#malachai

Town Hall was packed before the show had even started. Riverdale had always been nosy, not regular nosy either. No, Riverdale had a special kind of obsession with other people’s business. It lived in whispered rumors over milkshakes at Pop’s, in hallway gossip at Riverdale High, in parents listening through half-open doors during town meetings. The town practically fed on secrets, which was exactly why I stood backstage with a microphone in one hand and pure annoyance simmering in my chest. 

“They’re loud tonight.” Valerie said beside me, peeking through the curtain. 

“No, they’re invasive tonight.” I muttered, adjusting the rings on my fingers. Melody snorted. Josie laughed softly as she finished clipping in one of her earrings. 

“Welcome to Riverdale.” 

I had only been in town for two days and already I understood why Josie complained about it on every phone call. Everywhere I went, people stared. Not because I was famous, though I was getting there. My songs were all over streaming apps, my voice recognizable enough that teenagers had started stopping me for pictures. No, people stared because I was with Josie McCoy, and because Riverdale apparently treated every outsider like a potential serial killer. 

“You’d think I murdered someone.” I said dryly. 

“Give it a few days.” Josie replied. “Someone’ll probably accuse you of it.” 

That got a laugh from all of us. I shook my head with a grin, but my attention drifted toward the crowd again. The Town Hall glowed in reds and gold tonight, lights flickering against old wood and leather chairs. Everyone was here, even Serpents and some Ghoulies, which Josie said was a miracle. Betty Cooper sat near the front with Archie Andrews, Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom, and Toni Topaz, all watching the stage carefully. And then there was him. Malachai. I didn’t know much about him, only that he showed up at rehearsal yesterday leaning against the doorway like he owned the place. He had this unreadable expression and sharp, dark eyes that followed everything too closely. And everyone else seemed tense whenever he entered a room. But when Josie reluctantly introduced us, he’d smiled at me like he already knew me. That smile had stayed in my head ever since. 

“You’re staring.” Josie whispered. 

I rolled my eyes. “I’m observing.” 

“Mmhmm.”

Before I could argue back, Mayor McCoy walked onto the stage to adjust a speaker and the crowd erupted in whistles. Showtime. 

Josie squeezed my hand quickly. “You ready?” 

I inhaled slowly. The nerves never really disappeared before performances. They just changed shape. 

“Always.” 

I caught Malachai watching the stage from the shadows near the back wall, arms crossed over his chest. Josie smirked at me and winked. 

“Try not to scare them too bad.” 

“No promises.” 

The lights dimmed, a low buzz moved through the crowd as I stepped onto the stage alone. Black boots, oversized leather jacket slipping off one shoulder, silver jewelry glinting beneath the stage lights. The microphone squealed faintly before settling. 

“Hi, Riverdale.” 

The crowd cheered, some louder than others. I smiled politely. 

“Josie invited me here because apparently she likes me enough to expose me to this terrifying town.” That got a laugh. 

I shifted the guitar strap higher on my shoulder. “Anyway, I’m Y/N.” 

More applause. 

“I was gonna do my usual set tonight…” I continued. “But after spending forty-eight hours in Riverdale?” I paused dramatically. 

“I decided you people need psychological help.” 

The crowd burst into laughter again. 

I grinned wickedly. “Seriously, you guys are insanely nosy.” 

I saw Josie laughing out of the corner of my eye. 

“You all stare like you’re trying to solve a murder every time somebody walks into a room.” 

Archie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“So, this song is dedicated to Riverdale…” I said sweetly. Then my smile sharpened. 

“And your nosy asses.” 

The room exploded. Whistles, laughter, shouts, someone near the back yelled, ‘We are nosy!’. I laughed under my breath before stepping toward the mic again. The lights darkened until only one spotlight remained. Then I started playing. The room gradually quieted as the first lyrics left my mouth. 

“Everybody wants to know if we fucked on the bathroom sink…” Low, smooth, painfully emotional. 

“How your hands felt in my hair, if we were high on amphetamines, and everybody wants to hear how we chain-smoked until three, and how you laughed when you said my name, and how you gripped my hips so mean…” The song wasn’t light. It wasn’t playful. It was raw. 

