Work Text:
Like clockwork, his phone rings once he steps over the threshold into the Lodge family lake house. He barely has time to take in the high wooden ceiling, the tasteful mismatch of the throw pillows on the couch, before he wanders outside, standing at the fringes of the lush and dense greenery that surround them.
He glances at the screen, brow wrinkling at the unknown number. “Hello?”
“How’s the lake house?” Jughead has to resist the urge to hurl his phone into the void. Of course Cheryl would choose to bother him. “Are you all settled in and spooning yet?”
Still, he decides to have a little fun himself. “Who is this?” he asks, as faux-innocent as her.
“It’s Cheryl, you welfare baby,” she huffs. He can practically hear the accompanied eye roll.
“Is something wrong?” He casts a quick glance over his shoulder, but the other three have yet to notice his prolonged absence. He doesn’t blame them. In times like these, mysterious phone calls are a dime a dozen.
“Not yet.” There’s something familiar lurking in the edge of her voice, a predator waiting to strike on an unsuspecting victim.
His frowns, trying to place it. Then it hits him and dread fills his gut. The last instance Cheryl had directed that tone at him had been on a cool, windy afternoon, as he stood waiting for Betty outside the gates of Riverdale High.
Her next words come out in a breathless rush. “I just wanna make sure you know that Archie and Betty kissed in front of my house right before Christmas, and that it seemed pretty serious.” She pauses then emphasizes, “Like, with-tongues serious. That's all. Enjoy your couples-only weekend. Kisses to all, bye now.”
She clicks off and he stills in place. The cold breeze seeps into his bones, freezes his veins.
“Jug?” Betty finally rushes outside, the very picture of concern. Archie and Veronica follow close behind. “What happened? Are you okay?”
He turns to her. “That was Cheryl. She said you and Archie kissed in front of her house.”
Betty’s sharp intake of breath, the tightening of the lines around Archie’s eyes, the shared look between them. But worst of all, the slow recognition on Veronica’s face.
—
The weeks following his close encounter with the masked killer now known as the Black Hood had been like stepping into a time machine and being dropped a year into the past.
Despite her mom’s orders, he and Betty throw themselves into the hunt for the killer. The adrenaline rush of doing what they do best, together again, reminds him of the frenetic pace with which they solved Jason’s’ murder, the whirlwind start to their relationship.
The days pass and his laughs grow louder, his smiles less forced. Betty’s arm around his waist no longer pinches like a vice. He rubs his thumb across her skin and senses only warmth. Sometimes, he thinks he can almost remember what it’s like to be blinded by love, to push aside the lingering doubt and live solely in the thrill of the moment.
He wonders if he’ll ever be able to completely piece back the fragmented shards of the reality he lost. But for now, he settles on trying to get by as much as he can.
He sees even less of his friends this time around. Archie keeps himself busy with the hypermasculine band of neanderthals he calls the Red Circle. In a move that had both surprised and disappointed him—not that he’d ever admit it—Veronica begins to work for Lodge Industries.
It’s here where Jughead feels the most like he’s gone back in time, like they have well and truly returned to the starting line. The two of them are back to being at each other’s throats, the longing for her that thrums just underneath his skin fuelling the cutting remarks and sarcastic barbs, the ease of the familiar outweighing the desire to acknowledge what exactly he gave up.
“You both need to stop,” Archie blurts out one day, interrupting a tense argument on what has become a familiar routine of Hiram Lodge versus the Southside. “Seriously, I thought you two had gotten over this mortal enemies crap months ago.”
“I’ll stop when she admits her precious Lodge Industries is ruining our town,” Jughead retaliates. “Why the sudden loyalty to your dad? Was the whole reformed mean girl act just a ploy to get us to accept you with open arms so you can stab us in the back?”
For a second, the mask on Veronica’s face slips, giving way to the underlying hurt. Then the venom in her voice returns. “And I’ll stop when Jughead learns what the hell he’s talking about,” she hisses.
