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Sometimes Jughead hates Pop’s. Not because of the burgers, which have never been better, or Pops himself, who should probably be canonized already, but because it’s the one place everyone in Riverdale seems to naturally gravitate towards. Nosy neighbors, people he goes to school with he’d rather avoid, it just gets too much sometimes. Pop’s is great at night, when the town’s asleep or hungover, but until then Jughead makes do with what he’s got, which isn’t a lot.
“I spit in it,” a voice says, dropping a mug onto the table. Jughead jolts, both from the unexpected voice and the loud band that pulls him from his thoughts. On instinct he pulls his laptop closed and eyes the owner of the voice. Jughead’s sure he’s never seen him, her really, before. As far as he knew, and by “he” Jughead means Kevin’s constant ravings when he, Archie, Betty, and Kevin would get together on the rare occasion, Riverdale’s only gay bar, Innuendo, had a total of zero drag queens.
“Isn’t the whole point of spitting in someone’s drink the fact they don’t know someone spit in it.” Jughead asks, pushing the mug away. Whatever’s in it is a bubblegum pink color, the rim dusted with pink sugar and topped with whip cream and a cherry. Through the liquid, Jughead can make out the distinct impression of a scoop of ice cream.
“You’re underage and it’s free booze that doesn’t taste like horseshit, you take what I give you.”
“How do you know I’m underage?” Jughead asks, his mind wandering to the fake ID he kept hidden behind his real one.
“I have eyes,” she says. “Plus, you evolve from emo hipster to pretentious hipster once you hit twenty-one.”
Jughead stares at the pink concoction, then back to the queen. “I’m not gonna drink your spit.”
The queen shrugs and rolls her eyes before reaching out to grab the mug. “Your loss.” Her dark mauve lips wrap around the rim and she tilts her head back letting the booze pour down her throat.
“Ice cream, cotton candy, and vodka,” she says, catching a stray drop of alcohol off her lip ring with her tongue. “Is there any better combination?”
Jughead looks at her, the harsh makeup that reshapes her face, the blond wigs piled on top of her head, the multiple pairs of eyelashes that surround her eyes.
“So what’s your acronym, kid?” the queen asked. Jughead raises an eyebrow.
“You know. LGBTQIA. Are you LGBTQI or A?”
“How do you know I’m in your acronym?” Jughead challenges, a protective fire flaring in his chest, balling his fists.
“You’re here alone,” she says. “Straight guys can’t walk in here alone without letting everyone know they aren’t gay and are just looking for a drink.”
“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Jughead says, changing the subject. “Yet, I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Just bought the place a couple weeks ago,” the queen says. “It was very hush hush. Something tells me the previous owners were doing something they shouldn’t have. My money’s on meth, but I haven’t ruled out human trafficking or counterfeiting.”
“Well then let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood,” Jughead replies reaching for the headphones around his neck, hoping the gesture and his sarcastic remark would send the queen a message. Leave me alone.
The queen smiles and complies with the silent request. She leaves the drink at the table.
Jughead doesn’t touch it.
When Jughead walks into Innuendo two days later, there is an unfamiliar man at the bar. He looks up and the corner of his lips quirk into a small smile, the light catching the ring in his lip. He throws the bar rag over his shoulder and leans forward on his forearms.
“Welcome back, kid.” The man says. “What can I get you?”
“You gonna spit in it again?” Jughead asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’m good.”
Jughead secludes himself in a corner of the bar, bulky headphones on over his ears to cover the sounds of some random pop song blaring from the speakers, and resigns himself to writing. He doesn’t look up from the laptop until the New Guy is kicking everyone out to close the bar for the night.
The next time Jughead walks into Innuendo, his throws his fake on the bar. The New Guy, back in full drag, looks from him to the fake then back to him before picking the ID up and examining it.
“You know,” the queen says. “Legally I have to confiscate this.”
“I don’t really care.” Jughead snaps, his words holding enough venom to surprise even him. The queen raises her eyebrow before handing the fake back to Jughead.
“What can I getcha?”
“Whatever can get me drunk fast.”
The queen nods to herself before turning her back on Jughead. The teenager’s head pounds as a Kesha song swells around him. The queen places a glass full of ice in front of him, a can of Sprite, and a bottle of what looks like bubble gum submerged in pink liquid. The queen unscrews the bottle, pours the bubble gum liquid into the glass until it’s half full before opening the Sprite and filling the rest of the glass. She then spits into the glass with a surprising amount of accuracy and pushes it towards Jughead.
“Enjoy.” the queen says. Wordlessly, Jughead grabs the glass and takes a gracious swallow. The minutes tick by, the queen moving to serve other patrons while Jughead nurses his drink occasionally scowling to himself.
“So,” the queen asks. “What’s wrong kid?”
“What are you, a therapist?” Jughead asks.
