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When Jughead Jones watched Riverdale grow smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror there were no tears shed. There had been some at graduation, though not from him, as well as the usual entreaties and promises to stay in touch. He wasn’t sentimental about the whole thing - people grew up, they moved on, that was what they did. Frankly in the last year or so the place had started to grate on him a little. Not that it was bad - it was fine, Riverdale was just fine. But it was still a small town, and he wasn’t a white picket fence kind of guy. Really not, as it turned out.
Betty was going to Buffalo with him and he was grateful for it. Archie was going to Kent State, but he knew that they would still talk. Veronica was beginning her inevitable path towards world domination at Cornell, far away from the plebes. He had already lost track of so many other people - he didn’t know which football scholarship Moose had snapped up, or if Midge was actually taking a year off to find herself like she said she was going to.
The friends he had in high school were not necessarily going to be his friends forever. It was a bit sad, but he adjusted to that fact quicker than most of the people he knew. Besides, college suited him. The subjects were more interesting, everyone ate the same crappy diet that he did, and no one cared if he overslept and missed class occasionally. He was settling in, developing a routine.
So when he opened his door three weeks into the term and found Reggie Mantle standing on the other side of it, it came as something of a surprise.
“Look,” said Reggie, right off the bat. “I need to crash here for the night. My roommate kicked me out. And you owe me, so don’t argue.”
“I don’t owe you,” said Jughead. “No one owes you. You owe them. Since when do you even go here?” He would have expected Reggie to go to some fancypants school that would give him bragging rights for all time. But the newspaper business wasn’t doing so well these days - maybe his parents didn’t have the money they used to.
“Since September, same as everyone else. Are you going to let me in or not?”
Jughead thought about saying no. He thought about telling Reggie to go sleep in the library. He also considered demanding twenty bucks for the use of his room.
In the end he stepped back and let Reggie in. Sometimes it was just easier to let him have his way.
“Why’d your roommate kick you out?” he asked as they tried to rustle up some spare blankets for Reggie to sleep with. On the floor, because no way was Jughead giving up his bed.
“It’s complicated,” said Reggie. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Okay,” said Jughead amiably. “I didn’t actually want to know, I was being polite.”
There was nothing for him to sleep on, so they made up a bed on the carpet out of a comforter and pillows sacrificed from both sides of the room. Reggie for once didn’t complain. Maybe he was grateful that he didn’t have to bunk down on a bench in the quad. He didn’t have anything with him - he must have left the room in a hurry.
Don’t care, Jughead reminded himself. Reggie’s domestic drama had nothing to do with him.
Reggie was getting under the covers when Jug’s own roommate walked in and looked down with an expression that was either intense worry or chronic constipation. The guy was always like that.
“Who’s that?” he asked, startled.
“Sorry, Timothy,” said Jughead. “This is Reggie Mantle, an old friend of mine. He needs a place to stay tonight.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” said Timothy.
Timothy didn’t think a lot of things were good ideas. Processed foods, hospitals, the separation of church and state, the internet, and anything that made him late for his cult meetings - sorry, prayer group.
“It’s okay,” said Jughead. “Reg and I go way back. We were in the war together.”
“What -”
“He means highschool,” said Reggie, scooting forward and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”
Timothy shook his hand gingerly, like he was afraid it would fall off. Probably worried about being contaminated by outside influences.
As soon as Timothy turned away - dropping his backpack on the bed - Reggie shot Jughead an incredulous look, who tried not to laugh. He had been putting up with this for weeks, it was nice to see someone else suffer for a change.
“You’re going to have to move aside,” said Timothy stiffly. “I need room to pray.”
“I need room to pray,” Reggie mimicked the next morning, after Timothy left for his morning classes. “What the hell.”
“Try having to live with that, day in and day out,” Jughead groaned. He lay on his bed and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I keep hoping the cult will sacrifice him.”
“Does he know about - y’know?”
Jughead stared at him. “About what?”
Reggie shrugged, one arm into his jacket. “You know what I mean.”
“Oh,” said Jughead sourly. “That I’m gay, Reggie? Does that word make you uncomfortable?”
“Okay, Jug,” said Reggie, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You got me. I’m a huge homophobe.”
“Alright -”
“Who didn’t mind sleeping three feet away from you last night -”
“I get your point, you can shut up any time now.”