Betty shakes her head, throws her hands up. “Forget it, Arch,” she says, exasperated. “They’re hopeless.”
Still, Jughead tells himself when Veronica glares at him over milkshakes and fries, when he watches Archie and Betty trade resigned glances, when the outright disdain in her eyes makes him forget she ever looked at him with anything else, this much he can deal with.
Then Southside High closes down.
—
He pushes past the curious students crowding the spotless halls, ignores the protests he receives in response. The overhead lights are too bright, the central heating system too stifling. His Serpent jacket is less of a privilege and more of a moving target the longer he spends here.
He walks with no real destination in mind, lets his annoyance at Toni, Fangs, and Sweet Pea’s passive acceptance of the situation, their genuine elation at being transferred, propel him forward. The distant, more rational part of his brain is aware that his frustration is misguided, that he can’t fault his friends for wanting more than they have always been given.
But at this moment, all he knows is the full force of his initial reaction.
It’s not the sound of heels clacking against the linoleum that alerts him to her presence, nor is it the smell of expensive perfume, all at once subtle and overpowering.
She clears her throat and his breath catches. His heart beats that millisecond faster. A brief spasm of pain, quick as a wink, shoots through his skin. That’s how he knows it’s her.
“Jughead.” She stands in front of him, hand outstretched as if she thought to reach for him but decided otherwise. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t.”
He takes a step back. “Yeah,” he snorts. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Veronica’s expression darkens. “Why would I lie about this?”
“I get that your family is used to taking whatever they want without a damn about where the rest of us end up,” Jughead says. “But I honestly thought you’d at least try and stop your dad on his crusade to take over the town.”
“Good Lord, Jughead, how much of a narcissist are you?” She’s practically vibrating with anger, her face turned to look up at him with all the scorn she can muster. “Drop the reluctant hero act and open your eyes. Are you really willing to sacrifice your friends’ education for a vendetta you have against my father?”
“Why not?” The words spill from his mouth before he can think to stop them. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve made a decision for someone else.”
Time stops. The background noise around them dies down to a whisper. “It was the right thing to do,” Veronica says. He has a feeling they aren’t really talking about the issue at hand anymore. “You know it was.”
The bell rings. Over the sound of locker doors being slammed shut, the rustle of last minute homework passed across the corridor, Jughead says, “It sure doesn’t seem like it to me.”
She is closed, guarded, when she replies, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Students begin to stream past, knocking into him. Neither of them make any attempt to move. “I don’t understand,” he says, searching carefully for the answers he’s learned to look for in the depth of her gaze, the curve of her mouth. “Why are you working for him?”
Her lips flatten into a hard line. “He wants to demolish the Southside.”
Jughead blinks, attempts to piece her answer together. “Excuse me?”
“He was going to buy out the Sunnyside trailer park and force eviction notices on all of you,” she says grimly. “I got him to reconsider. If I agreed to play my part and do the books for his corruption empire, let him think I was the dutiful daughter eager to take on her father’s legacy, he’d leave the trailer park alone.”
He inhales slowly, certain the shock coursing through his body is the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot. “Why would you do that?”
“If there’s anything I’ve learned,” she starts, “it’s that these things can only be dismantled from the inside.” She shrugs. “Besides, he’s already made you homeless once. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him do it again.”
The now-empty hallway contrasts sharply with the storm of emotions raging within him. “Veronica,” he chokes out, and it means, I think it was easier when we hated each other. It means, We could be something great. It means, Is there anything left of what we had?
His mouth snaps shut. He stares at her. She stares back.
Later, situated at his usual booth in Pop’s, laptop open and waiting for him, he types, We were deafened by the noise of all that remained unspoken between us.
—
They sit beside each other at the end of a creaky wooden bed, atop a thick, colorful quilt made of odd patchwork. The smell of real and artificial pine intermingles with the breeze.
“I wanted to tell you,” Betty finally says, breaking the stillness. Her eyes are pleading with him to understand, tone dripping with sincerity and remorse.