“Technically yes, I am a licensed therapist.” The queen says. “But if you don’t wanna talk you don’t have too.”
“Good, cause I don’t.” Jughead says, taking another sip. The queen shrugs before disappearing beneath the bar, only to return with a bar rag. Again, the minutes tick by without either of them saying anything.
“My best friend ditched me to hang out with someone else.”
“Sucks,” the queen says, without looking up from the spot she’s scrubbing. “Tell Lady Marmalade the whole story.”
“Not much to tell,” Jughead says. “We made plans to hang out at Pop’s today, he owes me like a shit ton of burgers, and he texts saying he can’t make it. Gotta hang with Betty, he says.”
“And Betty is…” the queen, Lady Marmalade, trails off.
“A girl who likes him.”
“And he likes her?” Jughead coughs out a bitter laugh
“He likes Veronica and maybe he likes Betty,” Jughead says. “Who knows what he wants.”
“And what do you want?” Lady Marmalade asks, turning towards him. Jughead rolls his eyes and drinks, letting the bubble gum and Sprite mixture slide down his throat.
“Is this the part where I open up to my kind and worldly bartender and spill all my emotional trauma?”
“Please, kid.” The queen says. “You’re what? Sixteen? Teenagers have more emotional trauma and stubbornness then one glass of bubble gum infused vodka can fix. I just wanted to know if this kid’s worth downing my spit over.”
“Probably not,” Jughead admits. “But, we haven’t necessarily been on the friendliest of terms. I thought we were getting better.”
“And he just leaves me for Betty,” Jughead thinks.
“Friendships are hard,” Lady Marmalade says leaning forward on her forearms, the fake plastic jewels of her bracelets clicking together. “And teenagers are stupid. If he cares about you as much as you do him, he’ll come around. Probably crawling on all fours begging for forgiveness.”
The idea isn’t totally unpleasant for Jughead. “What makes you think I care about him?”
“You were willing to down my spit to forget about him,” Lady Marmalade says, her eyes sparkling. “You defiantly care.”
Jughead doesn’t say anything after that. He pays for his drink and leaves without another word.
Lady Marmalade’s prediction comes true and Archie does eventually come back to Jughead, apologetic and desperate. He listens to Archie and decides that yeah, Archie can be stupid, but he’s still his best friend. So Jughead smiles and lets Archie pay for the next four burgers he eats in succession, much to Archie’s amazement.
His next trip to Innuendo finds Lady Marmalade on stage, lip syncing to a sexy Britney Spears song. She leaps and twirls and kicks while patrons hand her crumpled ones. Occasionally, the queen will lean over and place a kiss on their cheeks and, once, she full on slides down another like he was a stripper pole while Britney sings about leather and lace. Jughead turns away from that and sits at what’s becoming his usual table.
When the show is over, Lady Marmalade slides into the seat across from Jughead’s and smiles.
“So how’d it go with your bestie?” She asks. “Did you kiss and make up?”
“We made up,” Jughead says, his face burning at the image of him and Archie. “Not much kissing though.”
“Do you wish there was?” There’s no malice in her voice, or judgment, or anticipation even. It’s just a flat question.
“Me and Archie?” Jughead asks. “The guys got enough heterosexuality for the both of us.”
“If he offers any to you, don’t take it,” Lady Marmalade jokes. “The straights are a weird bunch, with even weirder rituals. Even after years of study, I still can’t quite figure them out.”
Jughead doesn’t like where this is going. His mind flashes back to her acronym question and he changes the subject again, unwilling to go down that road with someone he barely knows.
“Nice show,” Jughead says. “Britney was a nice choice.”
“Please,” The Lady Marmalade says. “You probably hate Britney, and all pop music, because it’s not ‘real’ or ‘deep’ enough for you.”
Jughead shrugs. It’s true, Jughead does think that. The Lady Marmalade has him pinned like a moth to a cork board.
“So what if I do?”
“Let me see your music.” Lady Marmalade says, holding out her hand. Her bright blue acrylic nails look like claws.
“Sorry, I don’t hand my phone over to total strangers.”
“I’m your bartender,” the queen says. “It’s like being your priest without the fear of pedophilia constantly looming over your head.”
Jughead chuckles at the darkness of the joke, but doesn’t move to withdraw his phone.
“I’m not gonna look at your personal stuff, kid.” She says. “I doubt you have much on there anyways.” Jughead weighs his options. He could hand over his phone and what could she do? He knows he can out run her, especially since his doesn’t think she could run very far in those heels, and she doesn’t seem stupid enough to try and throw it or something like that. So hands his phone over. The queen awkwardly scrolls through his phone before turning the screen to face him.
“You have Welcome to the Black Parade on here,” the drag queen says, as if it’s some final point. “You don’t get to judge me when you have the Hamlet of Emo Songs on your phone.”
