Work Text:
Now it's too early to say goodbye
And it's nowhere close to closing time
Don't walk out on me
I've got this feeling that there's something here
Don't just leave me standing in the street
I know there's something in your head saying stay my dear
“Closing Time” by Havelin
Blue
875 North Michigan Avenue, or as he knows it, the John Hancock Center, is the fifth tallest building in all of Chicago. Constructed in the 1960s, it was the first building in the entire world, except for New York City, to rise over 1000 feet. While these architectural feats are beyond impressive, to Jughead Jones, this building is simply the location of his work office.
There are one hundred floors and the modest online magazine that he works for as the Editor-at-Large occupies only a portion of one.
It’s another busy Thursday that’s chock full of back-to-back meetings that he barely has time to do any actual work. So when he has a break at 3PM, a full hour before his next meeting, he escapes to the one respite that’s just his.
The courtyard on the 30th floor is mostly abandoned though it’s still fully functioning. This is mostly because there’s a newer, fancier one with a Starbucks on the 44th floor that everyone flocks to. At this point, he thinks he might be the only person that actually remembers this space still exists.
Grabbing his boxed lunch from his desk, he rushes out of his office, thanking his assistant profusely for ordering it for him in the first place. Before he can even take three steps towards the elevator, he’s interrupted by the sound of his best friend slash co-worker’s voice.
“Are you seriously only eating lunch now? I see time management is still one of those ‘need to improve’ skills for you,” Tabitha says teasingly, her brown eyes glittering with mirth. She leans against the door jamb, arms crossed in front of her stylish bright purple suit that’s perfectly tailored.
“I got distracted and then when I looked up it was already three. Hardly my fault.” His stomach grumbles in protest at this conversation that is currently interrupting his elaborate plan of consuming his burger and french fries in precisely three bites. “You can heckle me more after I eat. I feel like I’m wasting away as we speak.”
“Always the drama queen, Jones. Enjoy your afternoon snack. I’ll see you at four,” Tabitha responds, waving her hand gracefully before she retreats back into her corner office.
Bolting towards the elevators, he’s pleased to find that it comes to his floor within mere seconds and no one joins him on the ride. A few minutes later, he’s sitting happily in the back corner of the courtyard where he knows there’s a private bench that no one ever uses.
It’s bright and sunny — one of those perfect days where the sun shines down, beaming warm rays, but there’s a light breeze so it’s not oppressively hot. A little known fact about Jughead Jones is that spring is actually his favorite season. He knows most people might think he might prefer a colder season given his proclivity for flannel and sweater vests.
He’s almost salivating as he unwraps the waxy paper, the juicy burger topped with all the extras coming into view. He didn’t even bother to warm up his meal because he’s that hungry. His head descends and he’s about to take a huge bite when he hears it.
Sniffling.
Is it coming from a person?
Chomping off a large chunk of his burger, he tucks it away into the box before he gets up in search for the origin of the sound. It doesn’t take him long to find it, or really, her.
Sitting on the bench a few feet away from his is a young woman dressed in a gold blouse and long, grey slacks. She’s wringing her hands together in what appears to be a nervous or frustrated fashion as she breathes in deeply before exhaling loudly.
“Calm down. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry,” she repeats to herself out loud.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks cautiously, feeling as if he’s intruding upon a private moment.
When she whips around, everything around him slows down. The noise and traffic coming from the busy city streets below no longer sounds in his ears. His voracious hunger is forgotten. All of his senses shift into overdrive as he takes in her lustrous golden hair, her vivid green eyes, and the delicate pink of her cheeks and lips.
She’s ethereal.
He’s never really understood the phrase ‘take your breath away’ until now because it is physically difficult for him to expand and contract his lungs to take in another breath. When he finally does, he chokes on nothing and suddenly starts to cough before he pounds his chest violently.
Well, this is an excellent first impression that he’s making.
“I think the better question is: are you okay?”
Even her voice is captivating — effervescent with a light melodic lilt. The sadness seems to have faded from it as she takes on a teasing tone. She makes a move to come closer to help him but he clears his throat and shakes his head.
“I’m fine,” he reassures before he flashes her what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy.” He gestures to the general area where she was sitting. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” she says softly. It’s so quiet that he almost thinks she didn’t mean to voice that thought aloud.
He pauses and waits for her to continue. Call it instinct but it seems like she really needs someone to talk to, clearly not getting that in her everyday life.
“You can say as much or as little as you want. Consider me a kind stranger that knows nothing about your life so you’ll get no judgment from me. I’m just going to sit here and eat my very late lunch,” he tells her with an awkward but genuine smile.
Taking another big bite of his burger, he chews slowly.
