After the food fight, I took the girls upstairs to get a change of clothes while the boys used the downstairs bathroom to clean up. The girls by far had it worse. Sauce and toppings in our hair and stuck in jewelry. I'd tried not to touch anything, using my foot to nudge open my bedroom door. "You can use the shower if you want," I offered, as Betty and Veronica followed in behind me. "I have clothes that should fit both of you."

I closed the door with a kick from my heel, and then I went straight into the bathroom. "Wow. I have to admit, this is not how I expected your bedroom would look," Veronica said, glancing around as I passed her. The dark, flat purple walls and punk rock band posters weren't the bulk of the change. They were just the most noticeable.

"Yeah, it's kind of a work in progress," I replied.

I flicked on the sink and Betty came into the bathroom. We both looked utterly ridiculous. But we peeled off the dirtied clothes and Betty took the sink while I turned on and climbed into the shower. My bra and underwear got soaked, but I was able to scrub off the food stuck to my face and tangled in my hair. When I got out, Betty was almost cleaned up in the sink. Dripping, I pattered across the bedroom to the closet. That's when I noticed Veronica.

She was obviously snooping, looking closely at the pictures on top of my desk. "Like what you see?" I asked, shivering a bit from the cold air against my recently warmed skin. I'd made it into the closet in a split second, then started sifting through my hanging clothes for something to wear.

Veronica looked up at me, "Sorry, I don't mean to pry. But- is that your dad?"

Her finger pointed to a silver frame, and just a quick glance told me which one it was. Shaking my head, I replied, "No, that's FP—Jughead's dad. He's kind of like a father to me, though. Has been since before mine died."

"Why don't you have any pictures of your dad around?" Veronica asked, curiously.

"V," Betty shook her head pointedly, giving Veronica a look.

I sighed and pulled a hoodie over my head, before turning to face the girls, "It's okay, Betty. To answer your question, I don't have any pictures of my dad to put up. There were a lot of things we had to leave behind when we moved in here. Family photos was one of them. All I have is a full photo book under my bed."

It really wasn't that deep, that personal of a question to answer. When Betty finished in the bathroom, she came to the closet so Veronica could clean up next. I let Betty skim through my clothes while I dried my hair, sitting on the end of my bed. There was a brief knock on the door, followed by a familiar male voice. "Hey- you decent?"

"Morally? Probably not," I smiled at my own sarcasm.

Veronica snickered in the bathroom, before pattering across the room to the closet. There was a pause on the other side of the door, "How about physically?"

"Oh, yeah, you're good there. Just avoid the closet full of half-naked women."

Jughead opened the door with an eyeroll. He barely took two steps inside, angled just right to keep his back to the closet. "Cash is demanding your presence downstairs," he said. Then, an eyebrows rising, he added, "And you might want to put some pants on. Kevin and Joaquin are now outnumbered. There's also a very tall, very impatient guest waiting for you...on the back porch?"

He did an odd winking expression, but I could understand what guest he was talking about just by the annoyance in his voice. Veronica leaned her body halfway out the closet, anything important covered by the door frame she hung onto. "The back porch?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow, curiously.

I hopped up from the bed. "Can you cover for me with Cash?" I asked, looking to Jughead. "Five, ten minutes—I promise."

Jughead rolled his eyes again, but agreed. I grabbed the first available pair of jeans from my closet and put them on. I hadn't realized they were my ripped, faded jeans until I started walking. But, by then, it was too late. "Oh, come on! We don't get to know who the mystery guest is?" Veronica called after me, as I stepped through the doorway. I'd heard Jughead's voice after that, but I was halfway down the stairs and tuning it out.

I'd cut left at the bottom, using the lack of attention from the guests to my advantage. No one noticed me—thankfully. Otherwise I would've gotten called over by Cash and never made it outside. The short drapes that covered the window in the back door concealed his identity, but the light from the porch made a lot more detail visible through the thin fabric. My fingers turned the knob, I pulled open the door, and I slipped out all in one fluid motion.

It was like I was some super spy, tip toeing around my own house just to get to the backyard. I cringed a little at the somewhat loud sound of the door closing. I'd close it a little too hard. "Yikes," I whisper-yelled at myself. Then, glancing up, my eyes settled on Sweet Pea. I smiled, tilting my head as I leaned back into the door, "Well, hello, handsome."

"Hey, gorgeous," he smirked, taking a step toward me. "Happy birthday."