“Betty.” He swallows tightly. “I’m not mad about the kiss.” Because when all is said and done, he isn’t. It dawns on him, with the force of a bucket of ice water being poured on his head, that his best friend kissed his girl, the one secret fear he’d been harboring ever since he and Betty had gotten together, and he feels nothing.
He also knows that he could never hold Betty keeping something from him against her. Not when there are a whole host of things he’ll never be able to tell her, things he hasn’t begun to sort out in his mind, things he can barely articulate even to himself.
The tension drains out of her. “I really am sorry,” she says, lays her head on his shoulder. “From now on, no more secrets between us, okay?”
“Sure,” Jughead replies, nods mechanically, a robot programmed to mimic basic human function.
Betty pulls back to face him, a soft smile on her lips, the love and certainty she has for him, for their relationship, more than he deserves. But if he were to examine her carefully, he would have picked up on the hint of doubt creeping in there as well.
—
Three weeks before the Black Hood bursts into his dad’s trailer and everything falls apart, when Betty stayed locked in her room and Archie stayed locked in his fear, when Jughead almost dared to label himself as happy, Veronica insists on having a bad movie night.
He raises his eyebrows, wary of the title she pulls up. “I thought the point of us watching movies was to pick apart what made good films good.”
“No, this is honestly just a way for me to showcase my superior intellect over you,” Veronica deadpans. The wine in her glass sloshes around as she gestures with it.
Jughead rolls his eyes. “I’m not wasting two hours on a B-level horror flick directed by a guy who thinks his subpar plot twists are the biggest thing in Hollywood,” he insists.
She scoffs in reply. “You are such a snob.”
Despite himself, Jughead barks out a laugh. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Then Veronica leans forward slowly, gradually, until the tip of his nose brushes against her cheek. His pulse quickens then stops. Suddenly, he’s not laughing anymore.
“You don’t fool me, Jughead Jones,” she says, her breath tickling the shell of his ear. “I know you would do anything for me.”
She’s gone before his brain has the chance to reboot itself. This is how Jughead winds up watching The Village.
From the get-go, he pokes fun at the movie’s predictable buildup and flimsy premise, but even he can’t deny that its rounded up a great cast of actors. Veronica comments on the set pieces and criticizes its historical accuracy. They get into an argument on the necessity of a tracking shot.
The story swells into a serious, more ominous chain of events, and then Sigourney Weaver is pacing around the inside of a tiny wooden house, asking Joaquin Phoenix, “And what makes you think that he has feelings for me?”
Onscreen, Joaquin’s character replies, “The way he never touches you.”
From the corner of his eye, Jughead glances at Veronica, the way she follows the characters’ every movements, the way he carefully angles his body away from hers, the deliberate two inches of space between them that feel like miles.
He wonders.
—
Jughead follows Betty out into the living room. He catches Veronica’s gaze and she rises from where she and Archie had been sitting around the kitchen table, heads bent close together.
“Hi, guys,” Betty says. A silent exchange seems to pass between her and Archie.
“Hey,” Veronica returns, a touch hesitantly. She lingers close to them, almost as if she’s afraid. He can’t place where the palpable tension radiating off her is coming from.
He puts his hands up. “Relax,” he says in an attempt to diffuse the mood. “Everything is fine.”
“Honestly,” Betty chimes in. “We’re not going to let Cheryl’s petty grudge against us ruin what’s sure to be a great weekend.”
Archie nods. “That’s what I like to hear.” He holds out his arms with a grin. “Come on, guys. Group hug.”
Betty groans, shakes her head fondly. Jughead shuffles forward and reluctantly allows himself to be swept into the embrace of his best friend. The tangle of limbs, the smell of someone’s shampoo, the heat of their bodies. He glances down from where he towers above the rest, only to find Veronica’s hand hovering a good two inches from his back.
—
The Mantle’s mansion is already filled with people, teeming with the sound of loud rap music, clinking glasses, and raucous laughter by the time he and Betty make their way up the winding driveway.
