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Jughead met his two best friends in the prison waiting room.
A dreary room, with any remnants of hope left peeling off the wall in tacky paper and black smudges, flaking to the dirty carpeted floor to be stepped on and disintegrate. He'd been sitting in the corner, head buried in his hands and thinking about how to tell his dad that he'd just lost his job because they found out that his dad was in prison. Apparently you can't edit fucking cook books with a criminal family because it's bad for the image. He'd pressed his palms against his eyes in frustration and thought about which lie fitted best. Maybe he just didn't like the job, maybe he wanted to focus more on his novel. His dad would like the latter. The click clack of high heels had drawn his attention up, and his breath had caught at the striking flames of red hair that strode into the room. He'd never seen so much energy or vibrancy or ferocity in a place like this.
She'd marched up to the woman behind the desk, in a stunning white dress and long, lean legs that Jughead worried the prisoners might find slightly too appealing, and spoken from her scarlet-lipped mouth. "Do you expect me to sit in here? On this filth?" She demanded in a rich, cutting voice, and the woman behind the glass stared at her; unimpressed. Jughead smiled wryly, glancing around the room to confirm the disgusting, stained chairs that lined three walls. They were cushioned, that was nice, but so covered in what looked like dried fluids that it rendered any comfort obsolete. He sagged back in his own chair, uncaring for his own ripped jeans, but worried about her ruffled white skirt.
"Honey, you don't gotta sit. You can stand. It's fine by me." The woman drawled, turning back to her paper. The girl slammed her hands onto the desk, and Jughead and the woman startled at the sound, far too loud for the subdued quiet of the waiting room.
She leaned forward, hissing and without a damn care about what anyone might be thinking. Jughead half grinned again; a little enamoured by her, and watched blatantly. The red-head didn't seem to mind an audience. "Well, plebe. It's not fine with me! I want a chair fit for a human being not an animal! Where's your manager-"
"You better watch your tone, honey-"
"Here," Jughead said, before he could think better of it, and they both turned to look at him. He stood up, shrugging off his leather jacket and draping it onto the seat beside him, so the clean, fleeced insides faced the ceiling. "You can sit on this."
The woman turned back to her paper, and the red-head marched over to him. She stopped, and he sat back down, looking up at the porcelain mask of her face. She took him in, the dark blue hair, the plaid t-shirt and ripped jeans, his beaten converse and ink stained hands. She took in the stress lines of his face, and the frown hidden in his eyebrows, and she sighed a little, porcelain giving way to soft snow. Cold, but slowly melting. "Thank you." She muttered, sitting down next to him, crossing one long leg over the other. It hitched her dress upwards and Jughead tried not to look. "Do you normally come here?"
He frowned, staring at the ground and shrugged. "I normally come on weekends."
"Why are you changing it now?"
He was regretting his offer now. He liked her blatancy and bluntness but he didn't want to be tugged into a conversation. He answered, with reluctance heavy in his tone so she could get the message. "I need to tell my dad that I got fired."
She heard the reluctance and didn't look like she cared one jot. It made him smile despite himself. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and eyed him again. "Why'd you get fired? And why's your dad in prison?"
"I got fired because my dad's in prison, and he's in prison for disposing of a body." He took in the sharp glare of her eyes, and hurried to add: "he was doing it to protect me. He was being blackmailed and he didn't have a choice."
She looked like she was about to snap: people always have a choice. Which was something Jughead had heard enough of in his life, but she cut herself off, and instead melted a little more. "I'm visiting my dad, too. He killed my brother. I'm going to tell him that I sold his company to his biggest enemy and gave them permission to burn it all." She smirked, eyes lighting up. "Jason would have liked that."
Jughead let out a breath, and bit down the urge to offer condolences. Jesus. Her brother was dead. The tough exterior and smooth facade made more sense, and he felt a small bud of kinship, with a traitorous amount of relief. He was in the better boat. At least his dad was at heart a good person. Whoever this girl's father was, was definitely not. "Jughead," he said quietly, and she smiled.
