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Not every relationship is built to last. Jughead knows it. The ebb and flow, the circle of life, to everything there is a season, or whatever. People grow, people change, people leave. Sometimes they even come back. Sometimes there’s a best friend you lose somewhere along the way, and find them later only to realize they’ve fucked their music teacher. Or is that been statutorily raped? Whichever one it is, it’s fucked up. But it’s not like Archie’s got the sole rights to the world of fucked up relationships, is it? Not by a long shot.
“Hello, Forsythe,” Jason Blossom says one night at Pop’s.
“It’s true what people say,” Jughead says, closing his computer and pushing his empty milkshake glass away. “There are no secrets anymore thanks to the internet.”
But it turns out Jason has a lot of secrets, really.
The Blossoms are agents of Satan, clearly, and Cheryl is definitely the evil twin, but that doesn’t mean that Jason is the good one. Jason is just slightly less evil in comparison? Which still leaves him plenty of room to reach boss-level evil without ever stepping on his sister’s toes. But he’s got this charisma or something, softer than Cheryl’s, less obviously venomous somehow, and Jughead follows him into the parking lot.
“Call me Forsythe again,” Jughead says, hunched over on the hood of Jason’s car while he lights his joint, “and I’ll punch you in the balls.”
***
Jason Blossom oozes sex.
Oozes. That’s a gross word. But so is sex, right? Jughead is pretty sure he’s ace, but like, how does he know for sure? And it’s not like he doesn’t jerk off or stuff. He just… it’s a function, right? It’s a bodily function just like taking a piss. Jughead just doesn’t get all that extraneous stuff.
Maybe he’s aro, not ace?
He’s still figuring stuff out, and it’s not like there’s anyone he can talk to about this. And it feels good?
(There’s a question mark after every statement in Jughead’s mind when it comes to sex. When it comes to Jason. When those two things become indistinguishable.)
It feels good?
Doesn’t it?
It makes his heart beat faster, he knows that much.
“Did your sister teach you how to suck dick like this?” Jughead asks, because he’s an asshole. No question mark needed. His abdominals are tensing like he’s doing crunches, and Jason Blossom has his mouth wrapped around his dick, and Jughead doesn’t know what he’s doing, how this happened. He doesn’t like to feel out of his depth. There are a lot of things Jughead doesn’t like. He doesn’t know if blowjobs are one of those things or not. This fucking close to coming, and he still doesn’t know.
This close, and then he’s tumbling right over the edge, his fingers tightening in Jason’s red hair, and he feels sweaty and gross. And hungry. He wants a burger.
Jason spits Jughead’s cum on the ground.
They smoke another joint and don’t talk about what happened.
***
Jughead lies awake and thinks about Jason Blossom, because it makes no sense. Jason’s rich. It’s not like he wanted to suck Jughead’s dick just to get some pot. And there are plenty of gay kids at school. Kevin’s cute, right? He says he is often enough, and nobody contradicts him. And there’s Moose too, if Jason’s looking for something that’ll stay in the closet. It makes no sense.
Maybe it’s part of some evil plan? Cheryl and Jason are evil. They’re like the rich kids from Cruel Intentions, complete with all the fucking and drug use. And Jughead doesn’t fit that aesthetic, okay? He flies under the radar of people like the Blossom twins. Jughead is barely average on a good day. On an average day, Jughead is invisible. He likes it that way. He likes to observe, unobserved.
High school is like a massive anthropological experiment and Jughead is like a scientist. Jughead’s meant to be keeping his distance from his subjects, right? He’s not supposed to be Jane Goodalling it up and picking lice off the gorillas.
Except somehow he keeps following Jason Blossom.
Keeps doing things.
“I hate my parents,” Jason whispers to him one night, sweat-slick skin sliding against Jughead’s, breath hot against his ear.
“You’re such a fucking cliché,” Jughead whispers back. “Poor little rich boy.”