Reggie meets them at the front door, a blue streamer hanging around his neck. “Betty!” He pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. From over her shoulder he notices Jughead. “Kylo Ren! I’m glad you made it.”
“Oh, gosh, Reggie, I wouldn’t miss your birthday party for the world,” Jughead deadpans, fingers clenching around the neck of the wine bottle he’s holding.
His sarcasm is missed by the obviously inebriated celebrant. “Excellent,” he says, releasing Betty from his hold. She attempts to smooth back the hair his enthusiasm dislodged from her ponytail’s grip. “You can leave your drinks on the kitchen counter.”
“You would think Reggie could afford to throw something a bit more classy than a BYOB,” Jughead mutters under his breath as they walk into the crush.
Betty stifles a laugh. “Be nice,” she orders.
“Who, me?” Jughead presses a hand to his chest. “I’m offended you think I’m capable of being anything but.”
The kitchen counter is littered with the strangest assortment of drinks Jughead has ever seen. Some of which include a tiny green bottle with no label, a selection of Portuguese port wines, and a fancy French whiskey whose name he can barely pronounce.
He and Betty have just set their haul down on the table when a sudden burst of music echoes through the room. The door leading out to the garden slides open, and Archie emerges followed by Veronica.
“There you guys are!” Archie calls out, striding towards them. The faint flush to his complexion suggests he’s been here a while. “I was beginning to think you bailed.”
“Someone,” Betty starts, with a meaningful look in Jughead’s direction, “needed a lot of convincing.”
“What can I say?” Jughead intones. “There’s nothing I love more than watching the entire football team attempt to outdo each other at keg stands. It’s practically my calling.”
His best friend just blinks at him, the alcohol clearly numbing his brain to the nuances of wit. But Jughead swears he notices Veronica’s lips twitch in amusement.
“Do you guys want a drink?” From underneath the bar, Archie pulls out a very familiar bottle covered in gold wrapping. “Mr. Lodge gave Ronnie and I one from his personal stash.”
Jughead feels his mouth go dry. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to see gold again without associating it with the light from his laptop screen reflecting off the pearls around Veronica’s neck, the odd symmetry of their mismatched glasses, her weight on top of him as she saved his life.
Before he’s fully aware of it, he turns to her. “You brought that here?” It’s a demand, an accusation.
Veronica flips her hair over her shoulder. “Only because Daddy caught Archie practically drooling over his collection,” she replies. Her words are casual, blithe, but he can read the apology that’s nestled between the lines.
Betty lets out a peal of laughter. “You’re unbelievable, Archie Andrews.”
Archie lifts a shoulder, unabashed. He pops the cork and pours a generous amount into a glass, pushes it to Betty. He’s about to fill another one when Jughead stops him.
“On second thought, I’ll just have a beer,” he says quickly, pulling a can from a nearby cooler. It seems wrong somehow, drinking Cristal anywhere other than his dad’s trailer, with anyone other than Veronica next to him.
To his surprise, Veronica also waves aside the glass Archie offers her. “Thank you, Archiekins, but I think I’ll have a beer as well.” She looks over at him. “Jughead, if you would be so kind as to pass me one?”
He plucks another can out of the cooler, gives it to her. Their hands brush against each other briefly, condensation pooling at their fingertips.
“I didn’t know you liked beer,” Archie comments. He takes a swig straight from the bottle. Betty pulls a disgusted face.
“Well, you know what they say,” Jughead drawls.
Veronica lifts an eyebrow cooly. “They say a lot of things. Which specific one are you referring to?”
He shrugs. “You should never judge a book by its cover.”
The smile Veronica shoots him is tinged with a soft kind of nostalgia. “I believe I’ve heard that one before.”
Archie frowns. “Am I missing something here?”
“Of course not,” Jughead says. “We’re just getting along like you wanted. Right, Veronica?”
“Precisely,” she says. The forced nonchalance in her answer is lost on everyone but Jughead. “It took a while, but we finally seemed to move past his Dan Humphrey-like aversion to my Blair Waldorf.”