“Do you ever have one of those days where it seems like everything goes wrong?”
It’s a rhetorical question, of course. She continues to stare straight ahead into what seems like nothingness.
“I was thirty minutes late to an all-staff meeting this morning because my power went out in the middle of the night and my phone didn’t actually charge so none of the three alarms I set went off. Then as I was running to the subway, a cab splashed a large wave of last night’s rainstorm onto my outfit. Thankfully, I keep spare work clothes at my desk but I didn’t have time to change into them because I was late. When I finally arrived at the meeting where I thought I was going to get promoted, I find out that no, instead, they’re giving the position to the boss’s son, who, of course, is a complete tool and has the intelligence and mental acuity of a goblin shark. And everyone was staring at me because they knew that I was the frontrunner for that promotion. I’ve worked sixty hour weeks for the last few years for nothing. I had to just stand there and pretend to smile and the entire time, I was just overwhelmed with all these feelings of inadequacy. Like everything my mother said I was going to become, I did.”
By the time she’s done speaking, she’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Jughead immediately offers his unopened bottle of water to her which she takes readily and gratefully. Twisting it open, she chugs several large gulps before she lets out a satisfied sigh.
“What’s a goblin shark?”
She swallows her water quickly before she bursts out into laughter. “Oh, have you never seen one?”
When he shakes his head no, she retrieves her phone from her pants, googling and typing at an impressive speed. After finding what she’s looking for, she turns the screen to face him.
He visibly recoils and drops the fry that he was holding back down into the container. “That’s like something out of my nightmares.”
“Mine too,” she agrees. “You don’t have to worry about them though since they’re deep-sea creatures. They’re also known as ‘living fossil’ because-”
Suddenly, she stops talking, clamping her mouth shut. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”
“No, no,” he insists. “This is interesting like I’m listening to a National Geographic podcast.”
“Oh,” she continues, a pretty pink blush coloring her cheeks. “I was just going to say that their lineage is over 125 million years old. I don’t even think my brain can comprehend that type of time.”
“So what you’re saying is that they’re both old and kind of dumb?”
She giggles at that and bites her lower lip. “That’s mean, isn’t it? That’s not fair to the goblin shark that I’m comparing an asshole to it.”
Jughead barks out a laugh before he turns to face her, grinning. “I think I’d take a goblin shark to a product of nepotism any day.”
Nodding her agreement, she gives him a blindly beautiful smile before tucking her phone away. “Thank you for listening to my rant. I feel much better but I am very sorry that I just dumped that on you when you were just trying to have a peaceful meal. In all honesty, I didn’t think anyone else remembered this courtyard even existed.”
“You’re the first person I’ve seen use this space in months,” he says. “But I don’t mind sharing.” He gives her a warm smile of his own.
When he recalls their conversation for the millionth time later that night, he won’t remember what it is exactly they talked about after that. What he’ll remember is the way the soft breeze curls around their bodies and the way her unique jasmine scent clings to the air. He’ll remember how the conversation flows easily between them and how she seems to enjoy his quirky, oftentimes slightly morbid, humor.
At one point, she throws her head back laughing at some witty comment he makes and all he can focus on is the way her delicate throat undulates and moves. Her laughter is crisp and bright — like the first rays of sun that pierce through his windows in the morning, basking him in infinite warmth.
And it’s something that he finds he wants to listen to and experience again and again. He doesn’t know what is about her but there’s something so simple and delicate about the way he’s drawn to her. It might not make sense to anyone else but to him, it shimmers with incandescent clarity.
He wants to know everything about her. She’s utterly intoxicating.
He opens his mouth to ask a follow up to what she just said but before he can speak the words, they’re interrupted.
“Jones! Meeting at 4, remember? Good thing you’re predictable and I know where all your usual haunts are.”
Tabitha’s voice rings out and he turns to see her standing by the entrance to the courtyard, her arms crossed. Her tone might sound like she’s annoyed but there’s a curious quality to her expression. He’s sure that he’ll be subjected to an interrogation from her after this.
“Be right there!” he calls out.
Tabitha simply rolls her eyes before she disappears through the doors to the interior of the building.
“I’m so sorry but I need to go to this meeting. I wish it’s something I could put off but I can’t,” he says honestly.
“Of course, I’ve taken up so much of your time as it is. It was really nice to meet you. I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done much.”
“You’ve done more than you know,” she tells him, the raw honesty pouring through. “Hopefully I’ll see you around again?”
“I’ll meet you here tomorrow. At the same time?” he asks with a burst of confidence though his heart lurches to his throat in anticipation of her answer and potential rejection.
“That would be great. I’ll be here,” she promises.