"Cheryl Blossom. Or Bombshell. Whichever you prefer."
He laughed, caught off guard and pleasantly surprised. "Well, Cheryl Bombshell, I hope that your dad gets the reckoning he deserves."
She shrugged, but seemed satisfied. "He will. I am his reckoning. You want to be your dad's salvation, right?" Jughead didn't say anything, turning the word over in his mind, and Cheryl reached out to touch his shoulder. He stiffened at the contact, and that made her hold on tighter. Where were this girl's instincts? Why wasn't she pulling away or ignoring him like everyone else? She was wired all wrong. "Don't tell him you lost your job. Tell him you got a new one. You've been hired right now, by me."
From the references of family company owning, he didn't totally blanche. "Oh yeah?" He muttered, smile wry. "And what do I do?"
"What do you do?"
"I write."
"Great. You're a writer. Whoop de do, go out and celebrate. You are the newest advertising chief of Jay Blossom Industries. You have dental, health care, insurance, holidays and only work three days a week. Congratulations."
Jughead stared at her, eyes wide with awe, and she smirked again, but it was kinder this time. As if she were aware of how impressive she was. Was she aware that she was changing his life? "Are you being serious?" He managed and she nodded dipping into her tiny purse and producing a business card. He took it and twirled it between his fingers, admiring the simplicity of the printed name and number. "Cheryl, you don't have to do this-"
"Which is precisely why I am. Besides, if you suck, I can fire you."
And that was that.
They talked for the remainder of the waiting time, before heading into the yard. Jughead hugged his dad and told him abut his new job and FP laughed a little wetly, confessing that he was worried something bad had happened when Jughead had called and requested weekday visitation. He watched Cheryl from the corner of his eyes, and watched the crumpled expression of a broad, pale man opposite her. He smiled.
They met back up afterwards in the meeting room, where she informed him happily that her dad was a broken man, and Jughead said how happy his dad was. And then a girl had rushed out into the room, crying.
They both turned to look at her and again Jughead was struck. She, too, was clearly rich, like Cheryl, with raven-coloured hair and a cloak style coat made of deep navy chiffon and black kitten heels. She was crying hard, and went to sit on one of the chairs, before catching sight of it. "Shit." She wept to herself, "can't a girl even cry on something not totally disgusting?"
Cheryl crossed her arms, and shot her a look. "Or you could not cry at all, and join us for coffee."
Jughead blanched at the offer, but the raven-haired girl looked surprised and a little eager. She wiped her eyes and came over to them, clearly taking in the sight of them and wondering if they were together or not. Jughead thought she decided on not, considering the sheer difference in every thing about them. "Only if we're going to the tea garden." She joked, voice shaky.
Jughead silently offered her a tissue, and she took it with a grateful smile. She was wearing velvet gloves. Who owned velvet gloves?
The red head smiled, and nodded. "You looked like you had taste. Unlike Jughead here. Would you even look at that beanie?"
Jughead rolled his eyes and followed her to the door. "It's part of my aesthetic." He argued pointlessly and the raven-haired girl laughed loudly.
"What aesthetic is that? Blind and eccentric?"
It occurred to him then, that the raven-haired girl had assumed he and Cheryl were close friends, who'd known each other for longer than an hour. And then later, having tea at an absurdly expensive cafe that had a garden that appeared to be indoors, it occurred to him that anyone looking at them, would have assumed they'd all known each other for a long time.
By the end of the night, he felt that he'd known them forever too.
"What do you think?" Cheryl asked, standing at the foot of the bed and holding two tube tops. "Boobs." She held the blue one over herself, "or no boobs?" She held the green one. Jughead's eyes were beginning to blur, and he collapsed back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling of his apartment instead. He liked his ceiling. His ceiling never asked for opinions on things. Veronica walked in then, and nodded decisively.