Archie and Betty laugh in harmony, easy and uncomplicated. But Jughead can’t help the underlying resentment that tinges his own. Because he sure wishes the truth was that fucking simple.
—
Aside from their surprising potency, Veronica’s jalapeño margaritas leave much to be desired. He even makes it a point to inform her of such.
Betty swats him lightly on the arm. “Jug!”
“Fear not, B,” Veronica says, holding up her hand like a peace offering. “I have learned to forgive Jughead for his lack of appreciation for the finer things in life.”
The steam rising from the hot tub distorts and warps the world around them, encasing their little group in a wall of fog that seems to keep reality at bay. Time ebbs and flows around the space. Even the music playing from the state-of-the-art stereo system sounds muted somehow.
Despite the tenseness of the afternoon, the evening is light and full of laughter. He can feel it in their smiles and the ease of their interactions, the pain and fear that plagues their small town fading away just for this one shining moment.
He should have known it was too good to be true.
“Okay, Archie.” Betty takes a long sip from her drink, lips pursed around the straw in mischief. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare,” Archie replies without hesitating.
Veronica raises both eyebrows. “Confident are we, Archiekins?”
“I’m not afraid of what you guys have in mind,” Archie says carelessly. “Bring it on.”
Veronica stirs her drink, contemplative, and Jughead finds himself trying to think of something embarrassing enough to have even Archie pause in his tracks. Streaking is out, obviously. He has a strong inkling Archie might actually enjoy running around naked.
“I have an idea.” The gleam in Veronica’s eyes has him wondering what exactly she has in store. “I dare you,” she starts slowly, dragging every word out, “to kiss Jughead.”
Betty’s mouth stretches into a wide grin, which she promptly tries to hide behind her hand. Archie gapes at her in shock.
“Whoa there,” Archie says, crosses his arms in front of his chest like a shield. “I don’t swing that way.”
“Let’s park your fragile masculinity at the door and focus on what a great dare I’ve come up with for you,” Veronica says. Her gaze flicks over to Betty and she winks. “After all, what’s a little love between best friends, right, B?”
This time, Jughead jumps in. “Wait. You two have…?”
“How did I not know about this?” Archie asks, looking a little too disappointed by this revelation.
“Archiekins,” she chides. “You should know that I never kiss and tell.” She shifts away and pushes him to where Jughead is seated at the opposite side of the tub. “I believe you’re aware of the full consequence for refusing a dare, so unless you want my father chasing you out of town with a pitchfork, I suggest you get moving.”
Archie exhales lowly, a man backed into a corner. Jughead almost hopes he decides to back out. Listening to Archie have to call up Hiram Lodge and describe every detail of his daughter’s sex life would probably make his year.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” Archie grumbles, heaving himself upwards. “Come on, Jughead, let’s get this over with.”
The girls cheer and holler as Archie’s lips brush against his, brief enough that he’s not entirely sure it counts as a kiss. Archie returns to his seat and grins from across the water. Jughead bats his eyelashes at him in response.
“I can’t believe we didn’t get it on video,” Veronica says. “Kevin would have loved to see that.”
“Huh. You know what I just realized?” Betty says, chewing on her bottom lip. “Out of the four of us, only Jughead and Veronica haven’t kissed.”
Boom goes the dynamite.
“You’re right. I guess I never considered that,” Archie responds. And in classic Archie fashion, he comes up with the most ludicrous solution known to man. “Maybe you two should kiss. So we can, you know, level the playing field.”
“Come on, man,” Jughead replies, hoping no one else hears the frantic thumping of his heart. “I hardly think that matters.”
And of course Betty chooses now of all times to play the martyr. “No, he’s right,” she says firmly. “I know you aren’t upset about what happened between me and Archie, but I think I would feel a lot better if we could clear the air.”
“You can consider the air cleared, B,” Veronica is quick to assure her. “Neither I nor Jughead hold any ill will against what was obviously a life-or-death situation-inspired kiss.”
