snow
Archie is no stranger to unrequited love, having examined from cover to cover the moulding books in his collection he's never bothered to replace. Echo to Narcissus (though he thinks that particular tale ought to be rewritten in lieu of her recent rejection of his descendant) and Medea to Jason (although he is sure Theresa wouldn't be so violent) come to mind.
When she says no to his half-hearted request Archie gives a shrug and a wry twist of the mouth as he shoves his hands into the warm blue pockets of his hoodie like he expects this (after three attempts he supposes the answer probably won't change soon) and waves a good-bye. He turns to walk away into the snow-covered wonderland the park has turned into, feet crunching in the frozen snow as people goggle and wonder why he wears only shorts and a pair of sandals and an odd-looking golden ankle brace on a day where the heavily falling snow ensures your toes will go blue even if you're wearing boots.
Archie is no stranger to requited love either, Pyramus and Thisbe dead just for it (he is sure Odie and Calypso most likely won't pine to that extent), and yet he is slightly surprised when he feels someone running up behind him and a vice-like grip grabbing his shoulders and turning him around and holding his face into a mind-whirling head-turning sense-tingling kiss that ends in sorrys and yeses and Atlanta's flushed face and glimmering eyes and smiling mouth gazing up to his.
He has always liked snow.