It will feel good soon, won’t it? All this stuff? Either it will feel good, or Jughead will stop doing it?
“Fuck, you’re an asshole,” Jason says, and laughs like it delights him. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Think you’re such an outsider, the only person who can see through all the bullshit?”
Jughead tenses at that.
Jason tugs his hair. “You’re just as much of a cliché as I am.” Then, later, he says, “God, it’s like you’ve never even touched a dick before. Freak.”
“Have you ever fucked your sister?” Jughead asks him, and Jason rolls his eyes. “I’ll bet she’s pegged you though, right?”
“I much prefer getting fucked by older guys,” Jason says, and Jughead doesn’t know if he’s joking or not. “I like men I can call Daddy.”
Gross.
“So does Cheryl,” Jason says.
“Gross,” Jughead says.
There are so many secrets in the end, spilled out in the back of Jason’s car, in the woods by the river, in the darkest corner of the parking lot at Pop’s behind the dumpster. Secrets or bullshit, Jughead can’t actually tell.
“I love my sister,” Jason says. “I’d die for her.”
“Your sister’s the antichrist.”
“What does that make me?” Jason asks.
Jughead’s still trying to figure that out.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Jason asks him one night, fingers digging into his hips.
“No.”
“Can I fuck you?”
Jughead lights a joint. “Whatever.”
***
It hurts, at least to start with. It’s gross. Messy. Afterward, Jughead goes home and sits in the shower and thinks that he’s done with sex. He knows now. Maybe Jason’s just really bad at it, or maybe Jughead is, but there’s nothing he gets from sex that he can’t get from his own hand.
It’s just a bodily function, right? Nobody ever wrote a sonnet about needing to take a shit, though, and here Jughead is, trying to write his novels, trying to understand the human condition while a part of him feels he’s been shut out of so much of it. But Jughead can’t make himself feel something that just isn’t there, so it’s time he stopped trying to fit into someone else’s narrative, isn’t it? Isn’t it time he wrote his own?
***
Not every relationship is built to last.
Jason vanishes into the river. Cheryl was with him when it happened.
I’d die for her.
Back at school, Jughead watches Cheryl Blossom closely and wonders why Jason said that. It’s the sort of thing people just say, he supposes, but what if it’s more than that? What if it wasn’t just a random hypothetical, a way to impress upon someone else the measure of his love and loyalty? What if Jason was answering a specific question Cheryl had asked?
There are too many question marks in Jughead’s mind now.
Relationships change. People grow and move on. Redheaded boys with pale skin and pretty mouths sink under the surface of the water like Lizzie Siddal as Ophelia, and Jughead doesn’t know what it means.
He only knows that Archie isn’t the only one keeping secrets about who he was fucking over the summer.
He falls back into his friendship with Archie, and that friendship now includes Betty and Veronica.
“Jughead Jones the third?” Veronica asks.
Archie laughs. “His real name is—”
Hello, Forsythe.
“His real name is Forsythe,” Archie tells Veronica with a smile.
“Nobody calls me that,” Jughead says, and feels an ache in his chest. He’s been carrying it around for weeks now.
***
“You’re breaking up with me?” Jason asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, just let me give you back your class ring and your letterman jacket,” Jughead says with a laugh, and notices a fraction of a second too late that Jason isn’t laughing too.
But they were nothing, weren’t they?
Just two assholes who barely tolerated one another.
Just someone to get high with.
Just bodies rubbing off against one another.
“Forsythe, I—”
Jughead shoves him. “Don’t call me that.”
“Jughead!” Jason’s eyes widen. “You’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t suck.”
What?
“We’re not friends, Jason,” Jughead tells him. His throat aches. “We’re just guys who sometimes fuck.”
“Right,” Jason says, and nods sharply. He stares at some point over Jughead’s shoulder. “Right. Whatever.”
“Right,” Jughead echoes, and then Jason’s walking away.
It’s the last time Jughead sees him.
It hurts.
No question mark.
It just hurts.