“I know you didn’t scroll through my phone to look for one song,” Jughead challenges, leveling his gaze at the queen.
“You can learn a lot about someone though their music,” Lady Marmalade says, holding out the phone to the teenager. “Yours is all sad indie and alt rock. My advice for you, try downloading some Katy Perry and Gaga. Maybe some Pink. Not everything is about sex with them and some up tempo pop will do you some good.”
“Sure,” Jughead says. Sarcasm dripping from every word. “I’ll get right on that.”
Lady Marmalade smiles.
It’s not until later, when he’s back in his booth at Pop’s does he wonder how she knew he wouldn’t want songs about sex.
Jughead pulls off his headphones so they rest around his neck and looks up at Betty. Her blonde hair is pulled into its usual ponytail and she’s wearing a fuzzy pink sweater. Her eyes wide for a moment before she smiles at him
“I didn’t think Katy Perry was your style.” She comments. Jughead’s heart leaps into his throat as Firework drifts up from his headphones.
“Well, I guess you’re wrong.” Jughead says, trying to shove down the embarrassment he feels. He likes the song; he’s not going to feel bad about that. If Betty of all people thinks less of him, then she can go to hell.
But, Betty doesn’t say anything. Instead, she sits down and dives headfirst into Blue & Gold business while Jughead occasionally nods along.
Jughead lies to himself about coming back to Innuendo. Sure, he doesn’t see a lot of people from school there, or any, and yeah it is a good place to get some writing done without having to worry about anyone interrupting him, but the reality is that he’s becoming…friendly with Lady Marmalade.
Sometimes they don’t even talk, just a douche nod to one another while she/he tends bar or lip syncs or Jughead’s too far gone along in his writing to talk. Sometimes the queen will leave a bottle of water on the table for him when he’s been here too long and hasn’t had anything to drink.
And Jughead wanted to know why.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jughead says. “But I need to ask.”
“Ask away, kid.” he says.
“Why are you letting me in here?”
For a moment, Jughead watches as Lady Marmalade’s shoulders tense and his grip on the bottle of Grenadine tightens. Tension and anticipation perfume the air and somewhere in the back of Jughead’s mind he realizes he either said something wrong or struck a nerve. The man sets the bottle on the counter before turning his full attention towards Jughead.
“This is a small town,” he says. “Small towns are poison to the queer community. They’re conservative and traditional to the point of suffocation. I haven’t been around very long, but I’ve been around the block enough times to see they damage it can do to someone, especially someone young. Gay guys who think they’re alone in the universe; lesbians who twist romantic and platonic love because the world doesn’t bother to teach or understand female sexuality; asexuals, pansexuals, demisexuals keeping themselves up at night wondering if they’re broken because they don’t understand why they don’ feel what everyone else feels. I don’t want anyone to feel like that, not while I’m here. And if I have to bend the rules to do that, then I will.”
Jughead nods, because he can’t do anything else. His limbs have gone numb and he can’t focus on anything around him. The world feels like it’s underwater.
“I’m Jughead,” the teenager finally says.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jughead,” he says.
After Lady Marmalade made her speech, Jughead finds himself talking with her. About school, his sort-of friendships with Archie and co., and the general gossip surrounding Jason Blossom’s murder. It’s a nice sort of talk, where Jughead doesn’t need to worry about worrying what they’ll think of. Where he doesn’t have to hide behind sardonic humor and a lazy smirk. In fact he finds himself relaxing.
There are nights where he stays at Innuendo until it closes. Usually, Lady Marmalade will kick him out last, letting him finish whatever sentence he’s on before gently telling him to get the fuck out of here. Other times, when she’s been doing a show or has been overwhelmed with too many people asking for cosmos, she throws Jughead a broom and makes him clean. Jughead doesn’t mind it, she usually hands him a twenty when they’re finished before she locks up for the night.
“Do you walk here?” Lady Marmalade asks once the bar is closed and they’re the only ones left in the parking lot. Jughead nods, reaching for the headphones around his neck.
“Wait,” she says, before unlocking her car. Briefly, Jughead’s heart gives an involuntary lurch as he remembers Archie. How he and Ms. Grundy started out innocent, before developing into something that made his stomach twist. His mouth goes dry and he finds himself taking a step back. The queen digs around in the glove compartment, spilling candy wrappers and napkins over the passenger seat, before pulling out a can.
Lady Marmalade turns and notice’s Jughead’s body language almost immediately. Tense and shifty, the teenager looks like he’s going to fight or flight at any moment. So, she holds up the can for him to see, unmoving from her spot. She makes a tossing motion and the teenager feels his chest relax as he opens his hands. It arches through the air and Jughead catches it easily.
“Pepper spray?” he says, raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t let your masculinity prevent you from being safe, asshole.” the queen teases. Jughead smiles and slips the can into the pocket of his hoodie.
