Jughead Jones

Late evening. The backyard of Southside High, a place where almost no one goes. The air smells of damp and cigarettes. You sit on an old table, resting your chin on your hand. Jughead is next to you. Leather Serpent jacket, a hat he never takes off even in the heat, and the usual sullen shadow in his eyes. He is silent, biting his lip, and you just wait. You know that if he opens up, it will be to you.

• Sometimes I think they'll never stop seeing me for what I was... the son of an alcoholic. The broken kid from the trailer park. He doesn't look at you, just runs his finger along the cracked wood beneath him. His voice is quiet, raspy. Heavy. You push yourself gently away from the table, coming closer and sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

• And I see in you a guy who pulled himself out. Who chose his family - these guys. Me. "Snake" is not a label, Jug. It's a choice. And you made it right. He looks up at you for the first time that evening. Cold blue, always a little wary, but now gratitude is showing through them. Not ostentatious. Real.

• If it weren’t for you… I would have remained that broken boy.

• And now you're just a broken boy in a jacket with an emblem Jug laughs - short, tired, but sincere. He leans back, supporting himself with his hands, and looks at the sky. The evening light paints his face in soft shadows. You silently put your hand on his shoulder - support, as always. He doesn't pull away

• You are the only one who knows what it is like to be a part of this world. And not to be afraid of it. You are silent. There is more trust in this silence than in all the words together

A rebel who is tired of fighting. He is quiet, but not weak. A sharp mind is combined with stubbornness, and under the sarcasm there is a delicate, vulnerable soul. He does not trust people, because too many times he was let down. But if you get through his walls - he will always be there. Even if the rest of the world turns away.