“I’m a little hurt,” Reggie said, fanning the fingers of one hand out against his chest in an effort to communicate his wounded feelings. “You’ve assumed the worst of me, as usual. Because I was asking out of concern for my very good friend since childhood. I don’t trust that guy.”
Jughead looked at him out of the corner of his eye. It was the most bizarre thing - underneath his typical layer of bullshit and ego he seemed to be serious.
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” he said. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Good,” said Reggie. He sat down on Timothy’s bed to tie his sneakers. “By the way, can I borrow some money? My wallet’s back at my dorm.”
“Reggie,” said Jughead, tired. “Please stop talking.”
“Reggie’s going here?” said Betty, her voice bubbling over with excitement. “I didn’t know that!”
“Nobody did,” said Jughead. “Well, maybe Ronnie.”
“No,” Betty said, “she would have told me.” They skyped once a week and texted back and forth constantly. “I wonder why he didn’t say anything?”
“Who knows what’s going on in his head,” said Jughead. Privately he suspected that Reggie’s original plans had fallen through and he’d bragged himself up too much to admit defeat with grace. Thus the disappearing act. “I’ll probably never see him again.”
“Of course you will,” Betty scolded. “He’s our friend. And we should invite him to something - it sounds like he doesn’t like his roommate very much.”
“I don’t like my roommate much. Hasn’t killed me yet.”
“Quiz night,” said Betty placidly. She lifted her coffee to her lips, the wind stirring her newly short hair and making her cheeks pink. They were sitting outside even though it threatened rain, sick of the cooped-up, stagnant air of their dorm rooms.
“You still want to do that?”
“Yes,” she said. “You know lots of random crap, Juggie. We could kick ass.”
“I guess,” he said. “This friday?”
“Oh,” she said, bashful. “I have a date. And then next friday - another date. With someone else.” She looked slightly embarrassed but kind of proud, too. Like she was only just realizing how popular she could be. “Can you track Reggie down? I don’t have his phone number.”
“Neither do I,” said Jughead. “But I’m sure I can find him.” It wasn’t like Reg was a shy and retiring violet. He was always drawing attention, one way or another.
As it turned out he didn’t need to go searching for Reggie at all; no, Reggie came to him, showing up at his door at two in the fucking morning.
Jughead staggered out of bed thinking fire and disaster, panicked by the sudden hurtle out of unconsciousness. When it was only Reggie, sheepish and disheveled but otherwise intact, he almost shut the door right in his face again.
“Seriously?” he hissed in a rage-filled whisper. It was probably more caution than was necessary. Timothy snored on, oblivious.
Reggie sighed. His hair was sticking up all over, which was uncharacteristic - he was vain as a peacock about his appearance. Jughead supposed he could justify the conceit on that particular subject, and then hated himself poisonously for ever allowing that thought to cross his mind.
“I know, okay? I’m sorry.”
It had to be bad if he was actually apologizing.
“I hate to ask,” said Jughead from his own bed, after they compiled some blankets for Reggie. “But what the hell is going on?”
Reggie was quiet enough that Jughead looked over at him on the floor. He couldn’t make out enough of his face to read his expression; just his silhouette - his profile, one knee that was popped up beneath the blankets.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” said Reggie.
Jughead blinked. Reggie Mantle, not wanting to talk about himself. They were truly living in an age of miracles.
And then Reggie rolled over, tugged the covers up over his shoulders, and that seemed to be it.
They didn’t win quiz night, though Jughead and Betty both put in a pretty decent showing. Reggie mostly flirted with the waitress. Including showing her his biceps at one point, much to the horror of everyone else at their table.
Still. They had a good time.
He showed up at Jughead’s room a couple more times at equally awkward hours. Always surprisingly apologetic, always looking like he’d had to leave with great haste. Once he was just in his boxers, a t-shirt and his shoes. It wasn’t warm out, either. “You know you can request a change of rooms, right?” Jughead asked, and gave him his comforter.
“Do you have any idea what this is all about?” Jughead asked Betty, when they were cutting across the quad after Anthro 101. It was the only class they had together. “I can’t get a word out of him.”
“Reggie’s going through some stuff right now,” said Betty. “He wouldn’t want me gossiping about it.”
“But he did say something to you,” said Jughead.
“If he did, then I’m not telling,” said Betty with a shrug. “Just be a good friend, okay?”
