Based on lines from "Me, But Happy" by Neil Hilborn.

I would like to thank you, personally, for always making me feel like I'm the King of the Pope of the whole world.

You ran through the forest clearing, chasing after your friend, Jughead. You'd just mourned over the demolishment of the Twilight Drive-In, giving a big middle finger to capitalism by spray painting yours and his initials on the building walls. A last testament to your love of the place. When you'd both heard about its demolishment, you were heartbroken. But running through the forest with Jughead, sirens of the Riverdale police in the distance, you began to laugh. What the drive-in created for you two, you would rebuild again. You knew it.

I wanna thank you for making all the love songs mean something again.

You cruised down the country road, Jughead in the passenger seat of your convertible. The warm breeze ruffled your hair, sunset in the distance painting the sky with passionate colors. The radio began to play "Make You Feel My Love" by Bob Dylan. Under his breath, in his smooth, tenor voice, Jughead began to sing along. You'd never heard Jughead sing before. You felt a smile grow on your face.

"Go to the ends of the earth for you, to make you feel my love," Jughead sang the last line of the song with a content smile.

Suddenly, a song that was once blasé and trite to you was a song you wanted to hear over and over again, until the end of time. As long as Jughead was singing it.

In a list of things I love about you, maybe the second or third entry is the way you turn my awful days into awful days with cheeseburgers.

You entered Pop's Chock'lit Shop, tear stains mixed with eye makeup creating charcoal streaks down your cheeks. Your long time boyfriend had just broken up with you out of the blue.

Jughead, who was sitting in his usual booth, spotted you, his eyes widening from your hurt state.

"Jughead..." you said meaningfully, sitting across from him. You didn't want to say it, because it would make it all real.

"I know," Jughead said, placing a hand on yours. He called Pop over, ordering two of your usuals. Jughead's philosophy was that food usually fixes everything, and he was almost always right.

I've never made out with Jesus but I imagine that's kind of like holding your hand.

The first time you'd held hands was completely an accident.

You were sauntering together through the Riverdale Christmas Festival, the square outside town hall blanketed with snow and filled with lights, a large tree, and vendors of all sorts of food and merchandise. Crowds made you skittish, but you knew how much Jughead loved Christmas. You stepped forward, intent on making it to a clear area.

"Whoa!" Jughead said, grabbing your mittened hand, yanking you back. You'd almost walked right in the path of a horse-drawn carriage, a young couple in tow. Your heart jumped.

"Sorry about that," you said with an embarrassed smile.

"Don't worry about it." He smiled back.

The two of you continued through the festival, but for some reason, he never let go of your hand. You almost thought he had forgotten he was holding it, until later in the night. You were observing the tree lighting when he squeezed it slightly. You looked up at your friend, smiling at the lights and the snow, so hopeful even after all the wrong the world has done towards him. You squeezed his hand back. You know, Christmas wasn't so bad, after all.

We can't really be sad if we're both sad in the same place, right?

Jughead tapped on your window. You were in one of your depressive episodes, covers pulled up to your neck, but Jughead looked even worse. He looked like he had ran there, crying the whole time.

"Oh, Jug," you said, letting him inside. "What is it?"

"My dad's in jail," he whispered. For the first time since you've met him, the charming, cocky, sardonic Jughead Jones looked scared.

"Oh, no," you said, pulling him in.

"Can I stay here tonight?" He asked, voice muffled in your shirt.

And stay there he did. The two of you laid in bed, holding each other, your emotional pain radiating from your bodies like glowing heat. You were both hurting, and there wasn't much either of you could do about it. But being there, together, things somehow felt better.

Before I met you I wanted to be dead all the time.

When you'd gone swimming in the Sweetwater River, Jughead saw two large hashmarks running vertically down your wrists. He knew better than to ask in front of your friends, but he couldn't help but ask you about them after.

"I didn't want to live anymore," you admitted.

Jughead took your hand and kissed your fingers, in silent understanding.

I still do because of the, you know, mental illness but now that you're here I don't want to 'want to die' anymore.

You had put on a dress to go to an art museum Jughead when you realized your scars were exposed. You stared at them, fascinated by the puckering of the skin and the beautiful symmetry of the cut marks.

A familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach bubbled up. The scars were triggering you. You wanted to relapse. You felt tears pricking your eyes.

Jughead knocked on your door, having arrived early. He walked in, smiling at you.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, kissing your forehead. He took each of your wrists, and kissed the marks in turn. The familiar feeling dissipated.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

You took a deep breath, smiling back. "Yes, I'm okay." And it was the truth.

Sure, there're probably infinite dimensions, but I'm with you in this one so why would I try to find them?

Sometimes you would go on the Internet and watch travel video, about beautiful nations, with rich and diverse cultures, technological innovations, and widely connecting cities.

Riverdale, with its classism, traditionalism, and remoteness seemed awful in comparison. The kids were mean, the adults were meaner, and there was nothing for miles. Sometimes, you wanted to move away, forget it all.

Then you would close the videos, your laptop showing a picture of you, Jughead kissing your cheek. You smiled.

Despite all of the terrible things that came with living in Riverdale, you wouldn't choose to be anywhere else in the whole world.

That's because Jughead was your world.