Archive of Our Own

“No box mix?” J.D. shoots Veronica a skeptical glance as she triumphantly drops a heavy book onto the counter. 

“No box mix! Brownies are made better by hand.” She beams at him, flipping through the book.

“And you really think the two of us are capable of that?” He snorts, partly because he doesn’t believe that they are relatively capable at all, but also because the recipe book is covered in a thick layer of dust. It’s been too long since the Sawyers tried their hand at baking, which means that Veronica is going to be utterly clueless about most of its contents. 

She flaps a hand dismissively. 

“I’ve been making this recipe for years— I’d say it was a family recipe but my mom just got it off of a newspaper article.”

He ah s and frowns. 

“You didn’t tell me where your parents were this weekend.”

“Oh! They’re in Baltimore, sorting out some family event or whatever. Maybe it’s someone’s funeral, actually,” She pauses, hand on her chin. “Whatever. It’s probably not important enough to bring me.”

“And I figure you’re trying to wait them out, not telling them about your boyfriend?” 

She sighs.

“Um, only sort of. I’m not embarrassed of you — I swear — but my parents would kill me if they found out I was even a thought in a boy’s mind. They’re like that.” 

“Wait until they find out I’ve done more to you than just thinking of you—” He cackles, cut off by Veronica’s hands on his mouth and his hands holding her waist. He smirks, looking at her. “I’m just kidding, I wouldn’t dare. I’m kinda scared of your dad, to be honest.” 

“Good. For the meantime, let’s enjoy the fact they aren’t here.” She wraps her arms around his neck, smiling. 

“So we’re baking , of all of the things we could be doing without parental supervision?”
“Yep!” She smiles wide, breaking apart from him to flit around the kitchen, looking for mixing bowls. 

He exhales, looking dejected. But still, he grins and looks for her aprons. If he was going to be forced to bake, he was going to look fabulous doing it. 

“Where do you keep your aprons, Sawyer?” He hollers at her, elbows deep in a pantry cabinet.

“Do we need them?” She yells back at him from the fridge. 

“I won’t but you definitely will.” 

She scoffs and points to a tall cabinet on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Thank youuuuu, love youuuu,” He sing-songs. 

He finds a black apron for himself that reads “I don’t need recipes, I’m Italian.” He holds it up questioningly at Veronica, who puts her head in her hands and laughs. 

“I didn’t know you were Italian, Ronnie?” J.D. grins. 

She cocks her head to the side, inspecting it.

“Well, neither did I… I have no idea where that came from, oh my God,” She giggles. 

“Ok but, it fits me, so I’m wearing it. Oh look, here’s one for you,” He pulls out a dotted blue apron that has the words “Kiss the cook” embellished on it in tacky rhinestones. He looks at it for a second before chuckling, bemused. 

“Why do you have so many joke aprons?” He smiles, bewildered. 

“I don’t know, I think my dad has that sense of humour for birthday gifts and stuff like that— Nobody else finds it funny but him, and maybe you.” She smiles behind her hand at his confused expression. 

She takes the apron from him and ties it tight, revealing her figure. He looks down at the writing and raises an eyebrow at her. She blushes and drapes her arms around his core. He holds her face in his hands and smirks. 

“I have to kiss the cook, that’s what the prophecy foretold,” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss her. 

“Yes, yes, that is true…” She mumbles back, smiling. 

They kiss for a moment before the oven timer dings and the both of them jump.

“Holy shit!” Veronica trills. 

J.D. clutches his chest and breathes. “Oh my— whatthefuck?”

They look at each other and laugh loudly before returning to their original places, J.D. next to the sink and Veronica standing in front of the recipe book. 

“That was terrifying.” Veronica gasps, grinning. 

“I genuinely thought the oven exploded for a second…” He smiles at her, in disbelief. “Especially with your cooking skills—” 

“Alright, let’s make the brownies. I’m done with this slander, I am a very capable baker.” She shushes him, grabbing the bag of flour. “Make yourself useful, get the cup-liquid-flour-measuring thingies?” 

He smirks arrogantly, happy to be put to service. “Very experienced baker I see.” He says, digging into a drawer. He finds the measuring cups and passes them to her with a grin. She glares at him. 

“I knew what they were called, I just wanted to make sure you did. I can’t be working with a rookie.” She says, condescendingly. He sits there and takes it, enjoying her tone. 

“Ah, uh-huh… of course you did…” He says under his breath. His stomach grumbles and he reaches for the mega-pack of chocolate chips, but she swats his hand away. 

“Go order a pizza instead of snacking on the ingredients.” She snorts. 