Jughead was at the bar when Cheryl Blossom walks into Innuendo. He catches the fiery red of her hair out of the corner of her eye the moment before she’s at the bar. Her shorts are high waisted and end at her mid thigh. She’s wearing a shimmery gold top and her lips are a dark, almost black red. Cheryl smiles and slides over a fake.
“Can I have a Cherry Blowjob please?” she asks, her voice oozing what Jughead assumed she thought was sweetness. He tries to catch Lady Marmalade’s eyes, but he doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he looks at Cheryl’s fake for a moment before placing it on the counter with a smile.
“Coming right up.” He says before moving past Jughead towards the other end of the bar. Cheryl watches him go, which puts Jughead firmly in her line of sight.
“Well, what do we have here?” Cheryl asks. “What is Riverdale’s resident weirdo doing in its only gay bar? I could have sworn Betty was the only one in town with a gay best friend. What would Archie say about this?”
As much as Jughead hates to admit it, Cheryl has a way of getting under his skin. He balls his fists on his lap and tries to will himself not to cause a scene.
“Who knows,” Jughead says, turning to face her. “I’m sure he’s got other things to worry about then where I spend my time.”
“Trouble in paradise?” she asks, as if she’s actually interested. Jughead’s face burns and he wishes he could pull his beanie over his face and hide from her gaze.
“Here we are,” Lady Marmalade says, placing an empty shot glass in front of Cheryl. Jughead looks at him as he shakes a bottle of liqueur in his hand. The bartender unscrews the top and pours the liquid into the shot. Jughead isn’t an expert on booze, but he’s certain a Cherry Blowjob doesn’t look like that.
“What the hell is this?” Cheryl asks.
“This is Salmiakki Koskenkorva,” he says gesturing to the black liquid. “Or Koskenkorva Salmiakki. I don’t know. It’s a Finnish licorice liqueur that’s served shaken and chilled. It’s black and bitter like the forever night of Finland or your heart Ms. Cheryl Blossom.”
Cheryl’s face bounces between pale fear and red embarrassment as Lady Marmalade smiles before coughing up a thick loogie from the back of her throat and spitting into Cheryl drink.
“You can’t do this to me,” Cheryl says, her voice cold.
“Of course I can sweetie,” he says matching her cold glare. “You’re underage, so I’ll tell you what I tell all the underage kids who come in her with a fake. You can either drink what I give you, spit and all, and pay for the opportunity to do so, or you can take your fake and find somewhere else to get booze.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Cheryl threatens. The bartender rolls his eyes, grabs the shot glass, and downs it.
“Neither do you,” he says. “Now please, either get away from my bar and sit down somewhere or leave. And don’t forget to smile, you’re on tape.”
Lady Marmalade jerks his thumb over his shoulder and Jughead sees the tell-tale blinking red right pointing directly at Cheryl. Lady Marmalade smiles as Cheryl’s mouth opens and closes in some sort of fish impression before storming out.
“That was fun,” the bartender says to Jughead.
“It was fun to watch,” Jughead says smiling. “I didn’t think Cheryl Blossom could turn that shade of red. How did you clock her?” A side effect, Jughead realized soon afterwards, of hanging out in a gay bar was that you pick up the lingo, and fast.
“She did the same thing they did to Amy Adams in that movie Nocturnal Animals to age her up,” he said. “Put her in the wrong shade of lipstick. Plus she’s Cheryl Blossom, I’m new but I’m not stupid. Her brother was murdered and she thinks I wouldn’t recognize her from the constant press her family is getting?”
“Impressive,” Jughead says.
“What can I say,” the queen says. “I wasn’t recruited by the CIA for nothing.”
“Wait. What?”
“Relax, I didn’t take the job.”
Despite the nagging, journalistic voice in the back of his head, Jughead doesn’t comment.
“But, I have to ask,” Lady Marmalade says. “Is there any trouble in paradise?”
Jughead squirms. For all the friendly talks they’ve had, Jughead hasn’t brought up Archie since the ditching incident. But, Jughead thought, it’s not like they’ve gotten worse. Things have been better, but Jughead can’t stop thinking about those times when he and Archie are alone in Pop’s stealing each others fries and snickering at something or other. It’s those moments that make Jughead question what he knows about himself, that warmness that fills his chest he wasn’t sure he was suppose to feel.
“I don’t know” Jughead says his voice dropping. “I think something happening.”
“Like what?”
“I-I don’t know.” Jughead says. “I don’t know.”
Jughead is at Pop’s typing away at an article Betty assigned him, when Archie walks in. The redhead looks lost, scared even, trying to blend into the background. His letterman jacket is a dead giveaway, practically a neon sign that screamed underage, but that doesn’t stop the looks. He looked around; trying to find the source, but no one was looking at him. People chatted with one another, most barely glancing in Archie’s direction.
