Chapter Text
Sometimes it’s way too easy to lie to Archie.
Not that Reggie really does it that often (in fact he lies about far less than most might give him credit for), but of the things he does lie about, his homelife pretty consistently makes the top of the list. People rarely follow up, so he gets away with it nearly every time.
It hadn’t quite gone the way he told Archie it did, the way even Reggie wanted to believe it might the night before, but he’d been partying all night -- he’d had what old people might call ’a few too many’ -- and at that point anything seems like a good idea, even smashing up your abusive father’s car.
After a few too many that might just seem like the perfect way to break the ice and end the cycle, make it clear that enough is enough, but in the cold light of morning it becomes obvious again that irrational, violent men don’t usually become less so when they discover their pride and joy has been done hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars worth of damage while they slept.
For that to even be likely, his pride and joy would have to be his son, not his sports car.
So enough had been enough for Marty Mantle, too, who’d dragged Reggie out to the garage by his ear, yelling so loud it woke up Reggie’s mom and maybe even a couple of their neighbors. Reggie managed to escape the house relatively damage-free because by the time the two of them stopped screaming at each other Marty was running late for work, but he made it clear enough that Reggie had better not be there when he got back.
The craziest part is that Reggie still doesn’t regret doing it. Had it been wise? No, not especially. But had it been cathartic? Had it been satisfying?
Oh, hell yeah.
Fine by me, thought Reggie, who’d been around this block before and knew his parents well enough to know 'get the hell out' means get out of my sight, which translates down further to his dad needing a day or two to simmer his anger back down to a boil before he does something he might really regret, and if it takes throwing Reggie out of the house (and yes, often literally) to do that, so be it.
These days, more often than not, Reggie takes the initiative to leave. They used to do the opposite, ground him so he’d be confined to the house and his room, but this way seems to work better. Less backtalk, fewer bruises.
The Mantles cared about appearances, after all, and despite whatever conflicts the family might have behind closed doors, on paper they uphold those appearances-- Reggie included. Maybe he’d be in more danger of being disowned for real over something like this if not for his ability to mostly check all his parent's boxes: his success with the football team and natural athletic talent, easy (if shallow) popularity, decent (though admittedly not particularly impressive) grades, being their only son and successor to the Mantle family car dealership, and so on. This is more of a game they play now to make a point.
What usually happens is that Reggie stays over at Moose’s for a couple nights, comes home, and then gets grounded for real, but usually his parents have cooled down a bit by then.
Moose is gone now though, which is just one factor of many that separates this fight from all the others Reggie's had with his dad before. Reggie has barely even heard from Moose since he moved away, except for a couple short phone calls and shorter emails.
He parks by the football field, knowing he can’t stay there forever -- probably not even all night -- because it’s sure to be one of the first places his dad will check once he’s decided it’s finally time to drag Reggie home, but for the moment Reggie doesn’t know where else to go. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.
He wishes he could text Moose. It’d be nice to have someone to talk some of this through with right now, or just shoot the shit enough to distract him a little. This stuff with his dad is nothing new, but it’s just one thing of many-- unfortunately one of those problems in Reggie’s life that usually becomes worse when everything else is going wrong.
When girls love him and leave him, when his best friends ditch him without explanation, or even worse, replace him. Reggie gets sloppy. Reggie acts out. Reggie has off days on the football field. Reggie can’t focus on things like violin or homework, Reggie lets his grade tank by a letter or maybe even two, he comes home late from parties still drunk, talks back, starts fights, and disappoints in general.
Fails to live up to expectations, which his parents love to remind him aren’t even particularly high.
“Yeah, right.”
He pulls from the flask he keeps in his car, freshly filled from his dad’s liquor cabinet last night, although right about now Reggie would rather have a cigarette or something.
Not that he smokes -- only weed on those rare occasions when someone in Riverdale has any, but not cigarettes -- that’s just the kind of mood he’s in; tense and vaguely self-destructive.
Pissed off at the world, pissed off at Archie for being so naturally loveable, and for taking all that love and support he gets so easily for granted, pissed off at Veronica for using Reggie as an emotional support boytoy again and again but never calling or treating him as a boyfriend, pissed off at himself for crawling back so many times and for forgiving her so quickly. Pissed off at his parents (duh), pissed off at Moose for leaving, pissed off at Josie for leaving, too, pissed off at Mr. Honey for being lame, pissed off at Coach Clayton for letting someone new on the team at the last minute, pissed off at Mad Dog for…
He takes another swig from the flask, suddenly feeling a tightening in his chest and a fresh throb of frustration beating at his temples.