“Right, that’s probably wise.” 

He walks into the hall for the Sawyers’ home phone and dials the local pizza place’s number. He stops in front of a picture of a six year-old Veronica. He smiles softly, noticing she hasn’t changed much since she was a kid. 

“Remember,” Veronica shouts from the kitchen as the phone rings. 

“No mushrooms and extra ham!” He yells back, hand on the receiver.

“No mushrooms and.. oh yeah! Make it a large please!” She smiles to herself in the kitchen. He knows her so well.

“Obviously, do we want any sauce?” He calls to her.

“Just BBQ! Make sure they remember, they always forget it!” 

He chuckles softly and lists out their order to the poor nineteen year-old taking the six p.m. Sunday shift. The kid sounds like he’s close to throwing himself into the pizza oven (understandably so).

J.D. saunters back into the kitchen. 

“They said they’d be here in fifteen minutes. I doubt it though.” 

“They’re always late, I’m betting it’s gonna take thirty.” She cackles. He cocks an eyebrow in response, moving closer to her.

“We’re betting now?”

She looks to the side, suddenly shy. 

“I have a couple bets I don’t think you’ll win…” He says in a low, husky voice, sending shivers up her spine. He holds the small of her back in his hands, kissing her neck. She squirms playfully under his grasp.

“J.D., I’m v— very busy. I don’t have time for… your games,” She mumbles. He laughs into her neck. He pulls back and looks at her face, now rose-pink. She grumbles, embarrassed, but he just smiles and kisses her again. 

“You’re very cute when you’re flustered.” 

“Shut up! You messed up my flow, I forgot where I am in the recipe now,” She pouts at him. He grins. 

“I guess I’ll just have to help you, then.” 

“I guess…” She moves to the side to allow him to take a look at the recipe book. 

“Let’s see, let’s see…” He scans the page with his finger. “Oh! Here we are. ‘Add salt and baking powder to flour and sugar’— Did you add sugar yet?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Mayhaps.” 

“This is going to be Hell for me, isn’t it?” He groans and she laughs. 

He drums the counter, quickly reading through the rest of the recipe. 

“Okay, pass me the baking powder. Please, Lord above, know which one is baking powder.” He prays. 

She holds up a blue cylinder which is unsurprisingly not baking powder. 

J.D. snorts and takes it from her. “I thought it would be difficult for you to tell the difference between powder and soda, but I very much did not think you would hold up salt .” 

“I’m trying my best!”

“And your best is good enough, darling.”

“Gee golly, thanks.” She glares at him while he kisses the top of her head. He looks at her and melts. 

“Let’s continue with the brownies, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She looks at him adoringly. She truly, fully feels loved by him. Sure, they’ve had some rough moments, but who hasn’t?

They, eventually, with lots of mistakes and mess truly everywhere, put the brownies into the oven. Veronica sits on the counter eating the excess mixture out of the bowl with a spoon while J.D. licks the spatula clean. There’s a sense of satisfaction in the air, a comfortable silence. They’re pleased with themselves, more than anything. J.D. is a better cook and baker than Veronica ever will be, but he loves being told what to do by her and her delusional belief she’s the next Betty Crocker, so he puts aside his pride and plays along. 

Soon enough, as they start the dishes (she washes, he dries), a knock on the door alerts them of the pizza’s presence. 

“I’ll get it!” J.D. jumps up from his seat at the kitchen island, grabbing a twenty from the counter. He was starving , and being in the kitchen with the smell of chocolate surrounding him did not make him feel any less hungry. 

He manoeuvres his way through the house to end up at the massive double doors. He opens them to see a seventeen year-old boy looking back at him. 

J.D. is immediately taken aback. The boy is in a red pizza delivery boy shirt, blue checkered Vans, baggy, beige khakis, and adorned with chains and jewellery. He even has a piercing where J.D. does. He has a dopey smirk and wide grey eyes with a mess of dirty blond hair in a managed birds’ nest under a Vans cap. He’s somewhat skinny, but he’s taller than J.D. and looks down on him by two or three inches. He has the bone structure of a Greek God. 

J.D. stares at him for a second longer than he probably should’ve, because the other boy gives him a cocky grin and looks him up and down. 

“Didn’t expect someone of your… y’know—” The boy waves his hand, motioning to J.D.’s outfit. “ That , to be living here.”

J.D. looks down at himself, cursing silently in his mind that, although he isn’t wearing that stupid apron anymore, he isn’t looking necessarily put-together. He’s got on a black and green flannel covered in flour, eggs, chocolate, really anything Veronica had chucked at him. They’re both wearing high-top Vans. The boy smiles. 