"The green one, it brings out your eyes." She said. Cheryl grinned, whirling away to try it on as Veronica strolled up to Jughead and stared down at him. He grinned up at her face, and she rolled her eyes. "Get up, Jug, and zip me up." She turned around, and he was presented with the smooth planes of her back and the black strap of her bra. He did the dress up carefully, and collapsed back into the mattress with a groan when he was done.
"You're both abandoning me." He accused, "I just want to stay in and watch Tarantino. Tarantino." He reached out a long arm to catch the hem of Veronica's dress as she adjusted her earrings. "Come on, Ronnie, you love Tarantino. I'll even let you put your gross sauce on the popcorn."
She shook her head fondly and leaned down to kiss his forehead, leaving a purple imprint there. "You should come with us, Jug,"
"Oh yeah. I'll come to a nightclub and watch the two of you grind against each other. That's my kind of time. Third wheeling so hard."
Cheryl came back into the room in the green tube top, and Veronica gave her a thumbs up. Cheryl flicked the bottom of Jughead's foot and he winced but didn't move. "You're not a third wheel," she insisted, "we've asked you to join us for a threesome plenty of times."
He groaned again, louder.
Cheryl laughed, going over to the mirror and standing beside Veronica as they appraised the way they looked next to one another. "I'm serious, Jug. Do you know how many men would kill to be in your position? V and I are gorgeous, and we've invited you to our boudoir. If anyone saw you at the club with us, they'd be so jealous."
Veronica nodded, looping her arm around Cheryl's waist and kissing her cheek. "Come on, Juggie, you could have fun."
"Are we talking about the club or the threesome?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows and watching the two of them. They looked fantastic beside each other, as they always did, and he turned to meet Cheryl's eyes. "Come on, Cece, you love Tarantino. Don't lie. You want to stay in with me and watch The Hateful Eight." He beamed victoriously at her wavering look, before it was shut down and he sighed in disappointment. "Fine! Go and abandon me, then." They went and retrieved their faux-fur coats and placed simultaneous kisses on his cheeks, before waving their goodbyes. As they disappeared down the hall, he heard their voices filter back.
"Why won't he sleep with us again?" Veronica asked, and Cheryl's reply was muffled.
"He's intimidated by us. Besides, have you seen the way he heart eyes Brittany Murphy in Uptown Girls? We are not his type."
He grumbled into the pillows and watched Tarantino by himself.
He woke up with Cheryl tucked into his side and Veronica lying across their legs, and smiled into the flowery smell of their shampoo.
"Okay, okay, get this." Veronica began as she walked into the apartment. Cheryl and Jughead looked up from the latest Blossom Manifesto and quirked their eyebrows in identical movements. "I just met this girl today in the library-"
"You were in a library?" Jughead teased, and Veronica threw him a dirty look as Cheryl slapped his arm.
"Ignore him, beau. Continue."
"Thank you, bella," Veronica beamed, and Jughead rolled his eyes. "Anyway this girl was throwing some real Brittany Murphy vibes, just a lot more....rainbow and sunshines, and she was reading In Cold Blood and she had a backpack with the quote: I loved history, because to me, history was like watching a movie." She stared at them both expectantly and Jughead half hummed, turning back to the laptop screen.
"She sounds cool." He said honestly, and yelped when Cheryl smacked him again.
"That's your soulmate, Jug!!!" Cheryl screamed into his ear, and he winced in confusion. "I mean come on! Blonde rainbows, murder/detective novels and Tarantino quotes? Even you aren't that thick!"
"I still maintain that I'm the smartest person in this apartment and that you both cheated on trivial pursuit-"
"We did not cheat." Veronica says sternly, but cuts herself off before they fall into the familiar argument. "Anyway, C's right. She was your soulmate, so I obviously told her about you, showed her a photo, and you two have a dinner date at La Paulo's tomorrow evening!"
Jughead stared at her, eyes wide and betrayed. "Ronnie," he murmured, "tell me you didn't actually do that."