But, even seeing that didn’t stop it. Archie’s hot; he’d heard it enough from everyone that first day of school, but he’s never felt like this before. Like he was being leered at. Like he was meat ready for someone to devour.
He decided it was a bad idea to come here and was turning to leave when something hit him in the side of the face. His hand went up to the impact zone and his eyes feel to his feet. An olive.
Archie turns in the direction of the projectile and the bartender waves him over. Archie feels his insides twist, but he’s already moving in her direction. Her makeup is harsh, her lips and hair are huge and there were rhinestones glued in intricate patterns on her face.
“Sit,” she says, pointing at a stool. Archie did so.
“Um,” Archie says his tongue thick and his mouth dry. He shouldn’t have come here, this was a mistake. He could feel beads of sweat trail down the back of his neck.
“Relax,” the bartender says her voice soft. “Just take a deep breath and drink this.” She handed him a bottle of water, which Archie graciously took.
“Now, what brings you here?” she asks. “Boy or girl trouble?”
Archie sputters and chokes on his water, a fine spray of backwash catapulting out of his mouth and onto the bar and its tender. Wordlessly, she hands him a pile of napkins and begins scrubbing the bar with a rag.
“Wha-what?” he stutters.
“Why are you here, kid?” she says again. “You look absolutely terrified and there are only two reasons someone like you is terrified in a gay bar. You’re either scared someone is going to see you or you don’t know how to handle your feelings for someone. Normally I wouldn’t be so forward, but you also look like you’re going to explode.”
Archie swallows the lump in his throat and wipes his mouth with napkin. “Sorry. It’s, it’s just…”
“It’s okay,” she says. “Just close your eyes, take a deep breath and calm yourself.”
Archie does so, drawing in breaths through his nose and out through his mouth, letting his heart rate slow to a normal pace before opening his eyes. “Sorry, this is just kind of new to me.”
“No need to apologize,” she says. “I get it; first time in a place like this can be overwhelming. The first time I went into a gay bar, it was a fetish night and the first think I saw was a guy in a full sensory deprivation suit. Freaked me the fuck out.”
“I can believe that,” Archie said. “You don’t do stuff like that here, do you?
“Don’t show up on the 18th, is all I can say.” She said. “But, that’s not the point. Tell Lady Marmalade what’s on your mind.”
Archie shifts uncomfortably and opens his mouth, but is cut off by a man sliding into the seat next to him.
“Hey, beautiful.” He says with a small shy smile. It’s not overtly malicious, but Archie can’t help but see her in that smile. Shy, but calculating. So soft, so warm. The trail of her fingers, the heat encompassing him like some unnatural fire.
Lady Marmalade notices something in Archie’s posture that sends off alarm bells in her head. The guy doesn’t get another word out as Lady Marmalade splashes him with vodka. “Kid's underage, creep. Get out.” There’s no room for argument as the guy grumbles away.
Archie is shaking; white knuckling his water bottle like it’s a life line. Lady Marmalade’s stomach turns and she moves away from Archie so she’s diagonal from him. His back is towards the door and now that she not directly in front of him, he shouldn’t feel cornered. She lets him calm himself, before she starts talking.
“You know,” she starts. “That’s a problem in the queer community. Or, I guess any community really.”
“What is?” his voice his horse, and Lady Marmalade doesn’t want to say it, but she has to.
“Older someone finds younger someone. Younger someone is new, they don’t know much about the world or their identity and suddenly this older person comes in, spouting about the culture and their experience in it. They get friendly and then it gets into something more. It’s a disgusting cycle.”
Archie’s stomach gives a painful twist. The world is hot, too hot for this jacket, but he can’t bring himself to take it off in front of all these people watching him, leering at him. The teenager jerks as he feels something cold on his hand. He looks at the queen. A can of pepper spray and something that looks like a metal cat face. It’s bright pink and instead of eyes, there are two holes wide enough to fit his fingers through. The ears are pointed.
“You should leave kid,” she says, quietly. “Come back when you’re ready and not a second before. Be safe.”
Archie takes the spray and cat thing and doesn’t look back.
“How do you do that?” Jughead asks. Lady Marmalade raises an eyebrow as she crushes the maraschino cherry between her teeth.
“Look this fabulous?” she guesses. “I hate to break it to you, but this isn’t my natural face. I’ve had a little work done.”
“Really?” he asks sarcastically. “I couldn’t tell. But I was talking about the splits and the kicks and the dance moves.”
“I trained for the Olympics as a kid,” she says. “Didn’t qualify, but I try to at least keep some of the flexibility.
Jughead nods. “What’s it like up there?”
“Incredible,” she says. “I’m an attention whore and when I’m up there, everyone’s eyes are on me. I feel more powerful than I ever have before. Why do you ask?”
