Chapter Text
Dear Diary,
I think I’ve gone mad.
No, scrap that.
I know I’ve gone mad.
It’s been five minutes since my alarm went off. No point hauling myself up cuz in ten minutes the world’s gonna be rattling like it got bombed and I’ll be right back here with that damn alarm dragging me into another round of hell.
Dear Lord, what did I ever do to deserve this?
Okay okay, I can think of a few answers.
And… here it comes.
Dear Diary,
Ninth time of waking up on November 13th 1989 and seventh time of waking up by two alarms in thirty minutes.
This day is most definitely cursed.
JD attempted to bomb off the whole school but ended up blowing himself up in the first, I rushed to school for him and his stupid thermals on the second - turned out to be a completely futile attempt, by the way. No sight of him, no sight of his dumb ass bombs, and the world shattered when I was on my way to check his home. And then it’s waking up every fifteen minutes or so on the same freaking morning.
Death might be more preferable if this is gonna be my life from now on.
No, no, there’s gotta be some kind of pattern, I just can’t figure out what.
Wasn’t it said that there’s a cosmos in all chaos?
And… guess it’s about time for the next reboot. God have mercy on my soul.
… …
Nothing happened. I doubled-checked my alarm and it still glows 7:23am. The clock hanging over my head said the same. And mom is knocking on my door.
What is this?
The seventh day hath come so it’s time for Him to rest?
‘Veronica?’
And there’s her cue to move.
‘Coming, mom!’
Rushing through her morning routine, Veronica snatched a few pancakes from the kitchen and bolted to her bike, tossing a quick excuse about some rehearsal for the pep rally. Technically, that wasn’t a lie—just not the one her mom had in mind. God may rest all He wants, but Veronica has to reach her psychotic boyfriend while he’s still at home, hell knows where he’ll be once he steps out of it.
s
The bike trip was quiet. There aren’t much people on the road, it’s early morning yet and Sherwood is a small town anyways. That gives her time to gather her thoughts and actually think, because she still has no idea what to say to JD once she found him.
She’s got to stop JD from suiciding the whole school, preferably also save himself in the process but she ain’t so sure that’s even achievable by this point. Judging by how JD acted when he broke through her window, he’s already a lost cause. Hell, she’s not even sure she should be coming alone to JD’s home, no, she most definitely shouldn’t. But she couldn’t not come find him.
Guess she’s just fated to be doomed.
Not that she doesn’t deserve it.
She found herself standing outside JD’s window, with still absolutely zero idea how she’s gonna approach this whole mess.
Well… this time she’s got a clear head (debatable, but at least she could confidently claim it’s alcohol-free). That’s definitely an improvement, right?
Slipping through his window feels like second nature now.
It’s what she saw that threw her off.
‘Veronica?’
JD was sitting on his bed, the gun resting lazily in his lap, tossing bullets as if it were a game of jacks.
This scene alone should have been unsettling in itself, but what caught her off guard was his reaction. JD didn’t even dignify her with a greeting, only murmured her name with a look that chilled her. He sounded like he’s seen a ghost.
The truth is, JD feels like a ghost himself.
He has no idea why he’s still alive, but he knows it’s not out of any will to live, because he doesn’t have one. He meant it when he told Veronica on that football field, when he said he’s too damaged. He had traded his life for hers, and would have gladly rest in peace if the story ended there.
But it didn’t.
The world shattered, and he woke in his bed, sweating bullets, as if pulled from a nightmare. His body bore no scars—at least, none that’s new.
And his watch says 7am, November 13th 1989.
He laid in bed for a few more solid hours, contemplating what came next.
Une révolution est un péage. Oh! le genre humain sera délivré, relevé et consolé!
While reading Les Misérables JD had felt every line of Enjolras’ speech resonate within him. He wanted to cleanse the world, make a place for them. Death was just the toll revolution demanded. But Veronica doesn’t want the sacrifice. What’s the point of making the world a better place when the one person you care about doesn’t want it?
In fact, what’s the point of going on when the only person you care about has decided that the two of you can never be?
He took out the ever-loaded gun from his coat and slipped it between his teeth.
He’ll spare Veronica the trouble of a broken ankle. She shouldn’t have to deal with his mess.
He pulled the trigger.
The world shattered and he was back in his bed, the time on his watch reads 7am, November 13th 1989.
He took out the gun and fired.
The world fractured, and he’s back in bed.
He fired again.
… …
He’s not sure how many times this has been repeated, because even the bullets fucking restores themselves.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Well, good thing he never claimed to be sane.
Eventually he gave up, emptied the gun of its rounds, and started tossing them up and down absentmindedly, wondering how it has came to this.
Sure, plenty of people would craze for a chance of do-over, might even die for it, but he has always been the outlier.
Christ, he just wanted this to be over. For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t even just die! But how was he supposed to survive in a world without Veronica?
A tinkering sound from the window jarred him from his thoughts. The only person who thought of his bedroom window as an entrance was his dear Veronica, but it couldn’t be her—she wouldn’t. She had rejected him.
This wouldn’t be happening…
But it is.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth without his consent.
Whatever Veronica thought she might see in JD’s bedroom, it’s not this. JD, beaming at her, from his bed, with all the adoration in the world.
It ought to have given her the creeps, especially after what happened the last time when he was proving his devotion, but it didn’t.
She only noticed her own reflection grinning back at JD from his pupils.
No. No. No.
This is not how it’s supposed to be.
She’s here to stop JD, not get in bed with him.
Silently admonishing herself, Veronica took care to erase her smile.
JD had the audacity to look as sad as a kicked puppy.
The room fell silent for a few moments before JD sighed.
‘I miss this. Having pretty girls climbing through my bedroom window.’
‘Perhaps said girl was too preoccupied with her boyfriend being Weathermen.’
Bullets couldn’t have shot up faster than the intensity in JD’s eyes. ‘You said boyfriend.’
‘In case you didn’t notice, I also said Weathermen.’ Veronica reiterated.
‘Hey! I wouldn’t stoop so low as to resort to communism for solutions.’ The feigned insult in JD’s tone brought out her genuine laughter for the first time in quite a while.
‘Sure, but you did blow yourself up as the grand finale.’ Somehow, the words came out sharper than she intended.
‘Veronica, I…’
‘Save it, JD.’ She’s not here to argue with JD his idea of making the world a decent place. She was here to stop him, but he’s… different. Less agitated. He looks sad, but… normal, as normal as he can be anyways. At the very least, he does not look like the deranged terrorist about to bomb the whole god damn school. Maybe what their experience in the time loop has changed him as well, for the dejected boy in front of her is clearly not the JD who broke into her home ordering her to get dressed because they have a pep rally to attend.
But she needs to be sure. ‘Just… Tell me you’re not gonna bomb the school.’
‘I’m not gonna bomb the school, Veronica. Not anymore. I’d try to shoot myself but that ain’t working out either.’
To her surprise, JD complied without hesitation. A thrill shot through her when he uttered her name, his tone infused with such tenderness and affection—as if he was cradling the most precious and delicate piece of jewelry—that it took her a moment to register what he said next.
‘What do you mean you’d try to shoot yourself!’
‘Doesn’t feel like there’s much to live for.’ His eyes darted toward the gun lying in his lap, and only then was Veronica reminded of how he has been casually juggling the bullets when she broke in. As if sensing her increasing distress, he quickly added, ‘Anyhow, not that it worked. One moment I shot myself and the next I’m waking up in my bed, fully intact. Even these little things get restored.’
With that he caught a few bullets in mid-air and winked.
Veronica did not feel comforted in the least.