Ignoring his comments had been an art form. And my mind was focused on one thing. Sure enough, just to the right of the door, on FP's couch, laid an unconscious Sweet Pea. His bare chest and abdomen shown many purple spots and puckered red scrapes. "What happened?" I asked, thrust into a state of disbelief.

I stepped over in front of the couch and lowered myself to sit on the very edge of it. Sweet Pea's head was turned toward the back of the couch, exposing a fresh looking cut on the side of his neck, just above his tattoo. FP sighed a bit heavily. "Got ticked off...went out and did somethin' stupid," he explained—sort of. "He asked me again to let him see you and I said no. So he got in a fight."

"You're unbelievable," I shook my head.

"Well, I try," he mumbled.

"Did you even try to bandage this cut on his neck?" I questioned, brushing my fingertips against the skin around it.

It felt warm. Probably from his body trying to recuperate after what it had gone through last night. FP made a sound. "I'm no doctor."

"Then get me your first aid kit," I craned my neck to look up at him. "This is going to get infected. Unless, of course, you want a Serpent taken to the hospital with sepsis at the ripe age of fifteen."

It didn't take any more convincing for him to go to the back bedroom, leaving my sight—thankfully. There were so many emotions whirling around inside. Most prominently—anger. Followed quickly by concern. Absentmindedly, I reached up and pushed the hair in his face to the side a bit. It'd been almost a week since I'd seen him last. It was like breathing in a fresh breath after being locked in an air tight box for too long.

FP probably only called me because he felt guilty. Guilty that he let this happen, that he caused it. And he should feel guilty. None of this would have happened if he had just stayed out of it and minded his own business. After a short moment, FP returned with a small plastic box. It was white with a red cross on the top. "If you think you can do better," he said, holding it out to me. "Be my guest, kid."

With a slight scowl, I took the kit and opened it on my lap. FP wandered over to his dining table in the kitchen and dropped into a chair. I tried to focus on the task at hand. My fingers sifted through the minimal items inside the kit. I'd managed to find a packet of disinfectant-soaked Q-tips. Then I rounded up a couple small packets of triple-antibiotic ointment and a large enough bandage to cover the whole cut. It wasn't deep enough for stitches.

I wasn't a doctor, either. But I could tell that much. There were more than enough times when dad came home and needed mom to patch him up. I'd watched her almost every time. Sometimes, she would walk me through it. As a kind of morbid show-and-tell. I worked quickly to rip the packet of Q-tips and used one to clean the cut. My fingers touched the disinfectant to his injury carefully, gently. But, even so, his muscles instinctively jerked in his sleep.

It startled me even though I was expecting it. After a second, I gently dabbed the Q-tip across the cut and the immediate area around it. "Why'd you call me, FP?" I asked, raising my voice just enough to be heard across the table, as I began to tear open an ointment packet.

"I told you. Thought you'd wanna know," he answered.

"Of course I'd want to know," I sent a short glare his way. "But that's not why you called. You called because you know you messed up."

He snorted. "Yeah. Right. Just keep playing Medicine Woman and keep your thoughts to yourself."

I rolled my eyes, smearing the ointment across the wound. Then I set the packets on the coffee table beside me, along with the other torn packet wrappers and open first aid kit. With the free space, I scooted forward, getting close enough to see where specifically to place the bandage as I unwrapped it. It wasn't that I had never seen FP angry, or annoyed. Or anything but happy. I had seen FP as many things. But this was just childish.

He'd sunk to a whole knew low. If he hadn't, maybe Sweet Pea wouldn't be so beat up? That fight would've had no reason to happen. Of course, if you believe in fate, it probably would've happened either way—just for a different reason. Either way, I was not going to forgive him so easily. I freed the bandage from the packaging and placed it atop the cut. As my hands smoothed out the edges, in a split second, Sweet Pea sprung to life.

He inhaled sharply, his hand wrapping around my wrist faster than I could pull away. It startled me. And the tight grip on my wrist was sure to leave a bruise on my skin. But I spoke calmly, softly. "Sweet Pea! Hey- calm down. It's me," I said. His wild eyes softened to a much calmer shade of awareness as he exhaled, loosing his grip on my arm. He grimaced, his hand going straight across his ribs.

"Diana? What are you doing here?" he asked, leaning back against the cushion with a wince.

"FP called me," I set aside the bandage trash, putting it on the table with the rest of the used items. "Sweets...I missed you, too. But this really...you didn't have to get yourself hurt over me."

He shrugged a little. "I was angry. You said it was sexy."

"What good is it if I can't even see it?"

I couldn't fight the smile pulling at my lips. But it faded out as I reached over, gently sliding my hand onto his cheek. The bruises on his face clouded his tan skin. It made him look like a different person in this light. "I missed you," he admitted, his voice small, quiet. "I was going crazy not being able to see you. I couldn't take it anymore."

"You don't have to, yeah? I'm here now," I said, just as quietly, my thumb sliding across his broken open lower lip.