"That it is..."

My sarcastic comment was left hanging out in the air, forgotten, when he kissed me. I was getting used to having to rise up on my toes to kiss him back. It was short-lived but felt like it lasted much longer when he pulled away. "I have something for you," he whispered, staying close to me. I pushed off the door as he held up a small, square package wrapped in a purple-themed confetti paper. My teeth bit down on my bottom lip as I carefully took the gift from him.

My eyes moved from the package to his face, "This isn't going to explode, is it?"

"Only if you don't open it," he replied, with a smirk.

"Okay, okay, I'm opening it."

I leaned back on my heels, then slipped around him. My feet carried me just across the short porch to the tall banister with a light skip. As soon as I was within reach, I hopped up, pulling myself onto the thick top of the railing to sit. I'd had the enthusiasm and excitement of a small child tearing the paper to open the package. Sweet Pea walked across the deck, coming to stand to my right, leaning into the banister beside me.

There was always a lot of pressure on birthdays to react the right way to a gift. If you didn't show the right amount of happiness and thanks, the gifter might assume you didn't like what they gave you. But I didn't need to act the right reaction to this gift. It came to me naturally, lighting up my face in a way it hadn't in over a year. Unwrapping it left me with a black box. Opening the black box, revealed a one-inch silver snake on a matching chain.

The small snake made a curving S, but it was just curvy enough no one could possibly make any connections without a hard look at it. "Sweet Pea..." I was speechless, moving my eyes to meet his. The right corner of his mouth was curved up in a small smile. I exhaled, relaxing my shoulders. "Thank you so much, I love it."

"Wanna put it on?"

I nodded quickly, "Yeah."

My fingers worked the chain out of the box and Sweet Pea took it, as I turned my back to him a bit, grabbing my hair in one large bundle to pull it out of the way. He put the necklace on me, securing the clasp a second at the nape of my neck. The chain wasn't too short but it wasn't super long. I'd had it on for all of one second before deciding it was my favorite piece of jewelry. It was the only piece of jewelry I would allow myself to wear in public.

Sweet Pea snaked his arms around me, pressing his lips to the side of my face. I twisted in his arms to sit straight on the banister. "It's perfect," I smiled up at him, still too short even on the railing. "But, how'd you even know it was my birthday?"

"Joaquin might have let it slip last weekend," he smiled, with a boyish sheepishness.

My hands slid onto his cheeks, and I tugged him close enough to kiss. It wasn't like our recent kisses—open, hungry, desperate. Instead it was deep, passionate, and loving. But, most notably, it was soft. A word that didn't look like it belonged anywhere near a Serpent, let alone two. The sound of the back door opening wasn't what pulled us apart, it was the voice that came along with it. It was undeniable who owned it, even before looking.

I should know—I'd spent a year and a half memorizing it. "Hey, Diana- whoa, um..." I lurched back out of pure surprise, startling hard at the unexpected voice. Archie stood just outside the back door, his eyes shifting quickly between Sweet Pea and me. This would be when I exclaimed something like 'this isn't what it looks like!' and beg him to keep his mouth shut. But my hands slid down to the upper arms of Sweet Pea's jacket, unmoving in every other respect.

"What are you doing here?" I questioned, narrowing my eyes a bit.

Archie swallowed, before clearing his throat, "Uh, nothing. It- it can wait. Sorry for...interrupting."

He looked like he'd just walked in on something R rated. Turning on his heels, he opened the door, and stepped back inside. As soon as the door was closed, Sweet Pea looked at me. "Who was that?" he asked, eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"Archie Andrews," I sighed heavily. "He wasn't supposed to be here, but I guess old habits die hard. I should go take care of that. I'm probably way past time anyway."

An eyebrow rose on Sweet Pea's forehead, "Time?"

"Jughead was supposed to cover for me for ten minutes. But that was mostly with my sister."

"Uh-huh," he nodded a little, glancing away a second. Then his eyes met mine again, corners of his lips quirking. "When am I gonna get to meet this elusive younger sister of yours?"

That was a question I wasn't prepared to truly answer. So I just smirked a little, pushing myself off the banister. My feet hit the wooden deck as I replied, "As soon as she's done being the Jillian Michaels of my birthday party." He chuckled at that, but I couldn't help feeling like it wasn't enough. None of this was enough. Not enough time, not enough words. It always felt too short.