But Archie, stubborn bastard that he is, insists, “Honestly, it’s not a big deal.” He turns to Jughead. “It’s just a stupid kiss, right?”
No, he almost replies. Not really. But Veronica’s expression has taken on a steely sort of resolve, and she clambers to her feet and out of the water. Like a puppet controlled by Cupid’s whims, Jughead finds himself getting up and following suit.
She cradles his face in her hands, and he tries not to focus on the fact that this is the first time she’s touched him since that night all those weeks ago. “Jughead,” she croons, a siren’s song. “Don’t freak out. Just trust me.”
At first glance, their kiss is electricity and fire, the force of a hurricane. It is Veronica twining her fingers through his hair, his hands dropping down to her waist. But underneath the outward display of passion is an absence of true emotion. That’s when it hits him that this is all this is, a show, another mask for them to wear in front of their friends.
It seems that Veronica is as good as he is at playing pretend.
They break apart and he returns to the safety of his corner of the tub. The fog has cleared, leaving him to notice the darkness of the sky overhead. Music swells and filters into the spaces between them, mercifully blocking out the thoughts swarming around his mind.
“That’s it, then,” Archie says, strangely satisfied. “It’s official: we’ve all kissed each other.”
Betty wrinkles her nose. “I don’t know if that makes sense or if we’re just downright creepy.”
Archie nods sagely. “The core foursome.”
“Arch!” Betty exclaims, scandalized. She splashes water at his face to shut him up. “So, are we good?” she asks Jughead.
“Yeah,” he says. He meets Veronica’s gaze, wishes he was close enough to detect the emotions swirling around in it. “We’re good.”
—
The closest he comes to ruining his life is the night he breaks up with Betty.
He sits on the threadbare armchair on top of the shabby carpet in his living room, a full glass of whiskey in one hand. He had made a beeline for the bottle hidden behind the fridge as soon as he walked in, but for some reason, he can’t quite bring himself to take a sip.
He’s never felt so much like his father than he does at this moment. He hates it.
The sound of a sharp knock on his door causes all the blood to drain from his face. But for once, it has nothing to do with fear. In the porch light from overhead, Veronica’s eyes are milky and overcast with a sadness he’s sure is reflected in his own.
She storms into his dad’s trailer and his heart stops in his chest. Seeing her standing here, amongst the rubble of their former sanctuary, is just so right that it’s almost as if the room shifts and adjusts to accommodate her presence, like she had somehow managed to carve out a permanent space for herself in his home.
He’s surprised by the venom in her voice when she finally speaks. “What is this I heard about you breaking up with Betty?”
It takes him a second to wrap his mind around her question. “How did you even know about that?”
She practically yells at him when she answers, “How do you think? She called, told me how you spun some bullshit about wanting to protect her from the Serpents. A gang that you willingly joined, FYI.”
His own frustration builds into a crescendo. “You were there. You saw what she did tonight, what she thinks she would be willing to do for me.” He snorts in disgust, at that damn Serpent dance, at himself. “This isn’t her. I’ve made her into this.”
Veronica’s lets out a derisive sound. “Dial down with the melodrama, Jughead,” she says. “You don’t decide what Betty chooses to do. I know you’ve been joined at the murder board for the last year, but in case you still haven’t noticed, you two are separate people.”
It’s how she comments on his relationship, vicious and biting, like she’s jealous, when in reality she has no right to act this way after what she put a stop to, that causes his anger to overflow.
“Let’s not act like the poster girl for a healthy relationship,” he snaps. “I’d rather be joined at a murder board than at the mouth. When was the last time you and Archie had an actual conversation?”
Veronica laughs, but the sound sticks in her throat, coming out more like a sob. “Tonight, as a matter of fact,” she says. “When I broke up with him.”
It’s as if the floor underneath has fallen away, leaving the two of them dangling on the precipice of a situation far greater than he could ever understand. “What happened?”
“He told me he loved me,” she replies, detached and toneless. “And I couldn’t say it back.”