My heart ached. I didn't know if kissing him was such a good idea with his injuries. But he surprised me—leaning up a few inches, cupping my face with his hands, and pulling me the rest of the way to him. His broken and slightly swollen lips met mine in a way I hadn't expected, with a depth I hadn't expected. Open and inviting and hungry. But what stuck out to me the most was the longing in it. I could feel every day we didn't talk, every day we didn't see each other.

Every day we spent apart was in his kiss. My arms erupted in bumps beneath my thick sweat shirt, and I leaned closer, opening my lips to match his. He suddenly pulled back, swearing beneath a breathy sigh. And it came back to me, his physical state, and I instantly felt bad. "Lie back," I told him, suddenly overly aware of everything. "I'm sure FP has ice. Maybe some ibuprofen somewhere? I'll find it."

I made to get up, but his hands slid down to my upper arms, holding me in place. "I'm okay. Stay," he said, through a mild groan.

He knew he wasn't okay. I knew he wasn't okay. But we both tried to act like he was. After a few moments of staying put, I convinced him to let me get up. It was only to go to the kitchen. He was very adamant about that. So I stood and walked into the kitchen and dining room area. FP sat slumped in his chair, on his second beer. My eyes stayed straight ahead as I marched to the freezer. Sure enough, there was an ice pack.

I nabbed it from the cubby in the door and pushed it closed. Once again my eyes remained forward as I passed FP on the way back to the couch. The man was spiraling. But I'd learned not to interrupt his dates with a bottle years ago. So I kept walking and returned to the living room without a word in his direction. I got Sweet Pea situated with the ice pack across his ribs.

I sat on the couch cushion with my back against the arm rest, the back of his head against my chest, with one of my legs bent up and on the couch and the other draped off onto the floor. My fingers combed through his hair. It wasn't hard to tell he was dozing off. "Sleep, if you want," I encouraged, my voice soft and quiet so close to his ear. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

His head turned to the left a little, toward me. "Promise?"

"I promise."

I woke with a startle to the sound of a hollow thud. Apparently FP had just left. I tried to angle myself up a bit to see through the window above the back of the couch, but it felt as though I was being weighted down by an elephant. That's when I looked down. Sweet Pea was out to wind. But somehow I'd managed to slip down the arm rest onto the cushion more than before. His arms were draped around me, holding me in place, his face pressed to my neck.

It wasn't a bad place to be. It was actually quite comfortable, snuggled into a giant on a Dollar Store couch. So I let my arms remain around his shoulders, my fingers combing the hair at the back of his head, as I relaxed into the couch. I hadn't known how long i'd been sitting there. Or when I'd dozed off. But at least it was still daylight, based on the look of the lit up window. I just hoped Jughead wasn't at school looking for me, worrying.

If I knew Jughead, he wouldn't stop until he found me or contacted me if he thought something was wrong. Then he would get Archie involved. And, in doing so, get the entire gang involved. Then Kevin would petition to call his father to make sure I hadn't gotten arrested or brought to a hospital. Half the town would be out looking for me by nightfall. The buzz of my cell phone on the coffee table was faint, but I noticed it enough.

My eyes flicked down to Sweet Pea. He was asleep. I needed to move in a way that didn't wake him up. Why'd I have to put my phone so far away? I groaned a bit, readjusting myself to lean over, outstretching my arm. My fingers stretched as far as they could toward my buzzing phone. It was just barely not enough. I bit my lower lip to keep quiet as I readjusted again, trying to get a better angle. Finally, I reached my phone enough to pull it off the table.

I pulled it back to the couch with me as I sat upright, breathing a sigh of relief that I didn't disturb Sweet Pea. But something told me a train horn in his ear wouldn't even wake him up. I guess beating up people and getting beaten up were exhausting tasks for a young Serpent. My phone was lit up with a call from Jughead. Sighing, I answered, and held the phone to my ear. "Hey," I said, in a hushed tone.

"Hey? That's all you have to say?" Jughead questioned. "Where are you, Diana? It's lunch time and you still haven't stepped foot inside the school. What happened this morning? Is it something with Jade?"

"Um...no. Boyfriend stuff."

"Boyfriend stuff? I thought he was still ignoring you?"

I leaned back against the arm rest with an exhale, readjusting my arm to better hold the phone. "He was, but something came up. It was kind of an emergency. Everything's fine now, though," I tried to explain it without giving away too many details, or giving him my location.

Jughead sighed heavily on the other end. Alternate voices filtered through in quiet snippets and I knew he must've been on the phone at the lunch table with the others. "You mean an...emergency?" he asked, knowingly. "You know, with his after school group?"

"Maybe. Look, I'll be at Ben's later tonight. Can you walk Cash home from school?"

"Yeah. She was pretty confused this morning when you weren't there to braid her hair."

I smiled a little, "Did you do it?"