“Oh, I don’t live here. Can I have my pizza now?” He says, uncomfortable with how attractive this kid is to him. 

“I like you, you seem down to Earth.” The pizza boy says to him, chuckling, scrawling something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Call me.”

J.D. sits there, stunned, grasping the napkin for a millisecond before Veronica walks over to him. 

“J.D.? Is there an issue with the pizza?” She calls. She stops, almost shocked by the pizza boy. Her face goes slightly pink.

“Oh. Hello!” She squeaks. 

J.D. shakes his head quickly to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and swiftly thanks the pizza boy, shuts the door, and whisks Veronica out of her equally confusing trance into the kitchen.

They sit in silence for a second. Veronica’s jaw is on the floor, and J.D. has a smattering of pink on his cheeks. 

“You were flirting with the pizza boy!” She says, more surprised than angry.

“He gave me his number, I didn’t have a chance to reject him!” He pleads. 

She laughs loudly, and frankly, crazily, laughing until she chokes. 

“You looked so goofy, I gotta tell you. You were enchanted by him!” She laughs again, harder, after seeing his face when he realises what just happened. 

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” He says, pacing the kitchen. He laughs to himself, bewildered from what he was feeling.

“I don’t blame you, babe, he was really hot.” She comforts him, rubbing his back as he slumps next to her at the counter. 

“Life is one big practical joke on me specifically.” He groans. 

Veronica goes quiet for a second. “You know, you’re allowed to find other guys attractive?” 

“Who says?” He mumbles. 

“I mean, I do— but so does society, we’re getting more and more progressive every day. Hell, it’s 1989! Nobody cares anymore.” She rubs circles on his back. 

“And what, prove Kurt and Ram right?” He snorts. 

“Fuck them! Even Heather Chandler doesn’t care, she’s made it very clear to me that she doesn’t care what I do as long as I ‘restrain myself from hitting on her’.” She rolls her eyes at the end of her sentence, J.D. chuckling into the counter. 

It was a while back when Veronica had told him that she liked girls too, and to both of their surprise, J.D. didn’t bat an eye. He was completely cool with it. He supported her because he loves her, and she’s very grateful. But since then, he’s been thinking about himself, his life, and his identity. He loves Veronica so much, and nobody he checks out on the street will change that. Sure, he finds guys just as attractive as girls, and sure, he’s kissed more boys than girls he played off as ways to just make his dad angry, but there’s a part of him who did it because he felt genuine attraction. He didn’t know how to ask Veronica about it, though. He wasn’t sure of how she’d take it.

“But you get what I’m saying, hopefully. I’ll love you no matter who you are.” She says quietly. 

“Thanks, Ronnie. Love you.” 

“Love you more.”

They’re sitting on the couch watching whatever rom-com is being played, cuddled next to each other eating their brownies. They taste delicious, even though J.D. is positive there are more egg shells in them than chocolate chips. Veronica is happy though, and that’s what matters.

Throughout the movie, J.D.’s mind (and eyes) have wandered to the male lead, but have strayed to the female lead as well. This was all so confusing for him, trying to pick just one to ogle at (it’s a rom-com, nobody is watching it for the plot). He feels like he’s playing Pong with the TV set, bouncing from one actor to the other actress. 

Veronica’s head is in his lap, looking intently at the screen. He strokes her hair and she hums, content. He wishes he was like her, so set on what she likes and doesn’t like. 

“Veronica?” He whispers.

“Mhm?” She says, softly.

“How did you know you uh… liked both?” He says, trailing off at the end. 

She props herself up to look at him, sitting in his lap. 

“It’s a long process, but it was mostly from watching TV. I never felt that I had to pick ‘just one’, and that it was okay for me to be attracted to girls too. I know most people around us aren’t very accepting, but it doesn’t matter, because there are some people who will accept you, like, strangely enough, the Heathers .” 

She smiles at him. 

“So it was just accepting your feelings?” He says, getting increasingly more worried.

“Pretty much. In middle school I had a really hard time with it, but it got easier the more I realised people just don’t care , like if they know you’re attracted to them and they’re attracted to you, it’s not up to anyone else to decide for you.”

“Redamancy…” He mumbles to himself. 

“What?” She cocks her head to the side. 

“Redamancy, the act of loving someone in return. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks as long as we love each other. That’s what love is, and it’s for everyone.”

She beams. 

“That’s the best way I can explain it. It’s okay to like both.” 

“Well then,” He says, holding her closer, tighter. “I think I like both.”