He doesn’t want to leave. There’s so much more that he wants to say to her but at the same time, he can’t even find the words to describe everything he’s feeling. Exhilarated. Excited. Anxious. Intrigued. Want. Need.
It’s all so unfamiliar to him. This isn’t like him at all. This is nothing like his usual wry, cynical response to what life throws at him.
She’s different. And unknowingly, she’s making him different.
Standing to his full height, he looks at her one last time, memorizing her every feature. “I just realized I never introduced myself. I promise I’m not usually that rude. I’m-”
“I kind of like that though,” she interrupts him. “It’s almost freeing, don’t you think?”
That’s not exactly the word he would’ve used to describe it but he doesn’t want to disagree with her.
“What should I call you then?” he asks amusedly.
She considers this for a moment before she looks down at her clothing. “Gold,” she says decisively, likely referring to the color of the blouse she has on and her hair.
“And I think you should be Blue,” she goes on to say, eyeing the button-down shirt he has on.
“Okay,” he agrees easily. “See you tomorrow then, lovely Gold.”
Pink rises in her cheeks in the prettiest way and he wishes he could capture the look on her face for all eternity.
“Jones, let’s go!” Tabitha yells out.
Apologetically, he gives her one last smile before he turns, practically bouncing with happiness.
Until tomorrow.
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Gold
2:47 PM
Betty stares at the corner of her monitor where the time and date reflects back at her. Her entire body thrums with excitement and anticipation. In just a few more minutes, she’ll grab a coffee from the break room and ride the elevator up to the thirtieth floor to see him.
Him. Utterly charming. Slightly awkward. Ridiculously handsome. Her Blue.
She’s already had to sit through an hour long lecture from her best friend, Veronica Lodge, about how it’s strange to have spent so much of her time this past week with this mysterious man from the courtyard without even knowing his name.
“Are you off to see your Romeo again?” Veronica had asked with a raised eyebrow and pursed lips.
“He’s not my Romeo. His name wouldn’t be that ridiculous.”
“Right, but you don’t know his name do you? I mean, he could be a serial killer for all you know!” Veronica said in protest.
“I really don’t think serial killers wear sweater vests,” Betty replied with a roll of her eyes.
“What are you talking about? Ted Bundy definitely wore sweater vests.”
She knows Veronica has a point but there’s this gut feeling she has — that he’s different and that he’s meant to be someone important in her life.
And even though she doesn’t know his name, she does know the way his cerulean eyes flicker with happiness when he talks about books. The passion infuses itself into every syllable he utters about the subject. She has a sneaking suspicion it might be his field of work. She knows the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs at something he finds amusing. And the way that he taps his left foot against the ground when he’s nervous or anxious, like the energy is overflowing from him and he needs to release it somehow.
He prefers Kerouac to Ginsberg. He takes his coffee black and extra hot. He thinks kale is overrated — give him an old-fashioned cheeseburger any day over that. That’s his favorite meal actually, completed with a side of curly fries; she knows this because she’s seen him eat this exact dish four days in a row.
A name seems so unimportant in comparison — just a few letters and syllables. The tidbits she’s garnered about him mean more.
Getting up from her seat, she heads to the break room to get a fresh cup of coffee. The old Betty would never have skipped out for an hour of work ever. She barely took lunch breaks. That word didn’t exist in her vocabulary.
She never thought she’d see getting screwed over for the promotion to department head as a blessing but she’s definitely starting to. She’s dedicated four years to this job and at some point, she lost sight of the reason why. The promotion was simply validation. She didn’t even like this job that much or some days, at all. It’s not in her field. It’s not what she actually wants to do with her life.
So it begs the question, why did she throw herself into her work like that?
It wasn’t until she met her Blue this week that she started to really question that. And it’s become a revelation.
Earlier today, for the first time in twenty-six years, she slacked off and did some online shopping. Her Burmese fluffball, Toffee, needs some new catnip toys so that’s what she spent a half-hour searching for.
It’s freeing.
Some might consider it spiteful and she will admit that it is a small way to get back at the company she’s dedicated years to but at the same time, she’s been over-productive for so long that she can afford to ease up a bit. Her projects are on target. Her inbox is free of any unread emails.
She deserves this.
She’s not sure if she completely believes it every time she reiterates this to herself but it’s getting better.
Her Blue makes it better.
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Blue
It’s been a week.
One brilliant, amazing, and painfully long week in which all he wanted to do was press his mouth to hers and tangle his fingers into her golden blonde hair, pulling her lithe, petite body into his own.
However, he hasn’t crossed that line with her. The more he tries not to think about it, the more his brain hyper focuses on it. Especially today.
She’s wearing gold again — it’s probably one of his favorite colors on her though she looks nice in anything she has on.