Jughead inhales sharply. He doesn’t want to hope, but God help him, he does.
As quickly as it had burned down, the fire inside her reignites brighter and stronger than it was before. “Don’t,” she hisses. “Stop looking at me like that.”
He tries to reach for her. “Veronica—”
“Stop saying my name.” She snatches her hand out of his vicinity. “And stop acting like the innocent party, like you don’t know why I couldn’t say it, like you actually care.”
The flame fuelling her rage, propelling her movements, drains out of her, letting the repressed yearning that lurks below the surface to come to light. He repeats her name like a song, a promise, a dying wish that is slowly being brought back to life. For a minute, it seems as if she’s given up, as if she’s resigned herself to the inevitable.
For a minute, Jughead allows himself to forget who he’s dealing with.
“No.” She swallows thickly. “I—we can’t. We’re not those people.”
“We’re not what?” he demands. He’s tired of all the pretending, the pretenses they put on even when they’re alone. “The kind of people who know what they want? Because I’ve got a pretty big idea of who I want.”
“Shut up,” Veronica grits out. “No. You are going to go back to Betty and fix this.”
“You don’t get a say in what I choose to do,” he says, deliberately sounding every word out.
“Betty needs you!” she protests.
“And what about what I need?” He runs a hand down his cheek, exhausted and spent of everything that had kept him holding on. “Why do you get to decide where this goes?”
She shakes her head, clenches her jaw. “Because I don’t want you to make the same selfish mistakes I did.”
“Might be a bit too late for that,” he scoffs. “Because I’m pretty sure staying in a relationship you know has run its course when you have something so much more real with someone else is pretty damn selfish to me.”
He can tell from the way she holds her breath that her next words aren’t going to be what he wants to hear. But “Jughead,” is all she says, and in it is an apology, a distant longing, a familiar pain, a unique sort of heartbreak.
That’s two for two in one fucking night. He must have set some kind of world record.
Once she leaves, he collapses onto his dad’s chair and grabs his abandoned glass, downs its contents in one smooth gulp. The taste that floods his tongue and burns through his lungs can only be described as bittersweet.
—
It’s almost three in the morning when Jughead finally accepts that he’s not going to be able to sleep. More margaritas had been consumed, and by the time the four of them had called it quits on the evening and slopped off to their designated bedrooms, Betty had very nearly passed out in his arms.
His head swims, though he’s sure it has nothing to do with the alcohol slowly leaving his system. In fact, the temporary buzz had numbed his senses and dulled his thoughts, providing him a brief respite from fixating on the night’s events as he is now, replaying them in his mind like his own personal film.
In one scene, he dismisses Archie’s ridiculous proposal and snakes his arm securely around Betty’s waist, pulls her close to him. In another, he swivels at the last minute and lands a kiss on Veronica’s cheek, perfectly decent and the right amount of contrariness.
But the deeper, more traitorous portion of his brain pictures another scene, one where he traces his thumb down the line of her jaw, one where she presses against him and heat surges through his veins. One where he kisses her properly, deeply, like he means it.
The blanket on top of him is suddenly too warm, the room he’s in is too small, the darkness too oppressive. He is suffocating, drowning under the weight of the repressed thoughts attempting to pull him under.
Desperate for escape, Jughead throws the quilt aside and rolls out of bed, careful not to wake Betty, curled into herself and dead to the world. He’s not surprised when he steps out onto the balcony and notices a figure standing alone in the dark, as if she’s waiting for him.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks her.
“Nope.” Veronica spins around. “I suppose this is where those wracked with residual guilt about emotionally cheating on their significant others go.”
The corner of his mouth curves slightly. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“You know what I mean,” she replies.
He shrugs. “Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”
She quirks a brow at him. “You’re a smart guy. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
He takes a step towards her. Two can play at that game. “Okay, fine, maybe my ego needs a boost.”
“Your ego couldn’t get any bigger if it tried.” She pauses, exhales, and in the moonlight he finally finds what he’s been waiting on for so long. Surrender. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” she admits. “That’s Veronica Lodge’s big secret. That she fell for her best friend’s boyfriend, and even then, she still couldn’t stop.”