She had the grace to look a little guilty, but came forward to half embrace him. "Jughead, it's time. You're ready for a girlfriend-"
"You don't get to decide that!" He yelled, yanking out of her grip and away from the both of them. "I told you, I'm not ready. My life isn't ready to bring a girl into all this mess!" He raked a hand through his hair harshly and lowered his voice. "Thank you, Ron, it was a...nice sentiment, but you have to cancel."
"Jughead," Cheryl murmured, sliding off the stool to stand beside her girlfriend. "You are ready. You have a nice apartment that you share with your two best friends," she gestured to herself and Veronica, and he managed a small smile, "and a steady job that you're good at, and money saved, and you're...you keep thinking you're broken, but you're not."
"And you're lonely," Veronica added, voice soft. "I'll cancel it if you want me to, but at least sleep on it."
He tried to consciously relax his frown, but half nodded. "I'll sleep on it. But this doesn't mean I've forgiven you."
"You will after I made your favourite dinner." She called in a sing-song voice, and he only half meant it when he flipped her the bird over his shoulder.
Tomorrow came, and in spite of his pounding heart, he didn't ask her to cancel it. Instead, he sat quietly as both women fussed over his outfit and his hair. The worst thing that could happen, he reasoned, was that they didn't get on. Then he could come home and fall asleep and continue as he was. Or the worst thing was that it went well, he fell in love with her, she found out about his past and ran for the hills. Then he'd have to continue as was, but with the addition of a broken heart.
"You look good." Veronica said earnestly, as he peered at himself in the mirror. He was relieved to see that he still looked like him, but yearned for the beanie that Cheryl had confiscated. "Seriously good. Are you sure you won't reconsider that threesome thing?"
Jughead laughed, shaking his head. "I don't think anyone would ever feel more inadequate than when nestled between the two of you."
Cheryl rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "You have a point, of course." She brushed down the front of his shirt; it was a simple white button down that went down into black dress pants. The top couple of buttons were undone to hint at the sharpness of his collarbones, and his hair was styled back, with a few strands falling forward into his green eyes. "You'll do great. V and I will be in our room in case you decide to bring her back."
"Jesus, stop talking." He murmured, and embraced them both in a hug before heading into the uber downstairs.
She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen. And she doesn't even frown when he spills the water all over the table with his nervous, flailing limbs. In fact she laughs, and blushes, and helps him mop it up. He can hear his heart thudding in his ears, and isn't even sure if the words he's saying are fluent conversation or not. But she seems to be responding, and her eyes are so bright and so blue he's pretty sure he can see the ocean inside them.
Evidently he says this aloud, because she burns a gorgeous red, and stares down at her steak. "Thank you," she murmurs, "your eyes are lovely too,"
He's never been more grateful for his colour pigment. "I'm sorry if Veronica bombarded you. She just...she knows what she wants."
Betty smiled, nodding. "She seemed great. And she obviously really liked you. How did you two meet?"
In a blurted, stumbling rush, he tells her how they met and that his dad's in prison, and that he think he's broken and how she could get any guy in the world so she shouldn't waste her time here with him.
She reached over the still damp table cloth and touches his hand. "I'd love to go with you, sometime. To meet him."
His lips part in surprise, and he stares at her.
That's your soulmate Cheryl's words chime in his ears, and he takes Betty's hand in his own, and squeezes.
Jesus.
She's right.
And she'll brag about it forever just like Trivial Pursuit.
Not forever though, because the next time they play, Betty wins.
And she has the bragging rights for the of their life.
FP's release comes the month before their wedding, and in their world of broken families and dysfunctional dads, Jughead's never been more grateful for the way that his father takes all four of them under his wing. He walks Betty down the aisle, and then he walks Cheryl and Veronica down the aisle.
And then he's a godfather and a grandfather to two adorable children, that Cheryl assures the world, will definitely get married some day.
She says FP will have to officiate.
Jughead can hardly wait.