Her delicate bow-shaped lips call out to him every time she nibbles on her lower lip when she’s thinking. The plump, pink flesh trapped between her teeth is hypnotizing. It escapes for a moment before she sucks it back into her mouth.
He doesn’t even notice he’s gripping the bench with deathly force until she interrupts his thoughts.
“Wow, I didn’t realize you had such strong feelings about breakfast cereals.”
Her sweet voice brings him back to the present.
“What?” he asks, still disjointed.
“I didn’t think that Cinnamon Toast Crunch was that controversial of a top pick but I guess I was wrong,” she says with a furrow of her brow.
It’s the cutest thing. He wants to reach out and smooth his thumb over her cheek, cupping her face gently.
Clearing his throat, he takes a long sip of his now cold coffee to stall. Right, they were talking about their favorite breakfast cereals. “That’s a good choice,” he finally manages to say. “But there are no marshmallows in that and sugary marshmallows are key for an ideal breakfast cereal.”
“Says the adult,” she sasses.
“One of the best parts of being an adult means that I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
She starts to talk about something else and he knows he should be paying attention to her but his body seems to move on its own accord. Lifting one hand, he cups her cheek gently. Instantly, she sucks in an audible breath through her teeth.
She opens her mouth to ask him something, no doubt about what exactly he’s doing right now. But before she can get a single word out, he interrupts her, his bottled up feelings finally spilling over.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks hoarsely, rubbing his thumb across the apple of her cheek. The pad of his finger rough against her smooth skin.
“W-What?” she manages to stutter out, clearly not expecting the question.
Leaning closer, he speaks softly again, his hot breath ghosting across her face. “Just one kiss.”
It comes out like a hope — some delicate dream that he knows he doesn’t deserve but wants anyway. She’s not pulling away from his touch and he takes that as a good sign. Maybe she’s just in shock. But he can’t be the only one that’s feeling this connection between them. He knows he’s not making this up.
His thumb comes down to her lower lip and he runs his finger across the plump flesh. It’s so soft — softer than he expected. He would give up his entire world and livelihood to be given the privilege of caressing that lip with his mouth.
That perfect pink temptation.
In a trance, she moves closer, their mouths inches apart and he knows he’s about to experience heaven.
The sound of a blaring alarm jolts them both apart like electricity zinging through his veins. The almost kiss and moment’s lost, becoming wisps of nothingness and all he wants to do is reverse time and go back to it again. All he needs is just another second.
She fiddles with her phone, stopping the alarm, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and a hint of desire.
“Sorry about that. Stupid meeting that I can’t miss,” she murmurs, her words a jumbled mess.
Then she stands up, her back unnaturally straight. She shifts her weight between her feet several times as if uncomfortable. Biting her lower lip again, she looks down at him guilty. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replies, pasting a large, fake smile on his face.
Well, he definitely messed that one up. Did he scare her off? God, why is he such an idiot? Why couldn’t he have just been content with what they had — this quirky, wonderful friendship? Why did he need to push for more?
He berates himself over and over again, so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even notice when a shadow falls over him and the bench.
“Hi.”
Gold. Bright, dazzling gold fills his vision as he looks up. Large swaths of sunlight stream all around her, surrounding and enveloping her so it looks like she’s glowing. She’s so beautiful and radiant that it’s almost painful to look directly at her.
“I need to do this one thing before I go,” she tells him.
And then her lips are on his. It’s like a culmination of everything he’s been wanting and desiring this week, exceeding anything he had imagined when he let himself give into the fantasy of her mouth and her very being.
There’s no hesitation.
His hand wraps around her luscious, silky locks, pulling her warm body further into his as he dives into the kiss. Sweeping his tongue across the seam of her lips, he pushes in, groaning in satisfaction when she opens up for him. He tilts her face upwards, giving him more access as he kisses her deeper. She’s pressed up so close against him that he’s sure she can feel every hard line and protruding ridge.
Her arms loop around his neck, her fingers massaging the back of his head as she falls further and further into the kiss, completely consumed by the sensations.
They’re tangled up in one another and neither wants to break away.
It's intense. Headying. Raw.
She softens the kiss, trailing her lips across his jaw before she finally pulls away. Her smile is so alluring and he feels himself drift further into her hypnotic abyss.
“I really need to go,” she whispers though she makes no effort to move away and disentangle herself from him.
“Okay,” he hums in agreement.
Getting onto her tip-toes, she places one last gentle kiss on his lips before breaking away, practically skipping towards the door.
He watches her with a happy grin lingering on his face, completely in a daze.
“Oh, by the way!” she calls out, turning towards him. “My name is Betty.”
Betty. Bewitching, breathtaking Betty — his Gold.
“I’m Jughead.”
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