“We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no, we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time…” I sang it like I lived every word, because I had at one point. 

Betty’s expression shifted first, then Veronica’s. Even Jughead straightened slightly in his chair. Malachai didn’t move at all, he just watched me. I closed my eyes during the chorus. 

“They think I’m insane, they think my lover is strange, but I don’t have to fucking tell them anything, anything, and I’m gonna write it all down, and I’m gonna sing it on stage, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything That’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, that’s the beauty of a secret, oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, that’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything…” 

The entire room had gone silent. Not fake polite silent, real silent. The kind where people forget to breathe. I poured myself into every lyric until my chest hurt with it. 

“Everybody’s waiting up to hear if I dare speak your name, put it deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me, and everybody wants to know ‘bout how it felt to hear you scream, they know you walk like you’re a God, they can’t believe I made you weak, We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no, we wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night, but the ending is the same every damn time they think I’m insane, they think my lover is strange, but I don’t have to fucking tell them anything, anything, and I’m gonna write it all down, and I’m gonna sing it on stage, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything That’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, that’s the beauty of a secret, oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, that’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything…” 

By the bridge, my voice cracked slightly. Not enough to ruin the song, just enough to make it feel real. Make it feel human, honest.

“These days I can’t seem to get along with anyone, get by with anyone, these days I can’t seem to make this right, well, is this fine? Will it be alright? they think I’m insane, they think my lover is strange, but I don’t have to fucking tell them anything, anything, and I’m gonna write it all down, and I’m gonna sing it on stage, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything That’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, that’s the beauty of a secret, oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, wa-oh, that’s the beauty of a secret, you know you’re supposed to keep it, but I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything…”

And when I finished? Nothing. One clap. Two. Then the room erupted. People stook, cheers thundered through Town Hall so loudly the speakers rattled, Josie looked absurdly proud backstage. I laughed breathlessly into the microphone, overwhelmed for half a second before I covered it with sarcasm again. 

“Well, at least if one of you murders me later, you liked the music first.” I said. Another explosion of laughter, but my eyes drifted instinctively toward the back wall. Malachai was already looking at me, not amused, not smiling, just staring. 

After I finished my set and the Pussycats performed, Town Hall somehow got even louder. People kept stopping me every few feet, complimenting my performance, asking about my songs, trying to pry into who it was about, which only proved my point about Riverdale being unbearably nosy. 

“Who’s Strange Love about?” 

“Did somebody break your heart?” 

“Was it inspired by a real relationship?” 

“Are you dating anyone?” 

“Are you-” 

“Oh my God, you people are exhausting.” I finally groaned. 

Valerie laughed into her drink. 

“You literally invited this.” Melody said. 

“I really didn’t.” 

“Yes, you did.” Josie replied. “You performed emotional trauma in front of a town addicted to gossip.” 

I leaned against the stage beside Josie, catching a second to breathe. Until somebody slid next to me. I turned and saw Malachai. Up close, he was somehow worse for my nerves. Tall, dark curls, sharp jaw, and that dangerous kind of confidence that usually screams bad idea. I recovered quickly anyway. 

“Only good?” 

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. 

“You want honesty?” 

“Always.” 

“You made half the room emotional and the other half horny.” 

Josie choked on her drink. 

I burst out laughing. 

“Wow. Direct.” 

“You said you liked honest people.” 

“Fair point.” 

Malachai’s gaze stayed fixed on me, steady and intense enough that I suddenly became very aware of how close he was standing. 

“You wrote that song yourself?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“You always sing like that?” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you mean every word.” The teasing faded slightly from my expression. 

“Wouldn’t make much sense if I didn’t.” 

Something unreadable flickered across his face. Someone called his name from across the room. Malachai glanced over briefly before looking back at me. 

“You sticking around Riverdale long?” 

“Couple weeks, maybe.” 

“That enough time for the town to traumatize you?” 

I smirked. “Depends. You volunteering?” 

For the first time all night, Malachai actually laughed. It was low, warm, and dangerously attractive. 

“Maybe.” 

And God, that was gonna be a problem.