Mad Dog Moore might be Reggie’s least favorite person at the moment, which is a judgement he finds neither unfair or irrational. Mad Dog, who’s waltzed into Riverdale High fresh out of juvie already so buddy-buddy with Archie it makes Reggie want to gag; Mad Dog, who’s been here five minutes and has somehow already flexed himself a spot on the football team; Mad Dog, whose speciality on the field seems to be specifically outperforming Reggie just enough to matter in every single way, running faster and hitting harder and throwing further and catching better.
And don’t get him wrong, Reggie doesn’t mind a bit of competition -- in fact he loves it, it fires him up and helps him stay focused and motivated -- but being humiliated is something else entirely.
Being humiliated in front of his father, no less, because of all the practices to fall apart during it just had to be one that his father was there to watch. Marty Mantle is a busy man, a man who travels semi-frequently for both work and for leisure, so whenever he can make it to one of Reggie’s practices or games, it goes without saying he wants to see his son doing well. It goes without saying Reggie wants to make his dad proud and be the star, not fail in front of one of his biggest critics. Not be told later that same night what a sorry waste of time that was.
Which, okay, fine, is maybe not entirely Mad Dog’s fault. Maybe it’s even a little unfair to blame him at all, but Reggie is far from ready to let go of that anger just yet. He always prefers having someone to blame things on than having to admit yet again that this is just what his life is like sometimes.
It can be pretty good sometimes, too. Maybe even more often than not, although Reggie isn’t about to do the math -- if it’s just more wishful thinking then he’d rather not know about it -- but like all things in Riverdale, when it’s bad, everything feels bad. Everything good gets shut out until it’s hard to remember what things are like when Reggie isn’t filled with shame and hiding his bruises.
Archie feels like the only close friend Reggie even has these days -- his best friend without a doubt, even if he knows to Archie he’s just one of many -- and he hates to think about losing him to some new guy right when Jughead’s finally fucked off to private school and given Archie and Reggie more space to reconnect again, some guy Archie’s shared an unbelievable experience with that Reggie will never be able to relate to. Just thinking about Mad Dog fills Reggie with some strangely hot and sharp-edged emotion, unfocused and aggressive, not jealousy, but…
Well, yes. Fine. Jealousy. Big friggin’ deal.
Reggie gets out of the car and circles to the front to lean on the hood, drinking and looking out over the football field, which is still illuminated even in the darkness. He thinks he can even pinpoint the exact spot where Mad Dog made him hit the grass during practice.
Yeah, he definitely can’t stay here all night. Suddenly he feels a little queasy.
But on the plus side, he might have just thought of another place he can go.
▪︎▪︎
The parking lot of the community center is empty as it usually is at this time of night. Sometimes teenagers with nowhere else to go stay the night here, of course, but not lately-- and even if there was anyone here, they don’t know Reggie well enough to question his presence there even at this hour. He helps out from time to time which is why he even has a key at all, but mostly this is Archie’s thing -- him and Mad Dog’s -- not Reggie’s.
Archie himself stays late on occasion, sometimes even overnight, but Reggie knows this isn’t one of those nights because he’d asked Archie earlier during school if he had plans tonight, and Archie said he did. Obviously this hadn’t been why Reggie was asking, but it works out, so he’s not complaining.
He lets himself in with his key and goes upstairs to the office, where there’s a pull-out couch, which is much better than sleeping in his car at least for one night. At least for tonight.
Luckily for Reggie he’s always been someone who can fall asleep almost anywhere, in almost any position, in a matter of minutes. With how much he exercises and how active his social life can be on top of that, between practice and the gym and dates and parties and the speakeasy and God only knows what else, Reggie can be easily prone to crashing when his energy level drops suddenly, as they tend to whenever he’s been a few hours without food or something else to help recharge him.
Reggie’s never slept particularly rough before, though -- this might actually be the first time, officially -- but compared to a car, a floor, a classroom desk, or anywhere else except a real bed, a pull-out couch is easy to work with. Practically luxurious. The office is comfortably warm compared to his car, too, so as soon as the bed’s been folded out Reggie falls asleep on it within minutes.
A sound but uneasy, restless sleep.
Except for weekends or when he’s hungover, Reggie’s a notoriously early riser -- he likes to work out and take long showers in the morning -- but even he’s surprised when he finds himself awake at 4:45 AM. It’s still dark outside, even, although there are a couple birds outside the office window chirping their heads off.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Reggie groans, folding his arm over his face. He lays like that for an indiscernible amount of time, groans again, then slowly sits up.
Someone else is in the gym.
Part of him, distantly, had thought he’d heard the doors open and shut at some point while he’d still been half-asleep, but now he knows he hadn’t imagined it; he hears footsteps downstairs, not heavy, but the building is old enough that they don’t need to be to still echo on the creaky, cold floors.
Reggie stands, brushing and finger-combing his hair as reasonably into place as he can without a mirror.
“Crap,” he mumbles, barely knowing he’s even spoken. Suddenly he’s wide awake, adrenaline spiking through him with the sudden paranoid intensity of someone who’s house has been broken into, or is being pursued by something dangerous.