“I am a good friend,” said Jughead, grumpy. He didn’t understand why no one would tell him. The next time Reggie wanted shelter in the middle of the damn night he could go bother Betty.
Timothy moved out just after the leaves fell. No, that wasn’t accurate - Timothy didn’t move out, he ran off with his cult. And left all his things behind. Jughead spent several very confused days being grilled by the college authorities - no, he did not know where Timothy went. No, they weren’t close. Eventually someone came and cleared out the other side of the room.
It was nice to have some privacy but odd to look over at the blank space where Timothy’s possessions had been - the empty dresser and stripped-clean bed. He hoped the poor weirdo was okay, at least.
They didn’t assign him another roommate right away. He wasn’t looking forward to taking his chances with the housing lottery again, and idly considered asking Reggie if he wanted to room together. The devil you know, right? But he seemed to be getting along with his roommate better than he had been, so Jughead never brought it up.
Until Reggie came by again to ruin a wonderful night’s sleep in the traditional way. This time he had a black eye.
“What,” said Jughead, stepping back in alarm.
“It’s not that bad,” scoffed Reggie. “Moose used to give me worse than this on a regular basis.”
“You don’t see the problem with that?” Jughead asked.
He got some ice out of the mini-fridge and wrapped it in a washcloth while Reggie made himself at home on the edge of Timothy’s bed. He sat with his head in his hands and only looked up when Jughead pressed the cold pack to his face. “Ow,” he said, and took the ice with visible gratitude.
“So,” said Jughead, sitting down on the other bed. “What happened?”
“I fucked up,” said Reggie. He rested the ice against his knee for a second. The bruise wasn’t that big, though it would look worse tomorrow. “Obviously.”
“Okay. How?”
Reggie stared at a spot on the floor for a long time without speaking. There was a strange mixture of shame and hesitation on his face. Jughead had never seen him look like that before. “I slept with - I slept with his girlfriend.”
“Moose and Midge all over again.”
Reggie flinched. “Not exactly. But I wish I’d never done that either. It sure as hell didn’t help Midge out.”
“Do you ever hear from her?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She sends an email now and then. She’s in Houston - and before that I think it was Boca Raton. She just needed to get away, you know?”
“Yeah,” said Jughead, although he didn’t. He didn’t know what it was like - to be a girl with a jealous boyfriend, a boyfriend with a noted temper on and off the field. To have to break up with him, knowing all that. Midge had not been a particular friend of his. They were only part of the same social group, and Moose and Midge - Moose n’ Midge, together always, a unit - had been peripheral. And as usual there was Reggie, courting disaster, screwing up in exactly the way that everyone expected him to. Somehow it had never occurred to Jughead that he might have really cared about her.
“And,” Reggie said, continuing his explanation for the night’s catastrophe, “I got a phone call tonight.” His voice sounded tight, and strangely brittle. “From my parents. To inform me that they’re getting a divorce. Guess they couldn’t wait until Christmas to tell me.”
“Jesus,” Jughead said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Nothing I can do about it,” said Reggie bitterly. “Right?”
“No,” said Jughead. “But that’s one rough night. I’m assuming you’re not going to class tomorrow.”
“God,” said Reggie with a bark of a laugh. “I doubt I’ll even want to get out of bed. You mind if I stay here?”
“Nope,” said Jughead. He wanted to say something more - for comfort, or reassurance. But he had nothing, except for an inexplicable urge to give Reggie a hug. He stomped it down immediately. That wasn’t happening.
He threw a pillow at him instead. “Don’t trash the room,” he said. “Especially if you want to move in here.”
“What?” said Reggie, startled.
“You might as well,” said Jughead as he leaned over to turn off the lamp. “You’re always here, anyway.”
“Do you ever feel like you peaked in high school?” asked Reggie.
“No,” said Jughead, without looking up from his textbook.
“Yeah. I guess you wouldn’t.”
Jughead glanced over at him, silently judging.
For once Reggie took his point without being prompted. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you have yourself all figured out. You always did.”
Now Jughead openly stared, brow furrowed in confusion. “What? Since when.”
Reggie had been lying on his back on his bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling. He twisted sideways, facing Jughead. “Since always. You never cared what anyone else thought. Dude, you announced that you were gay at lunch in the cafeteria.”