The teenager shrugs and turns away, unwilling to look the queen in the eye. “Do you wanna go up there and lip sync?”
“I don’t want to go up there in drag,” Jughead says quietly. “But…maybe?”
“Why?”
Jughead doesn’t move to say anything; instead he resigns himself to typing. His fingers fly over the keys, the quiet clicking of the keyboard lost in the loud beat of some RuPaul song.
“If you want to go up there, you can,” she says. “I’ll even help you with your routine; I was an amateur choreographer in my younger years.”
“Is there anything you weren’t in your younger years?” Jughead asks, raising his head to look at the queen through his bangs.
“Handsome,” she answers. “That didn’t kick in until, like, three years ago.”
Jughead bits his bottom lip before leveling his gaze with the queen. “I don’t want to do anything sexy,” he says finally.
“Your underage, I wouldn’t let you even if you did,” she says. “Besides sex is overrated. I’m too ace for that bullshit.”
The word, ace, nearly knocks him off the chair. Jughead tries to force his face to remain neutral, but his heart pounds against his rib cage. Countless nights of late night goggling and unpleasant masturbatory experience wash over him. His chest somehow feels tight and relieved at the same time.
“I,” Jughead’s words are quiet, almost lost to the music. “I am too.”
“You seem different,” Pops says. He’s been staring at Jughead since he walked in and Jughead wasn’t sure if he had something on his face or if Pop had fallen asleep with his eyes open.
“Really?” Jughead asks. “How so?”
“Just…” he trails off, searching for the right word. “Happier.”
Archie’s blushing. So is Jughead, but he couldn’t see that, and instead mentally curses himself out for forgetting he made plans with Archie, Betty, and Veronica to go see a movie. He awkwardly crosses his arms over his bare chest and raises an eyebrow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
He and Archie grew up together, so it’s not like this is the first time Archie’s seen him shirtless, but it was the first time he’s seen him shirtless since the Fourth of July weekend.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” Archie says, trying to look away, steal another glance, and back out the door all in one motion. He slams his back into the door and he gives a yelp as Jughead winces. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll be in the car.”
Archie practically bolts down the stairs, the memory of Jughead’s bare chest burned into his mind red like the blush that travels all the way down.
Jughead’s legs were cold. So were his arms, but he tries not to let it show. Lady Marmalade finishes applying a layer of eyeliner before stepping back to admire his work. Jughead didn’t need a lot of makeup, just some black around the eyes and shiner on his cheeks to catch the light, but it made all the difference.
“Remember,” the queen says. “It’s not so much as memorizing the steps as it is just feeling the music and having fun. Let go, swing your hips, break loose.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jughead says. “If you haven’t noticed I’m not the kind of person who breaks loose very often.”
“We’ll work on that, but first let’s see what I’m working with.” Jughead didn’t dance. He just didn’t. So naturally when it came time to do so, Jughead failed. He didn’t know how to move his arms, his body was tense, and he over thought ever move he made.
“Wow,” Lady Marmalade says. “That was actually awful. Just terrible.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jughead says. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
“Reel back the sarcasm, Jughead,” he says. “You’re bad, but not unteachable. You just gotta learn to let yourself go. Stop thinking and just go with it.”
“And how am I suppose to do that?” he asks. Lady Marmalade smiles, something almost sad.
“Be happy,” he says. “Be happy and have some fun.”
Jughead thought that sounded like bullshit, but nods in agreement like it wasn’t.
“Okay, okay” Jughead says. “But, just a thought, how about some advice that doesn’t sound like it belongs in a Disney Chanel original movie?”
Lady Marmalade flips him off.
Archie feels better about entering Innuendo with the others. He went back and forth, even going so far to make a pro and con list in his Algebra II notebook, before deciding not two seconds before Kevin pulled up that he wouldn’t let his first experience ruin his second. Betty and Veronica walk in first, arms linked together as they take the place in. Some loud pop song blares from the speakers and a rainbow of strobe lights illuminate the bar.
“This isn’t nearly as tragic as you made it out to be,” Veronica says.
“I know,” Kevin said, taking in the surroundings with almost a childlike awe. “Last time I was here, it was like one really seedy-murdery kind of places you see on HBO. Now it actually looks…passable.”
“Stop being a bitch,” Veronica says. “This place is a lot nicer then some of the gay bars I’ve been to in New York.”
“And how many would that be?” Kevin asks, his voice filling with intrigue. Veronica sends him a small smile, but says nothing.
“And now,” the queen on stage says, the same one Archie met when he first came here. His hand instinctively falls to his pocket, the outline of the cat on his key ring bulges through his jeans. “Ladies. Gentlemen. And everyone in between; we have a very special treat for ya’ll. Usually, I’m doing this solo, but tonight a friend and I will be performing a duet. Now be nice, this is his first ever performance and we’ve totally spent weeks working on it and didn’t just throw something together twenty minutes before the show started, like I normally do. Let’s give a warm, Innuendo welcome to the one, the only, Mr. Jughead Jones the Third.”