The ghost of a smile crosses his features. “Still referring to yourself in third person, I see.”
“I am the epitome of class, after all,” she returns. Then, apropos of nothing, she says, “I was worried after Cheryl called and you and Betty disappeared into the room.” She sighs. “I thought maybe you told her.”
He doesn’t need to ask her what she’s talking about. After all, there’s nothing left to hide except for the one thing that is so much bigger than the two of them, he can barely string it all into words.
“Does Archie know?” Jughead asks.
“Obviously not.” She trails her fingers along the ridges of the wooden rail that encloses them. “You were right. We are the selfish ones.”
And because this seems to be the hour and place for it, Jughead tells her, “I think there’s a reason we never told anyone about us.” He wonders if he’ll regret his honesty when morning comes.
She doesn’t respond for a long moment. Then Veronica leans back against the railing, turns her face towards him, open and defiant and waiting. “Kiss me,” she says. “For us, this time.”
A beat. His heart in his throat. Then Jughead reaches for her and loses all ability to think, to breathe, to rationalize why this is a terrible idea. He cups her jaw, runs his thumb down the skin of her cheek, and she falls into his hold like a grave.
They kiss like it’s all they have left, the way desperate lovers do before a lengthy parting, eager to claim whatever remains of the other for as long they can. Their kiss is as much of a challenge as anything between them ever is, and right now, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so alive.
They break apart slowly, neither wanting to shatter the illusion and return to reality. Because with reality comes the realization that there is no going back for them, but no moving forward, either. They will always be stuck in limbo, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Then Veronica laughs, the sound abrupt and a direct contrast to the sadness of her gaze. “That should have been our first kiss.”
He smiles, but it’s wrong somehow, misplaced and crooked. “Well, you know what they say.”
Her answering stare speaks volumes. “Which specific saying are you referring to?”
Jughead fights to keep his voice neutral as he replies, “Better late than never.”
Her lips twist into a smirk. “That is what they say.” They stand under the stars for a brief, silent minute. Then she adds, “We should get back inside.”
He catches her hand in his, allows himself to feel the rush of their joined skin until the very last second. “Veronica,” he says, and it means, I wish we could. It means, I would give it all up for you. It means, If only you’d let me.
She nods in acknowledgement. For the third time in his life, Jughead watches her leave and does nothing.
—
He is the last to arrive at breakfast the next morning. Archie stands by the kitchen counter, mixing what appears to be a protein shake. The girls sit at a long wooden table laden with an impressive spread of assorted pastries, cured meats, French toast.
“Oh, there you are.” Betty beams at him, wipes the corner of her mouth delicately with a linen napkin.
“Yeah, sorry.” He runs a hand through the mess of hair on his head. “Guess I got here a little late.”
Archie turns around and leans against the kitchen island. “Long night?” he jokes.
Veronica glances at him from her spot, dark eyes and long lashes reminding him of the early morning, the serenity before a sunrise.
“To be honest, Arch, yeah,” Jughead says. He sucks in a breath, steels his resolve. “I think I’m in love with Veronica.”
The resulting silence is stiller than a morgue. Color leaches from Betty’s complexion. Archie chokes on his drink. “What did you say?” he sputters.
But then Veronica stands and rushes towards him, says, “Jughead,” and it means, You idiot. It means, Look at the mess we’ve made. It means, We could grow to love one another properly. And it dawns on him that this, her, is all he wants, everyday, for as long as possible. He can take the whole goddamn world by storm with her at this side, and he—
“Jughead!”
He reels, blinks away the last remnants of the film he’d been playing inside his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I lost myself for a bit there. What were you saying?”
Archie laughs, claps him on the shoulder. He takes the chair on Veronica’s right. The seat directly in front of her is left empty, for him. “I said, ‘Better late than never.’”
Jughead sits. Veronica stares at him. He stares back.
Better late than never indeed.