There was a short pause, and I knew he was rolling his eyes. "Yes. She has the best braids this side of Sweetwater," he commented, stoically sarcastic. "You better be at Ben's tonight, or I'm going to track you down by giving Killer your bra."

"Don't you dare," my eyes narrowed. "Those things are expensive."

"Fine. Just be there. Okay?"

"I will, I promise. Thanks, Jug."

I ended my side of the call and leaned across the space between the coffee table and the couch, sliding my phone back on top of the wood. As I righted myself, Sweet Pea stirred. My muscles froze almost instantly in a complete stand-still. His arms tightened around my middle, his face adjusting to press his forehead against the right side of my neck.

Carefully, I put my arms back around him and settled into the couch. I couldn't imagine being at school right now. If I hadn't known about this, he would be bloody and beaten with no one but FP for company. He'd probably feel a lot worse. Especially considering how easy it was to take away the pain just by agreeing to get into this position. Agreeing to hold him. Agreeing to stay with him. Leaving him wasn't an option. Not even before his full body weight was crushing my chest cavity.

It did make it a little harder to breathe, but I endured it. Because I wouldn't want it any other way. We'd been together for such a short time. But it felt like he was mine. My responsibility. My choice. My bruised, incredibly tall and just as heavy South Side Serpent. Right there, on FP's couch, I made a pact with myself. To stop comparing this relationship to something else. To stop taking it for granted. To stop pretending it doesn't exist to other people I care about.

Sweet Pea deserved better than that. I deserved better than that. Because didn't I pride myself in his lack of resemblance to Archie? It tainted everything. But this was looking through different eyes, in much better lighting. He was mine because I wanted him to be. I wasn't going to treat him as anything less. Just then, he stirred again, this time with a small groan. "Diana?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you realizing this is the worst possible position to sleep in when your body is bruised?"

"...a little bit, yeah."

I huffed a small chuckle, "Maybe you need to sit up for a bit?"

"Good idea," he said, his voice groggy.

He began pushing himself up, a bit reluctantly it seemed. But he got upright and I peeled my legs from the couch, swinging them over the edge as I sat up as well. Feeling the crook in my neck from the weird angle my neck was in for however long i'd dozed off for. "I didn't know FP went outside during the day, but he just left a little bit ago," I said, my right hand rubbing my left shoulder. "I could see if he's got a shirt that would fit you?"

"I don't know. I was thinking shirtless would make all this worth it for you," he smirked at me.

With a small smile, I chuckled, nudging his arm playfully with the side of my wrist. "I'll go ransack the closet."

I pushed up from the couch and pattered through the trailer to the back bedroom. Sure, FP wouldn't be too delighted I was rummaging through his clothes with the intention of stealing one. But, if I was being completely honest, I would say I didn't care much. In my mind, I didn't care much about anything at all regarding that crusty Serpent. All he did was drink and waste away in that dump of a trailer.

The inside of it was one giant trash can—had been for a long time. It was covered in random garbage and beer bottles. Honestly, I had no idea how a man could live like that. Or how any human could. But I guessed that was just what spiraling looked like. After his wife left with his daughter, I could understand some off the ledge weirdness. But this? It was a bit much. He wasn't even trying anymore, and that's what made you sympathetic.

He made it out like the world was against him. Like there was no way he could recover. The problem was that he had to actually try if he wanted to recover. I guessed that he just didn't want to. It was disheartening, but I moved on. I'd just grabbed a shirt that looked like it might have been a round about fit when I heard Sweet Pea's voice from the living area. "Hey, babe," he called. "You might want to come take a look at this."

My eyebrow cocked questioningly as I took the shirt with me to the living room. As I passed through the kitchen and dining area, I saw the little box TV was on in the corner. It was on the local news station. And Alice, Hal, and Betty Cooper were the afternoon headline. "What. The. Actual. Check." I was floored, to say the least. I dropped down onto the couch beside Sweet Pea, eyes glued to the screen. He turned it up a few clicks so I could hear it.

It was Alice talking about Polly. Apparently Polly had escaped Quiet Mercy and was currently missing. I hadn't known because I wasn't at school. I'm sure it was the talk of the morning discussion in the lounge. Another thing I missed. Alice was begging Polly to come home, if she happened to be watching. I almost gagged at her fake sincerity. "If you really cared about Polly, you wouldn't have sent her away," I spat, at the television. I grabbed the remote out of Sweet Pea's hand and switched off the box, grumbling, "Attention whore."

"Someone's bitter," Sweet Pea smirked at me.

I exhaled deeply, my eyebrow slightly furrowed in agitation. "I'm just sick of her lies. What is with the parents on the North side? I mean, is it so hard to genuinely love and care for your children? Is that too much to ask? Apparently—because people like Alice Cooper and Penelope Blossom exist."

He snaked his arms around me, pulling me into his side, and pressed his lips to the top of my head. Then, leaning back to see my face, he said, "Let's go somewhere. I'm starving."

"We could go to Pop's?" I suggested, perking up a bit.

"Perfect. Let's go."