The morning sun crept reluctantly through the blinds of Archie and Veronica's apartment, as if even it didn't want to witness the tension brooding inside.

Today was their day—dance rehearsal day. And yet, they hadn't spoken since the blood pact blowout. Veronica was still fuming about the whole Kim Petras situation, and Archie had doubled down by group chatting the groomsmen about shipping literal blood. Add to that the confirmed attendance of Winter Blanco (whom Veronica had invited in a fit of glorious pettiness), and this wedding was shaping up to be less "Eiffel Tower fairy tale" and more "Riverdale vs. the Real Housewives."

Inside Archie's car, silence reigned like a tyrant. They drove to the dance studio near the edge of town, both staring ahead like strangers sharing an Uber to awkward hell.

Archie finally cleared his throat. "So... the dance studio's just past Riverdale High. They've got mirrors, mood lighting, the works. It's for the wedding—Viennese Waltz. Classic, elegant."

Veronica didn't even blink.

Archie exhaled. "Veronica. Come on. I'm trying to talk about the next step in our planning. Kim Petras is booked. That's done. But this—this is still us."

Still nothing.

He gripped the steering wheel harder. "Are you seriously ignoring me right now? Like, full-on Gwyneth-and-Chris conscious uncoupling? I'm literally telling you about our wedding, and you're acting like I asked you to officiate your own funeral."

Finally, Veronica turned, her voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. "You lied to me, Archie. About Kim. About the blood pact. About making this wedding a collaboration when you clearly just wanted to headline it."

"I said I was sorry."

"No. You said, 'I'm sorry you feel that way,' which is the most non-apology apology I've ever heard in my life."

Archie huffed. "Okay, fine. I messed up. But you've been treating this like it's a solo performance on Broadway and I'm just the lighting guy."

"Well maybe if the lighting guy didn't blow up the production, I wouldn't have to!" Veronica snapped.

Archie slowed the car as they reached the studio. "You wanna yell? Yell later. We're here."

They parked. The tension rode shotgun.

Inside the dance studio, a warm, airy space greeted them—floor-to-ceiling mirrors, polished wood floors, and, at the front of the room, a dance instructor who could've walked straight out of a Dancing with the Stars finale.

"Oh. My. GOD." Veronica froze. "Is that Milo Vega? He won DWTS Season 26!"

Milo turned around, dazzling smile in place. "Veronica Lodge and Archie Andrews, right? Heard you two were dramatic. My kind of couple."

Veronica melted. "I love you already."

Archie, already regretting everything, offered a limp handshake. "Yeah. Hey."

Milo clapped his hands. "We're doing the Viennese Waltz. Romantic. Bold. A little tragic if you two don't stop looking like you're legally separated."

They lined up. Milo demonstrated. Veronica glided, spun, and dipped like a debutante in a Bridgerton fever dream. Archie… tried.

"Lift your arm, Archie. No, not like you're waving at someone across the street," Milo sighed.

Veronica's voice was low and venomous. "You didn't even practice, did you?"

"I didn't know I was being graded," Archie shot back.

"You knew we had this today."

"I also knew we were fighting. Excuse me for not busting out the waltz moves between passive-aggressive breakfasts."

Two hours passed. The dance floor turned into a battlefield. Archie tripped over his own feet. Veronica twisted out of his grip three times. At one point, Milo stood between them with jazz hands just to keep them from combusting.

By the time they left, Veronica had mentally planned a solo performance for the reception just to salvage her pride.

Back in the car, she exhaled heavily. "This whole thing is a disaster."

Archie rolled his eyes. "You keep saying I ruined it. As if the glitter cannon of drama hasn't been going off since you invited Winter Blanco."

"That's not drama. That's symbolism. You compared me to her, Archie. I decided to let you meet your metaphor."

"You know what you are right now?" Archie snapped. "A screaming banshee in a Monique Lhuillier mood board!"

Veronica gasped. "Excuse me?!"

"You don't want a wedding! You want a Netflix documentary!"

"Maybe I do! At least I'd get to narrate my own breakdown instead of having you mansplain it!"

They pulled into the parking lot. Veronica flung open her door, marched ahead, and just before reaching their unit, she shoved Archie—lightly but meaningfully—into the wall.

He blinked.

Then she stormed inside, slammed the bedroom door, and burst into tears.

Archie just stood in the hallway, sighing, then pulled out his phone.

Group Chat: The Groom Legion

Archie:
Blood packets secured. Shipping today.
Do not open them.
Kim's team is expecting them.
Also, Veronica shoved me into a wall.

Reggie: Did it hurt?

Jughead: Did you deserve it?

Kevin: Definitely.

John B.: Unrelated, but I need a haircut.

Archie stared at the last message for a second, then texted back:

Archie:
I'll book us a bro-day at Toni's cousin's salon.
Let's get hot for this blood cult wedding.

And just like that, he boxed up the blood, added "KIM P." in big Sharpie letters, and grabbed his car keys.

It wasn't the wedding either of them imagined…

But it was going to be one hell of a finale.