Calm down, Mantle.
People come and go here all the time, it is a community center, so Reggie knows it’s not likely that whoever is here now came looking for him-- he knows he’s just still on edge from fighting with his dad yesterday morning, and that the thought of Archie catching him couch-surfing here mortifies him deeply.
Bad enough Archie already saw him as vulnerable as he did the other day, but now more than ever Reggie needs to hold onto whatever shred of dignity that pretending his problems at home can be so easily solved allows him, tenuous though it may be.
Archie means well, but there are some things he’ll never understand, and Reggie isn’t the guy to explain that to him.
“Mantle? That you?”
The floors here might be old and creaky enough to carry nearly any type of sound from one end of the gym to the other, but they’re not quite so reliable for keeping track of where that sound, in this case footsteps, might actually be coming from. The voice comes from the top of the stairs and Reggie whips around quickly, heart racing, thudding loud in his ears.
It isn’t Archie; it’s Mad Dog.
No... Munroe.
Reggie’s eyes narrow slightly. His instant dislike of Munroe may be slightly unfair, especially considering nothing about Munroe is particularly dislikable -- he’s buff, athletic, and friendly -- but really it’s because he’s exactly the sort of guy Reggie could otherwise be friends with that Reggie feels so threatened by him.
He’s been here barely five minutes and already Reggie’s role on the football team, his friendship with Archie and who knows what else, suddenly all seem to be at risk; suddenly it feels like all the things he’s always had to work so hard for, all the things that define his identity as he knows it the most by, could be taken from him so effortlessly.
And Munroe just doesn’t need those things as much as Reggie does.
No, Reggie needs them more, and he’ll fight to hold onto them, to protect what’s his. He might not know Munroe’s life, but he does know this much.
He rolls his eyes and goes back into the office. It’s too early for this and Reggie doesn’t particularly want to talk to Munroe, but judging by the way Munroe crosses the hallway and catches Reggie by the arm, apparently the feeling isn’t mutual.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here this early, man. What’s going on?”
Casual but unconcerned, like he might have simply missed some memo about why Reggie would be here at all, let alone at the crack of dawn. Reggie pulls his arm away with a harsh yank, but Munroe follows him into the office.
“Oh.” He seems to assess the situation pretty quickly, looking at the couch, then Reggie’s bag, then Reggie. “Okay.”
Reggie stares back, not sure yet how he wants to react. Is that it?
“Well, I’ll let you sleep,” Munroe says, turning to leave. “I only came over to grab something I left here anyway.”
He’s made it halfway down the hallway again when Reggie steps out after him, having decided against simply letting him leave without a word.
“Wait, Mad D-- Munroe.”
Munroe stops at the top of the stairs, turning his head.
“Yeah?”
“Can you not…” Reggie rubs at his mouth. “Can you not tell Archie about this?”
Munroe looks at him silently, then shrugs his shoulders and starts down the stairs.
“Not really my business. You do you, Mantle.” But he pauses on the stairs, turning his head again. “Red’ll probably be here tonight, though, so I hope you got yourself a back-up plan.”
“Not really your business,” Reggie echoes snidely, which is stupid, because no, he doesn’t have a back-up plan, but what difference does it make? Munroe can’t do anything. “Just go.”
“Whatever.” Munroe looks unimpressed, but that’s all he says before he does go, the community center doors echoing loudly as they open and shut.
By now there’s no point in going back to sleep. Reggie collects his stuff, folds the pull-out away, and goes downstairs to take a shower.
▪︎▪︎
School is school.
The day passes normally, Reggie goes through the motions normally, barely sparing a thought as to where he’ll be sleeping that night. Forward-thinking isn’t his style; Reggie Mantle prefers to live in the moment.
Football practice goes much better this time, too. Reggie’s dad isn’t there today to see it, but Reggie is fired up, much more in sync with Archie and Munroe’s playing than he’d been the other day, his aggression much more focused rather than clumsy and emotional. By the time things wrap up they’re all in fairly pleasant spirits, laughing together and clapping each other on the shoulders.
“Great stuff out there today, guys. Really,” Archie says in the locker room, clearly eager to help encourage this moment of unity. It’s still too soon to say Reggie and Munroe are getting along, but Reggie hasn’t picked any new fights with him so far, which… well, it’s a start.
Reggie pulls his shirt on, balling up his towel and tossing it toward the laundry bin.
“You guys wanna hit up Pop’s? I’m buying,” he says. Good days at practice put Reggie in a good mood, and being in a good mood usually makes him feel a bit extra generous. More than that, he wouldn’t mind killing time with the two of them for a while before he has to figure out where to sleep tonight.
“Count me in,” says Munroe.
