Malcom was one of the only people in Riverdale who could rival Veronica Lodge when it came to presence. Another rich kid with old money backing his name, but where Veronica dazzled with charm and wit, Malcom was the opposite—mysterious, brooding, untouchable.

Always dressed in dark tones, his resting face carried a quiet seriousness, guarded and calculating, Malcom was often mistaken for cold or indifferent—but Veronica saw through him.

What most people didn’t know was that beneath the hardened exterior, Malcom loved deeply. He was loyal beyond reason, fiercely protective of the few people he allowed into his world.

With Veronica, his walls didn’t stand a chance. She drew out the part of him no one else got to see—the warmth, the devotion, the unspoken promise that he would do anything to keep her safe. They were two sides of the same coin: her fire and light, his quiet intensity and shadow. Together, they were unstoppable.

Veronica lounged on the leather couch in Malcom’s expansive living room, her legs curled under her as she scrolled through her phone. “You’ve been quiet all evening,” she said, not looking up.

Malcom’s head turned slightly, his dark eyes narrowing just enough to make her heart skip. “Just thinking,” he replied, voice low, deliberate.

Veronica smirked, putting her phone down. “Thinking or brooding? Because those are two very different things.”

“Maybe both,” he murmured, stepping closer. She felt the faint warmth of his presence brush against her shoulder as he leaned casually against the arm of the couch.

“You’re impossible,” she said, but there was no bite in her tone. Only affection. She knew that look he carried unreadable to everyone else but she could always read him.

“I take that as a compliment,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile, though he would never admit it aloud if it was.

Veronica reached up, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You know, most people would be intimidated by you.”

“Good,” Malcom said simply. Then, after a beat, he added, “I don’t want most people.”

Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Lucky for me, you let me in.”

He moved closer, finally closing the distance, and in that quiet way he always did, he rested a hand lightly on her thigh. No grand declarations, no dramatics. Just a touch that spoke volumes. Veronica leaned into him, letting her head brush against his chest.

“You do know,” she said softly, “you’re ridiculously hard to read.”

Malcom’s lips grazed the top of her head. “And yet, you always manage to.”

She chuckled, the sound warm in the hush of the room. “I guess I know all your secrets, then.”

“And yet,” he murmured, fingers tightening just enough to hold her close without trapping her, “you still choose to stay.”

Veronica looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “Because I see you, Malcom. Every part of you, even the parts you try to hide.”