[Jughead dumps his satchel on the air mattress. He'd kicked his tattered converse off at the door, which means he's safe in flopping down next to it. He's not particularly used to the neat order of the Andrews' house yet, after years with his dad and the six months on his own with no one to impress. It always makes him feel like spreading out, messing up the perfect suburban order of everything. He usually just about manages to hold it down.
He kicks his sleeping bag to the side a little, enjoying seeing it as the crumpled mess beside him instead of the neatly folded pile Fred had left in it for him. It's the little things to make it feel like home.]
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[Jughead dumps his satchel on the air mattress. He'd kicked his tattered converse off at the door, which means he's safe in flopping down next to it. He's not particularly used to the neat order of the Andrews' house yet, after years with his dad and the six months on his own with no one to impress. It always makes him feel like spreading out, messing up the perfect suburban order of everything. He usually just about manages to hold it down.
He kicks his sleeping bag to the side a little, enjoying seeing it as the crumpled mess beside him instead of the neatly folded pile Fred had left in it for him. It's the little things to make it feel like home.]
Hit some writer's block.