“Can’t,” says Archie, nearly simultaneously. Reggie and Munroe both look over at him, and he explains: “It’s Friday. Weekends get pretty big for the community center... a lot of kids with nowhere else to go once school is out, so I wanna make sure I’m there to help ‘em out.”
“Oh come on, bro,” Reggie implores, slinging his arm over Archie’s shoulder with his usual comfortable ease, close enough now that he can feel Archie’s still-wet hair dripping on him and smell the soap he used (not that Reggie was trying to). “That can wait ‘til tomorrow, can’t it? Just like, do it first thing in the morning.”
He feels Munroe looking at him, but pointedly does not look back, staying focused on Archie, who shrugs himself out from under Reggie’s arm.
“Those kids count on me, Reg,” he says, predictably. “But you guys go on ahead. It’ll be good for you to have a little more one-on-one time anyway.”
Now Reggie looks over at Munroe, the two of them exchanging a dubious glance. One good day of practice for all three of them might make it easier to get along as a group, but expecting just the two of them to suddenly be friends now was much more of a stretch.
Archie leaves the locker room, and Munroe smirks a little and pats Reggie’s shoulder on his way out, too.
“You’re still buying, right?”
Reggie follows them out, pulling his hoodie on and trying not to look too frustrated. The three of them get into Bella -- Reggie’s car -- and he drops Archie off at the El Royale before he and Munroe head to Pop’s alone.
Well, alone... together.
“People are gonna think we’re on a date,” Reggie mutters, sliding into one of the booths.
“Mm,” Munroe responds noncommittally, glancing up to the menu board. “Who says you’re my type, Mantle?”
“I’m everybody’s type,” Reggie says, like he’s explaining something basic.
“Mmhmm.” Munroe smirks and raises an eyebrow, but offers no further argument. He orders a chili dog, onion rings, and a shake, while Reggie gets a burger, fries, and rootbeer float, and for a while, they eat in silence. Not an entirely comfortable one, but not awkward, either.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Reggie finally says, dipping a fry into his float before he shoves it into his mouth.
“What am I thinking?”
“Look, I wasn’t trying to get Archie away from the community center so I could sleep there again, all right?” Reggie continues, his tone steady and nonchalant, although maybe also the slightest bit defensive. “It doesn’t make a difference to me.”
Munroe scoffs a little.
“All right,” he says, so easily it makes Reggie narrow his eyes.
“Seriously,” Reggie says more firmly.
“Okay.” Munroe sounds vaguely exasperated, which Reggie finds especially irritating. Who does this guy think he is, anyway? “What I think shouldn’t make a difference to you, either.”
Reggie’s ears burn faintly, his gaze dropping to glare briefly down at his plate.
“It doesn’t,” he mutters, not as convincingly as he’d like. He doesn’t know what, if anything, Archie might have told Munroe about the situation with Reggie’s dad, but Munroe has seen enough for himself to have probably put 2 + 2 together on his own faster than Archie had.
Reggie doesn’t care about that, really. There are a lot of things he doesn’t care about when it comes to what people think of him -- and even more things he does care about -- and while his troubled relationship with his parents is not particularly something he tries to advertise, he knows better than to actually try keeping it secret in such a small town like Riverdale.
People know. Maybe all his friends don’t, necessarily, but their parents do. They pretend not to, they don’t do anything to stop it, but they know.
So Reggie knows better than to take some things too personally.
“Come on,” Munroe says, standing up as he finishes the last of his milkshake and quickly swiping his lips clear of salt and ice cream with his tongue. “Think you could give me a ride home?”
“Sure. Whatever.” Reggie stands, rubbing his mouth with a napkin and dropping a few bills on the table to cover the check. He’s never seen Munroe’s place before, and admittedly, he’s a little curious; all Reggie does know about it is that Munroe lives on the Northside with his family these days, and that he has a little brother who also just started at Riverdale High.
Munroe nods.
“Appreciate it.”
They get in the car and drive a while, mostly in silence except for the radio. Reggie feels Munroe glance over every now and then, but only looks over himself when he’s fairly sure Munroe isn’t. It isn’t a foolproof system-- they make eye contact a couple times, Munroe seemingly content to let it hold, but Reggie looking away as quickly as if they’d just accidentally brushed hands instead.
“Right here.”
Reggie pulls over and parks, leaning his arms over the steering wheel and watching, casually, as Munroe gets out. The house is a single-story suburban ranch-style home, brick with white trim around the windows, with a shingled roof and a freshly painted garage.
Not bad, he has to admit. Much nicer than Reggie would have assumed, based on who Archie had said had hooked Munroe up with it.
Munroe stands on the curb, then leans forward toward the open door, hand braced against the roof of the car.
“You can come in if you want,” he says, then begins walking toward the house without waiting for an answer. Reggie rubs his mouth indecisively, not getting out, but not driving off either.
Who is he kidding, though?