When I made it inside to the living room, everyone was camped out in the living room eating pizza and playing charades with Cash. It looked like Cheryl had shown up while I was gone. Everyone was there except Archie and Jughead. My eyes scanned the room again just in case. But they definitely were not there. So I wandered to the kitchen. Sure enough, they were in there. Talking about something in hushed voices. Something that I'm pretty sure started with an S.

I stepped into the kitchen, causing them to startle into silence with a simple, "Hey."

My arms folded loosely over my chest, my hip leaning into the island. Archie looked from me to Jughead. Jughead looked like he'd been stuck between a rock and a hard place—at least, that was the face he made every time I made him choose either Han Solo or Indiana Jones to take to a deserted island. The argument was always that they were the same person so, technically, you were taking both if you only took one.

But then you could say that they both had very specific skill sets and the same actor doesn't mean the same character. We fought over it for at least three hours one night in my room, when we were supposed to be doing homework. Finally, Jughead sighed. "I'm not getting in the middle of this," he decided, shaking his head. "If you two need to talk about this—talk about it. But I don't want to be involved. Sorry, Archie."

Jughead walked around Archie and out the other doorway, leaving me and Archie alone in the kitchen. Archie sighed, eyes downcast, and my eyebrows knitted. "What's your problem now, Archie?" I asked, disinterested. He looked reluctant to speak. If I were him in that moment, I would have been, too.

Finally, after a quiet moment, he turned to me. "Diana, you've been acting weird lately. Hanging out with the Serpents, dating one of them—you knew FP was a Serpent the whole time," he said, in a hushed tone of exasperation. Exhaling, he calmed his demeanor a bit. "Look, I'm just worried. This isn't you. I don't even know where you went."

"In the garbage, where you threw her," I answered, almost immediately.

"So, all of this is because we broke up?" he questioned.

"No, you dim-witted Ken doll. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. Maybe that's why you can't wrap your tiny brain around it? You're not my reason for living anymore, Archie. Take what you can get, and don't let the door hit you where the good lord split you," I said, pushing off the island.

His jaw was set, like he'd wanted to say more. But, luckily for him, he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he went straight to the front door and let himself out. It didn't stop the laughter and voices from the living room, though it did quiet them a bit. Typical, Archie. He thought I was still his business. That I was his property. That it was his job to look out for me when, if he'd been looking out for me when we were dating, he wouldn't have cheated on me.

I joined the group in the living room, sitting on the far arm rest of the couch, next to Kevin and Joaquin. Kevin sat on the couch, Joaquin on the floor leaning against the couch. I leaned across Kevin and snagged a slice of pizza from the pizza plate in between him and Betty. Cash and Veronica were trying to act something out, still playing charades. Veronica looked completely lost. But Cash was too determined to give up.

It caused the occasional laugh, with the more frequent giggle from the audience. I tried to act like I was okay. Even attempted to laugh at something I'd normally find funny. But it didn't sound right. It didn't seem like the sound was even mine. If I was being honest with myself, I would say I was losing it. But I was the world's biggest liar. And the biggest lie I ever told, was to myself.

I laid wide awake in my bed. Occasionally turning, trying to close my eyes. After a while, though, I stopped trying to move at all. Nothing was helping me sleep. It felt like I wasn't even tired. Maybe that's because I wasn't? My fingers played with the snake hanging from my neck. My eyes shifted across the dark room, stopping on the love seat. Jughead was out to the four winds. Nothing rarely woke Jughead up during the night.

Not even when I got up and left the house. I'd done that several times since he'd made my couch his permanent residence, and he never knew i'd left. At least, he never indicated that he knew. Blowing a sigh through my lips, I reached up, and grabbed my cell phone off my night stand. My thumb slid across the screen to unlock it, and I pulled up my messages.

ME: Hey. You awake?

SP: Am now. What's up?

ME: Come get me.

SP: I'll be there in ten minutes.

I locked the screen and pushed back my blanket. I'd crept out as quietly as I could, mostly just trying not to wake Killer. That dog seemed to be making a habit of sleeping on my bed with me at night. When a fly buzzed, he barked. It made for a harder time getting out. But I tip toed to the end of my bed, where i'd left my hoodie, and grabbed it before walking to the door. Without really needing to, I looked back to make sure Jughead was still asleep.