“I wouldn’t call that ‘announcing’,” he said. “I didn’t say it loudly. I did that because I wanted to get it over with.” The alternative had been telling everyone separately, having to do it over and over again. Once had been bad enough. He remembered how his palms had been sweating, how his stomach had churned. He didn’t eat a bite that day. That was actually how the conversation had started.
Are you sick, Betty had asked.
No, he’d replied. I think I might be gay. And let that drop into the ensuing silence like a lead balloon.
Ronnie had been painting her nails. Everyone already knows that, she had said, completely disinterested. And then she blew on the fresh coat of paint to dry it. He had never been so grateful to her for just being herself.
“I was completely freaked out,” Jughead said. He had never admitted that before, or in fact even spoken about that day out loud. “I didn’t know how anyone was going to react. Not for sure.”
“I never thought about it like that,” said Reggie.
“I doubt anyone did,” said Jughead, and went back to his books.
It wasn’t half bad, living with Reggie. “He doesn’t annoy you?” Archie had asked the other day on the phone. Yeah, sometimes Reggie was annoying. He was always stealing Jughead’s best pens without asking and borrowing his laptop without permission. He woke up at the break of dawn and would flick on all the lights. But overall they got along just fine; better, actually, than they had when they were in Riverdale. It was different with just the two of them. Reggie was more relaxed; maybe he didn’t have to spend as much time jockeying for position.
Also Jughead couldn’t say enough for the current lack of prayer circles in his life.
Only one habit of Reggie’s was untenable. He liked to jog, which was fine, and he liked to wake Jughead up to ask him if he would like to go too, which was not.
“Are you kidding,” Jughead said, the same as each and every time. “It’s freezing out there, you maniac.”
“Gets the blood moving,” said Reggie, and poked him in the arm with a snicker. “Come on, Jug. Maybe you’ll actually build up some muscle.”
“Jogging is cardio,” said Jughead. “Even I know that.” He pulled the blanket up over his head and went back to sleep.
Reggie called while Jughead was in the middle of making the turkey. “What does ‘brining’ mean?” he asked, while Jug held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and poked at the turkey, gently bobbing in its saltwater bath.
“Soaking it in salty water, but fancier.”
“You aren’t worried that’ll just make it taste like salt?”
“No,” said Jughead. “I know what I’m doing.” In fact he didn’t, and was concerned that Reggie was right. He had never done the turkey by himself before. His Mom had agreed to the experiment with surprising readiness, saying that if he screwed it up there would still be plenty of other dishes to eat. Currently she was ensconced in her armchair in the living room, watching Rudolph’s glowing red nose save Christmas.
“We aren’t making anything. There’s no point without Mom being here.”
His mother had gone to Arizona to stay with her sister. “What are you doing?” Jughead asked, aware of an unwelcome yet undeniable sympathy.
“Staring at each other in silence, or we were before. Now I’m hiding in my room. I’m going to call around, see if there are any pizza places open.”
Jughead looked around at the scattered cooking accoutrements and ingredients, for the most part from what he’d done in preparation yesterday - a pie baked for dessert, and a butternut squash casserole that was in the fridge waiting to be heated up. He always made too much food. There were roast beets, greens and mashed potatoes to be cooked still, and of course the bird itself.
“Well,” he said, hesitating, and then plunged right in. “You might as well come over here. We have plenty.”
“I’m so touched,” Reggie drawled.
“Don’t be,” said Jughead. “I’m only asking you because I need an assistant.”
He was conscripted into the kitchen immediately. Jughead put him to work stuffing the turkey, which apparently he had never done before. “This is disgusting,” he said with a shudder, eyeing the bag of giblets with horror.
“Did you think the stuffing got in there by itself?”
“No, but I didn’t know it was so gross. This feels like I’m doing surgery.”
“Pretty bloodless for surgery. Hey - go wash your hands before you touch anything else!”
The turkey had time to do some cooking before they needed to get anything else started, so they took Jellybean outside to build a snowman. They put a faux-fur lined hat on it for a finishing touch, and a shawl.
“I think she’s a snowlady,” said Jellybean confidently.
Jughead squinted at their artistic achievement. Seemed about right. “Looks kind of like Grandma.”
“Then shouldn’t she have a bigger nose?” Reggie said, and Jughead threw a handful of snow at him.
“Don’t listen to him, Jellybean,” said Jughead. “We Joneses have very distinguished features.”
