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Apparently, snow on Christmas Eve was a good thing—and watching a green man with a long neck and a dumb name screech pretty reasonable arguments for why Christmas was pointless was a “treasured holiday tradition, Juggy, so could you please just be quiet and watch the movie?”. Archie had stolen Jughead’s laptop and headphones, so life was bleak and dreary. Betty had absentmindedly thrown an arm over Jughead’s shoulders, and he was trying to shift into a more comfortable position without dislodging her.
How the Grinch Stole Christmas, it should be noted, was a terrible movie. The dialogue was amateurish, the characterizations were sloppy, and, because it was A Children’s Movie, none of the positive, hopeful, messages had any subtlety whatsoever. Also, the Grinch character could turn his head all the way around his neck, like an owl—an ability which was surprisingly never mentioned again. (Well, it might have been—he might have just missed it; he did his best to ignore the movie once the Grinch’s woebegone dog trotted onto the screen. Not liking Christmas, Jughead told himself firmly, didn’t make you an animal abuser.)
Also, why would the Grinch like Christmas? Spending year after year in a cave with only a stupid dog for company, watching all the happy Whos in Whoville with their presents and food and looove —it would be enough to make anyone want a holiday cancelled. Maybe the point Seuss was trying to make was that he should have gone down to celebrate with them sooner, as though the isolation was somehow his choice—but the fact remained that the Whos were notably humanoid, and the Grinch had green fur and yellow and red eyes. They undeniably weren’t the same, like oil and water, and there was no getting around that. Why would the Grinch want to celebrate Christmas with people who weren’t like him, in a place where he could never, ever fit in? But there were no other Grinches in Whoville. There was nowhere for him to go.
Jughead stared at the ceiling in a permanent eye-roll. He didn’t want to see the reformed Grinch eating Christmas dinner with gusto.
And that, of course, was when he saw the snow.
It hadn't been snowing long enough to stick, but it was the type of snow that clung to existence for as long as possible--big, fat, fluffy flakes, like tumbling bumblebees, drifting. People always drew snowflakes as little crystalline things--delicate, fragile, with spikes and branches, but really they were more like cottonballs, or--grated parmesan, as though someone had held a giant grater up against the underbelly of a cloud and rubbed until the little puffballs of snow came falling down. For a brief moment, Jughead wondered if that was why Santa Claus had a white beard--if some bizarre mother had told her children, "Oh, look, Mrs. Claus is giving her husband a haircut!"
He snickered to himself, drawing a confused glance from Betty. Jughead suddenly became very interested in the movie, which was busy positive-messaging itself to a close.
As the credits rolled, Jughead turned to Archie and held out his hand. Archie stared at it, perplexed. "What?"
He could be so dense sometimes. "Laptop," Jughead said slowly and clearly. "Headphones. Quickish, please."
Archie went into full whiny mode. "C'mon, Jugs, relax, school doesn't start again for ages, you have plenty of time to be antisocial later! It's Christmas! Betty can make some hot chocolate, we can hang out--we barely talk anymore!"
"One, we talk all the time," Jughead said truthfully, "and two, Christmas is a holiday. It's supposed to be a break."
"But--"
He hoped they didn't notice the snow. So long as they didn't notice the snow, he had a shot at a Christmas that didn't make him feel like a third wheel.
"Archie, look--it's snowing!"
Right on cue, as always.
Archie got a crick in his neck from twisting to look so fast. He broke into a grin. "Oh, yeah, sweet! Wanna go outside?"
"Sure!" Betty smiled widely before looking over at Jughead, eyebrows creased slightly. "Juggy?"
"Not really." She should stop asking, at this point, Jughead thought privately. He was never going to say yes, and from the look on her face, she knew it. He wondered detachedly if she knew why. If she did, why would she be making everything so difficult?
Let Betty be with the guy of her dreams, let her be happy, you know and she knows and everyone in Riverdale knows that he's the one she wants, he'd gone over it a million times. Archie had always needed a push to see what was right in front of him--a clear pathway; Jughead was doing that, for both their sakes. For all of their own good. He was putting his friendship with them both over a stupid crush. It was what Betty would do, if she were in his position. (Then again, would she even be dumb enough to get in his position in the first place? Probably not.)
She'd chosen, it was over, so she needed to stop looking at him like that.
"Jughead, stop moping," Archie cajoled. "It's Christmas!"
"You keep saying that," Jughead groused.
"'Cause it's true."
Jughead levelled him a Jones Classic, and Archie lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay! Going." He turned towards the door. "C'mon, Betty."
Betty shot Jughead a 'sure?' glance behind Archie's back--one eyebrow raised, wide eyes, hand on hip, hint of a smile, and he felt his heart clench as he looked away.
They went. He stayed. What else was new?
(What about after Christmas? Would it be back to the mountain, then, for mean Mr. Grinch? Or would he try to stay in Whoville and pretend he belonged?)
Jughead fished his laptop out of Archie's abandoned bag. He had English homework to do.
(As he waited for it to turn on, he couldn't help turning to the window for a brief moment to see if the snow was as thick as it had been before. By chance, Betty was looking his way, and she'd chosen Archie, and there wasn't really any chance, but when she grinned and waved…well, it would have been cruel to not wave back.)
Maybe the Grinch could stay with Cindy Lou Who, he thought, struggling to stifle the warm thing glowing in his chest. It seemed like her heart was in the right place.