He and Killer were both snoring softly in their respective places. So I eased open my door, stepped out, and closed the door. The usual place Sweet Pea would pick me up was the street corner just down the block from my house. That way the noise from the bike wouldn't wake Ben, Cash, or Jughead. I walked to the corner with my hands in my pockets and waited. Sure enough, in just less than ten minutes, Sweet Pea pulled up on his motorcycle.

He kicked down the stand, sitting back with a smirk. "Didn't your parents ever tell you not to take rides from strangers?"

"See, I distinctly remember my dad telling me only to take rides from strangers if they had the good candy," I replied, with a small smile.

"Hop on," he tipped his head in a gesture toward the back of the bike. "Where are we going?"

My smile widened as I swung my leg over to climb onto the bike behind him, sliding my arms around his torso, "Just drive. I'll let you know when we get there."

That's how the night out late always started. It was a motorcycle ride into the dark, holding onto him with closed eyes as the cool breeze brushed my face and the hum of the motorcycle relaxed my muscles. It was the calmest thing i'd ever experienced. It never seemed to bother Sweet Pea—getting drug out of bed at one o'clock in the morning by his girlfriend. The ride never lasted too long. Just long enough to get my fix.

Then we'd pulled into Pop's small parking area. Pop's was never too busy at that hour. Mostly just people like Jughead, who frequently pulled all-nighters, either for insomnia or literary purposes. Sweet Pea and I dropped into a booth on the left, near the back—it was becoming our usual spot. I think Pop was the only person in this town that knew about nights like this for a long time. He always smiled at us, both of us.

This time, he'd asked if he'd heard right that it was my birthday. I sunk back in the seat a little at his words. Unbelievable, I'd thought. But Sweet Pea grinned beside me. Thinking it was funny how annoyed it made me to talk about my birthday, I was sure. "Yeah, it is," I told Pop. "Or, more like was."

"Well, it's still your birthday in my book. Your usual's on the house tonight," he smiled, happily.

I would've declined, but he left before I could. The usual order was an old fashioned vanilla milkshake to share and a basket of fries. Without thinking, I'd grabbed Sweet Pea's hand, bringing it toward me to examine the tattoo on his thumb. "You sure like putting your tattoos in highly visible places," I teased, turning my head to look up at him.

He just shrugged, smirking a little. "I like my ink."

"I wanted to get another tattoo, but dad wouldn't let me," I recalled, dropping his hand.

He'd taken back his appendage only to stretch it around me, loosely wrapping it around my middle. "What would you get?" he asked, curiously. I leaned back against his shoulder, humming as I thought about it. Quirking my lips, narrowing one eye. I honestly had thought about it in years. I'd only vaguely remembered my original idea after getting my Serpent tattoo—as if one wasn't painful enough.

Dad had said I was like my mother that way. She had many tattoos. Not all visible, but they were there, and each one meant something important to her. "A flower," I finally answered, with a singular nod. Upon his silence, I glanced up at Sweet Pea. His eyebrow was raised, looking at me with disbelieving eyes. I held up my right wrist, pointing to the spot I wanted it. "A little sweet pea, right there."

He seemed to get it then, huffing an airy chuckle as a wide smile came to his lips. "You'd get that tattooed on your body?"

"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, rhetorically.

Pop Tate brought us our order just then, briefly ending the discussion. I'd thanked Pop, and he'd said it was his pleasure, adding a happy birthday toward the end. Once he was out of earshot, I sat straight in my seat. Then I looked at Sweet Pea seriously. "Why wouldn't I get that tattoo?" I asked again, more seriously this time, like I actually meant it.

He exhaled, leaning back against the booth. I could tell I probably wasn't going to like what he was about to say, but I anticipated his next words all the same. Finally, his eyes met mine, and his features were plain. "Tattoos are forever. You can't just...wash them off if this isn't," he answered, tentatively.

And by 'this', he meant us. Our relationship. So, he wanted me not to get the tattoo in case we broke up in the end? Was that what he wanted to happen, or just what he was expecting? Prior experience in any form of relationship had made us both cautious in where we put our hearts. I didn't understand his experiences yet. But I would later. "Do you want this to be forever?" I asked, surely, confidently. "Because I do. If anything, I'm getting that tattoo just to prove it."

His blank lips turned into their signature smirk, his eyes lighting up—almost in awe. "You know that means I'll have to get another one."

"Wait- but I don't have a nickname. What's your tattoo going to be?" I asked, smiling in my curiosity.

"I'll think of something."