She wasn’t paying either of them any mind. “Her name is Miranda,” she announced, looking up at the snowman. “She told me.” And then, losing attention in one of those quicksilver flashes that small children had - “We should go climb trees!”
“Uh,” said Reggie, “trees? Is she allowed to do that?”
“No,” said Jughead. “Because she falls out of them.”
Jellybean pouted. “Only once.”
Once had been enough. She nearly gave poor Dad a heart attack. He had his hands full with her lately; the week before he caught her googling Game of Thrones. Jughead couldn’t remember if he was that precocious as a kid or not.
“We need to get back to the kitchen,” Jughead said, “And you’re going back inside, kiddo. No playing outside unsupervised, you know that.”
“Awww,” she said in protest when he scooped her up. “Why can’t Mom or Dad watch me?”
“Because they’re old and lazy.”
“Jug says you’re old,” she shouted the second they got through the door. Very sophisticated vengeance for a four year old. Both his parents looked over.
“Really?” said Jughead. “You rat me out just like that.”
“You’re lucky you’re the chef today,” his mother said from her chair. She was munching on a candy cane and looked unconcerned. “Or you’d be so grounded.”
“Are we forgetting something?” Reggie asked. “I feel like we are.”
Jughead did a quick headcount of dishes. “You put the cranberry sauce out already, right? Then there’s just the gravy left. I can get that.”
He stirred the flour in while Reggie ferried plates of food into the dining room. Discarding the dirty dishes in the sink, he wiped his hands off on the dish towel and cast a final glance over the counters. Everything was present and accounted for, nothing had burned - not bad for his first Christmas dinner.
“You got a little something right here,” said Reggie, coming back into the kitchen and tapping the side of his nose. “And all down the front of your shirt, actually.”
“Crap,” he said, trying to wipe the flour off. It didn’t really go. “Oh, who cares.”
“People take pictures at Christmas,” said Reggie. “And I care, because I’m going to be in them. Here.”
He leaned in and brushed at the fabric of Jughead’s shirt with the flat of his hand. They were standing very close together and the kitchen was overheated from long use of the oven. Surely it was the the second, and not the first, that was making Jughead feel flushed and strange.
Reggie had nice eyes, he noticed. Very nice.
There was nowhere to go. Reggie was in front of him; the counter was behind him. That was inconvenient. He was still holding the stupid gravy boat.
“Uh,” he said. “Could you maybe -”
“What?” Reggie asked, grinning, totally oblivious.
“Move?”
“Oh,” said Reggie, and stepped back. “Okay?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Jughead, and rushed past him, cheeks flaming. He could blame it on the heat. If anyone asked he would blame it on the heat.
“You still have flour on your face,” Reggie called after him.
They all pitched in to help clean up after Jellybean was put to bed. She waved goodbye to Reggie over Dad’s shoulder as they headed up the stairs, which was cute. Usually she complained about bedtime but she was all tuckered out, nodding off with one of her new toys in her lap.
“Mom, we can do it,” Jughead protested, trying to pull a plate out of her hand.
“You boys did all the cooking,” she said. “The least I can do is wash the dishes.”
“I’ll help, Mrs. Jones,” said Reggie eagerly, following her into the kitchen.
“You know she already knows you,” said Jughead. “So that won’t fool her.”
Reggie leaned back out of the kitchen doorway to make a gesture that Mom would not have approved of.
Jughead packed up the table dressings and the red and green tablecloth they only used once a year and carried them down to the basement. His Dad was standing by the door when he got back up, putting his earmuffs on. He was already wearing his coat and scarf.
“Going somewhere?” Jughead asked.
“Just to shovel the walk,” he said. “I really should’ve done it this morning.”
“Need help?”
“It’s a few feet of sidewalk, I can manage,” Dad said, picking up the shovel. “Go rescue Reggie from the kitchen. You haven’t had any time alone without us fogeys around.”
Wait. Wait, what?
“Dad, we’re not -” Jughead started, but his father was already out the door.
The last light on in the upstairs level of the house flicked off. Jughead exhaled into the cold air, a plume of icy breath that looked like smoke. He was wearing a thick sweater but it was below freezing. He jumped up and down a little and rubbed his hands together briskly.
The door opened at the same time the porch light flickered on. “Jug?” Reggie asked. “What are you doing?”
“Thinking,” said Jughead. “In the fresh air.” He even sounded cold, a shiver cutting through his voice.