For a moment, Archie just didn’t register what she had just said. The words Jughead and Innuendo and performance didn’t fit naturally into anything he knew about his once best friend. Betty slaps his arm, her eyes wide with shock while Veronica barks out a laugh and falls into the nearest seat, ready to enjoy the show.
“No fucking way,” Kevin breathes as Jughead steps out from behind the curtain. It wasn’t anything flashy, a loose, sleeveless grey top with a red and black flannel knotted around his waist, a pair of too short running shorts hidden by said flannel, and some black boots. Archie’s mouth went dry as his eyes traced Jughead’s legs. Toned and dark, the matched his skin tone perfectly and Archie’s mind briefly shuffles through the possibilities on how Jughead could so perfectly match his bare thighs with the rest of his body. His favorite being European style sunbathing.
“Sit down and close your mouth,” Veronica says, yanking at his sleeve. “You look thirsty af.”
“Totally.” Kevin agrees. Archie does, followed quickly by Betty and Kevin as the first few notes of Katy Perry's Chained to the Rhythm began to play.
It was half way through the song when Jughead caught Archie’s eye. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he was there, his eyes practically zeroed in on his body the moment he stepped on stage, but this was first time he looked at him, at Archie. Until that point, he had been reserved; shy almost, mechanically going through the motions. In fact, Jughead was nervous, not that he’d ever admit to it.
But he couldn’t deny there was something about it. Something about being on a stage, lights blinding and music pulsing through the floor. It was intoxicating, mesmeric to the point of euphoria. It was beautiful.
And so was he.
Even through the stage lights, Jughead could see him. Archie Andrews. His best friend for ten years, then total stranger, then tentative friend. He brought up something in Jughead, an iron ball of anxiety and joy that sat heavy in the pit of his stomach. Archie made him smile. Archie made him laugh. Archie made him feel like he wasn’t broken, or damaged, or alone.
Archie made him feel loved.
It was like a switch, something flips inside him in that momentary gaze the two of them share and his skin buzzes with energy. He’s happy, almost too happy. He smiles, the corners of his lips stretching until his aches. But Jughead doesn’t care. He let’s go, throws caution to the wind and swings his hips, moves with the rhythm and death drops, just once, in perfect time with Lady Marmalade. The teenager is vaguely aware of the roar of the crowd, but he’s too far gone to hear it, lost in the joy and memory of Archie Andrews.
“What. The. Hell?” Betty asks, punctuating each word with a slap to the arm.
“First, ow.” Jughead says halfheartedly. “Secondly what are you guys doing here?”
“Oh, do not try to change the subject Jughead Jones,” Veronica says. “You will tell us everything right now.”
“Not much to tell,” Jughead shrugs and gestures them to follow him towards the bar. “I wanted to perform and I did.”
“It’s true,” Lady Marmalade says from behind the bar. “I was there and that was word for word what happened.” The queen leans forward onto the bar, resting her chin in her hand.
“Jughead,” she starts. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“Everyone, this is—” Jughead says, only to be cut off by Lady Marmalade herself.
“Lady Marmalade,” she says. “I’ll take a moment to let you bask in my absolutely glory.” A second passes before she speaks again. “Now let me see if I’m still any good at Guess Who?”
“Your obviously Kevin,” she says, pointing. Kevin raises and indignant eyebrow.
“Correct, but what gave it away?”
“You have the gay-face. Duh.” Lady Marmalade says. “And the pretty blonde is obviously Betty.”
“Yes,” Betty says, her face coloring.
“Aw, you're adorable,” the queen says. “That means you must be Veronica and I must say I am jealous of your resting bitch face. It’s fabulous.”
“Years of practice.”
“And that leaves Archie,” Lady Marmalade says, holding out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Jughead watches Archie hesitate for a second as something flashes behind his eyes, relief he thinks, before Archie takes the hand.
“So, I believe there’s a celebratory toast is in order,” Lady Marmalade says. “Just don’t tell your parents.”
“My dad’s the sheriff,”” Kevin says. “No way I’m telling him I spent my night in a gay bar.”
“You should bring him down sometime,” the queen says before disappearing beneath the bar. “I know my dad had a blast when I did.”
“You brought your dad to a gay bar?” Betty asks.
“Yeah,” Lady Marmalade says. “He wanted to see Cher perform live, but missed out on tickets. A gay bar was the next logical step.”
“Makes sense.” Veronica agrees. The bartender reappears and places five shots on the counter along with a can of whip cream, Grenadine, Rum Chata, and Tequila Rose. She layers Grenadine, Rum Chata, and Tequla Rose into each shot before looking up at the teens
“Jughead,” the queen says as she begins pouring Grenadine into each shot. “Why don’t you tell your friends my policy on underage drinking?”
