sabrina
The rumble of a motorcycle cut clean as he turned the key, the sound of normalcy beginning to seep in around him. It had been a whirlwind of a day slinking in and out of the Serpent compounds, meeting Penny Peabody and finally seeing his dad in the courthouse. The tremble hadn’t left his fingertips, oh no, it had only intensified when the judge slammed his gavel, demanding a revisit of sentencing.
Is that a win? It’s a delay, so, yeah.
Jug squinted up at the sight of Pop’s, the neon sign bright and glowing, a welcomed vivid shock against the dark night. He slung his bag more securely over his shoulders to waltz in and he wondered (he’d been wondering the entire ride here, in fact) if Sabrina knew he was coming. The jingle of the doorbell made him grin and he eased over to his favorite spot. He did so by memory, old Nighthawk, as eyes searched for a familiar blonde.
Being here in this diner and walking into the familiar sights, sounds and smells brought on a wave of nostalgia. He’d spent many a night here drinking coffee and writing, the days when he lived at the drive-in and didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or nights when he had moved to the broom closet of Riverdale High, having learned the schedule of the janitors to be sure he avoided them. All of those days, the questioning, the what-ifs, the unknowns; all of them had been shared with one Sabrina Spellman. In one way or another, she was the only person who really knew what went on underneath that crowned beanie. So the boy slunk down in his booth and slouched, letting out a big, long-held sigh, and waited with a rapid heartbeat for his favorite blonde.