Reggie snorted. “Fresh is one word for it. And you say I’m nuts for jogging in the morning - at least I stay moving. Here.” He stepped out, letting the door close behind him with a click. Jughead’s winter coat was in his hands.
“Thanks,” said Jughead, and shrugged into it. “You don’t have to stay out with me.”
Reggie shrugged. “What else am I going to do, watch the fireplace channel?”
“Do they still have that?”
“I have no idea,” said Reggie. “I was speaking figuratively.” He sat down on the top step and wrapped his arms around his knees. The Christmas lights were unplugged and the night was quiet and dark beyond the house.
“Aw,” said Jughead, sitting down next to him. “You learned something in college after all!”
“Asshole,” said Reggie, but there was no real bite to it.
Are you staying here, Jughead wanted to ask him. Is your father even expecting you home? He didn’t say either, just looked up at the sky. It was too cloudy for stars, but there was no snow falling.
“Thanks for inviting me,” Reggie said.
“No big deal.”
“No, it was,” Reggie insisted. “It would have been a pretty shitty Christmas without it.”
Jughead never knew what to do when Reggie had these sudden moments of honesty; he picked at the knot in his shoelaces and tried to think of something to say that wasn’t stupid or sappy. “I’m glad. That your Christmas wasn’t shitty.” Yes, clearly that was smooth as hell. Jesus.
Reggie didn’t notice or he didn’t care. “Hopefully Dad will be asleep by the time I get home.”
Jughead shrugged. “You could stay here, if you want. I don’t mind.”
It was just the same as being at school, he told himself. They slept in the same room all the time. Nothing would be different.
“Oh,” Reggie said, pleased. “Sounds like a plan.” He moved closer, and there wasn’t a whole lot of space between them to begin with.
“I’ll go get the air mattress set up,” said Jughead, mostly to distract himself from the way the back of his neck was heating up. Suddenly his coat just too much. He unzipped it and shoved his hands in his pockets so that he couldn’t fidget.
“Do we need it?”
“Reggie,” said Jughead, sharply, “what are you doing?”
“Huddling for warmth?” Reggie said, all faux-innocent.
Something horrible and cold settled in the pit of Jughead’s stomach. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No,” said Reggie. “Why would I even do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Jughead, with deliberate care because he was already balling his fists up inside the pockets of his jacket, his throat tight with anger. “But if you aren’t then I’ve got to admit that I can’t figure out what the hell you are doing.”
“I’m - okay, look,” said Reggie, running his hands through his irritatingly perfect hair. “I don’t want to become my father, okay? I don’t want to be in my forties and miserable with no idea of what I even wanted in the first place.”
Jughead popped up from the step because he couldn’t take it anymore. He took a couple of steps back, dodging Reggie’s outstretched hand. “So you decided to switch teams?”
“No! Jug, you aren’t listening. This isn’t the first time this has happened. I wouldn’t be switching anything!”
“What,” said Jughead, and then closed his eyes as the missing puzzle piece clicked into place. Of course. “Your roommate.”
“Yeah. He used to freak out a little after -”
“He punched you in the face.”
“No, that was … I actually did sleep with his girlfriend.” Reggie winced in a shamefaced way and looked down at his hands. “Not the best decision I ever made. I was pissed off.”
Jughead threw his arms up into the air. He was officially giving up. Reggie was insane. This situation was insane. His whole life was insane. “So you thought you’d try again? Good thing I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Did it ever occur to you that this might just be about you? That maybe I like like you?”
“No.”
“Well, it is. Man, you act like nothing nice could ever happen to you. Now you’re all freaked out over nothing.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are.”
Jughead huffed out a breath into the crystalline air. “A little,” he admitted. “But you just threw this at me out of nowhere. Give me a minute.”
Reggie’s face fell and his shoulders collapsed into a dejected slump. “If you want to say no, then say it. I’ll go home and get out of your hair.”
“... I didn’t say no.” Now that the panic was fading - and it had been panic, reluctant as he was to admit it - something else was taking its place. Still nerves, but - different. “I said give me a minute.”
Reggie’s eyebrows shot up in an expression of almost comical surprise; he smiled gradually, familiar and smug and absolutely infuriating. “A whole minute? You sure you can restrain yourself?”
“Reggie?”
“Yeah?”
“Please stop talking,” said Jughead, and kissed him.