“You drink what she gives you,” Jughead answers just as Lady Marmalade spits into each shot. “Spit and all. Or you don’t drink at all.”
The four wrinkle their noses, but as Lady Marmalade adds a layer of whip cream, they relax. Lady Marmalade pushes the shots forward, her painted eyebrow arched in a silent challenge. Jughead takes his without thought, followed by Veronica. Betty and Kevin share a look before reaching for the shot with Archie right behind them.
“To Jughead,” Lady Marmalade says. The four repeat the chant, with Jughead saying “To Me,” before they drink. It’s sweet, it burns, and they love it. Jughead loves it.
When Archie excuses himself, Jughead makes a move to follow, only for Lady Marmalade to latch onto his shoulder.
“Wait,” she says. Jughead watches as she produces a pen from who knows where and scribbles something onto a napkin. “Give Archie this for me.”
Jughead looks at the napkin. It’s an address, somewhere in Midvale, and a time. Below that is a phone number.
“It the number for a support group,” she says, before Jughead can even process what he’s holding. A wave of protectiveness washes over Jughead and he turns to make sure Betty, Veronica, and Kevin are out of ear shot. He looks at the queen, his face hard.
“For what?” he spits. Jughead knows he’s being harsh, but he also knows that Lady Marmalade knows something she shouldn’t. Something about Archie that he hasn’t told anyone. Not Betty. Not Veronica. Not his dad. No one expect him.
“Survivors of sexual assault and abuse,” she answers curtly. “I told you, kid. I’m a licensed therapist and I’ve seen a shit ton of fucked up things in my life. And that is unfortunately something I’ve seen too much of.”
“How do you know?” Jughead asks, his temper cooling.
“He came in here a while back,” she said. “I don’t know why, I thought girl or boy troubles, but he started twitching and acting all nervous. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, but it wasn’t my place to call him out on something like that. But he needs to talk to someone. He needs to know it’s not his fault.”
Jughead swallows the lump in his throat, but nods. Archie needs support, he needs people who care about him, who understand and can help him. So, he takes the napkin and follows Archie.
The air outside is perfect. It's not too hot, but it's not too cold either. To his right, a couple of guys smoke ignoring one another in favor of choking down warm nicotine. Jughead spots Kevin's car, and more importantly the redhead beside it, almost immediately. His skin glows against the blackness of the night and Jughead takes his sweet time committing every line to memory, despite the fact he's known Archie for years. The crunch of the gravel must have alerted him, because Archie pivots around, his fist clenching something in his pocket.
"Sorry," Jughead says. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"No, no," Archie says relaxing. "Not your fault. I've been on edge lately." The reason hangs between them, bulbous and black, but Jughead doesn't push. It's not the right time.
"You were great up there," Archie says. "A natural performer."
"Thanks," Jughead hopes it's dark enough outside to hide his blush. "It felt amazing. Even if it took a while to get use to the costume." Jughead extends his bare leg as an example and he knows that the darkness doesn't hide his blush, because he can see Archie's clear as day.
"You," he says, before tripping over his words and stuttering. Jughead laughs as Archie attempts to salvage whatever he tried to say, his blush deepening.
"Sorry," Archie says. "Sorry, I'm just...uh..." He trails off because he doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Jughead waits for a second, his mind difting to the napkin in his hand, and lets his eyes tell Archie everything he wants. And he gives Archie every chance to push him away, to laugh it off and say something, anything to end the moment between them.
He doesn't, but Jughead won't let history repeat himself. He wants Archie to know exactly what he wants and he wants, needs, Archie to understand that he can stop it. That he is in control of the situation.
"I like you, Archie." he says, his voice soft in the blackness, but strong. This is what he wants, but he doesn't need it. He needs Archie to talk to him, to understand. "But, more than that, I need you to be okay. I need you to tell me you're okay."
Archie's eyes widen and Jughead watches his shoulders tense for a moment. Jughead takes a step back, widening the gap between them even further. A look of panic flashes across Archie's face and he takes a step forward. "Wait." he says. Another step.
"I want to kiss you," Archie admits. "I want to kiss you and never stop."
"Me too," Jughead says. And they do. Both Archie and Jughead take a step forward and their lips meet. For a brief, fleeting moment, Jughead remembers every kiss from every movie he's ever seen. Sometimes there's fireworks, sometime's there's dramatic music swells around the two characters, and sometimes there's a downpour, soaking the two as they promise without words to be there for one another until they no longer can be. He remembers every description of every kiss he's ever read. The electric jolt that passes between two lover's lips, the fire that consumes them body and soul, and the overwhelming sense of rightness that settles into their bones and they melt into each other's embrace. Then it's gone, because this kiss, their first kiss, is nothing like those.
It's better.