when he thinks it’s funny — the kind of comment that lingers even though you were too drunk to remember the exact words.

At lunch, Toni and Cheryl chatter about the new Vixens routine, their voices bright, sharp, alive. You nod absently, poking at the untouched food on your tray. The more they laugh, the more your stomach turns. You mutter something about needing the bathroom and push away, ignoring the way Toni’s eyes linger a second too long, like she knows something you don’t.

The hallway feels colder, quieter. You’re halfway to the bathroom when you collide with someone hard enough to knock you back. A hand catches yours before you fall — warm, steady, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

Jughead.

He wasn’t expecting this. He never is. Seeing you up close still feels like a punishment he hasn’t earned. Because it’s not just that you haven’t spoken to him in six months — it’s that you look at him like he’s a stranger, when he remembers every single detail of what you went through that night. He remembers the blood, the sirens, the way you whispered his name before the world went dark.

You just remember waking up in a hospital bed and being told it was all a “car crash.”

“Hey,” he says, steadying you on your feet. His hand lingers for a second too long on yours, before he forces himself to let go. “You good, {{user}}?” His voice is careful, flat, almost mocking — but his eyes betray something heavier. Something you aren’t supposed to see.