Chapter Text
To be honest, it would have happened sooner or later. In the old days, she and Archie had come over to his place all the time—hung out in the treehouse, mostly, and chattered to each other and sometimes to him while he worked on one of his excuses to be antisocial. Now he and Archie weren’t fighting anymore, so Betty was talking to him, and Betty and Archie weren’t fighting anymore, so he had no choice but to talk to Betty: and, therefore, the question of “home” was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid.
Thankfully, Betty was far too polite to ask straight out whether she could come over so long as he didn’t offer it up himself—that is, most of the time. There were a few exceptions:
- Betty’s mother, being even more of a public menace than usual;
- Archie, being an oblivious idiot who didn’t know what he had;
- More recently, Veronica being busy;
- No homework left for Betty to lose herself in;
- Cheryl.
Today, the stars aligned…against Jughead. Naturally.
As it turned out, when an unsuspecting Jughead asked how Betty was doing, Alice Cooper had been berating her daughter for spending time with Archie the day before and she didn’t want to go home, but she didn’t want to stay at Pops’ because Cheryl had just arrived and was looking particularly venomous, and Archie was “…complicated” (read: an oblivious idiot who didn’t know what he had), and Veronica was busy, and Betty, of course, had NO HOMEWORK, and so she didn’t mean to intrude, but could she crash at his place for a bit—just until everything calmed down?
Damn it.
“Juggy?”
Juggy. The nickname he should have quashed long ago, but somehow didn’t—damning evidence of the sad, undeniable fact that he had never been able to say no to Betty Cooper.
“Well…uh…” he struggled to think of an excuse. “My home’s being…remodeled.”
“Really?”
“Yes. They’re putting a new…roof…on it.”
“Oh.” Betty seemed slightly taken aback. “But—can I come over?”
If Jughead could have a superpower, it would be the ability to sink into the floor at opportune moments like this one. He could feel a dull flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Well…” he said again. The tension grew with ever passing moment, and this was exactly why he avoided people, damn it.
Betty interrupted him before he could think of a way to let her down gently. “That’s okay, Juggy, it’s fine. Sorry, um. Forget I asked,” she told him with pasted-on brightness, shouldering her bag, and Jughead knew that face. He backtracked immediately.
“No—Betts. It’s not you. It’s just—“
“Just what?” She looked really confused now, and Jughead couldn't blame her.
He had to tell her. There was literally no other option at this point. He just had to do it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, he thought, and grimaced.
“I…” But like a Band-Aid, the words stuck. In his mind’s eye, he could already see pity written on her face.
“Jughead…what’s wrong with your house?” His full name. Time to fess up now. Jughead stared at his empty plate. He needed to memorize every detail before The End.
“I don’t have one,” he muttered to it.
Betty froze. Jughead kept his eyes fixed on the plate. He didn’t want to see the expression he knew was on her face.
“How long?” she whispered—more of a hiss, actually; she’d gotten it from Veronica. The Lodge Special, Archie liked to call it, but Jughead thought of it as more of the ‘you’re-going-to-tell-me-the-truth-right-now-or-so-help-me-I-will-stuff-you-in-a-dumpster-and-leave-you-to-rot’ voice.
“Not long," Jughead assured her. "A few weeks—“ Betty’s eyes widened in shock. “—at most,” he added hastily. “I’ve been camping out in Central Park, which, by the way, is surprisingly comfortable—“
“Juggy!”
“What?” he retorted defensively. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Betty rolled her eyes in a surprisingly adept, if unintentional, imitation of him. “Of course it wasn’t—Jugs, what happened?”
Jugs. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It was going to be okay.
“Dad lost his job,” he admitted, feeling distinctly humiliated. “I stayed at the drive-in at first, until—“
Betty sighed, exasperated. “Jughead, that’s not a house!”
“It is if you put a bed in it!”
Betty stared incredulously at him for a few moments, before her face fell. She bit her lip. “Stay with me?" she offered, with unexpected softness.
Jughead groaned inwardly and slid farther down his seat. This was exactly what he had been afraid of. “Your mom wouldn’t like it,” he warned.
Betty shrugged easily. “You’re not Archie, or Ronnie. She’d probably be thrilled.”
“Oh, yeah, homeless kid staying with her daughter, she’d probably be jumping for joy." When Betty’s expression didn’t falter, he added, “Besides, I’m Archie’s friend, she knows that.”
“You fought.”
“We made up.”
“Mom doesn’t have to know that.”
Jughead glared and slid another few inches, choosing to ignore the fact that Betty Cooper had just suggested that he, Jughead Jones III, lie to her mother, Alice Cooper, aka terrorist in disguise. “I value my independence.”
“Independence my ass,” Betty snapped. “There’s a murderer in Riverdale, and you’re sleeping in Central Park.”
“I have a tent,” he felt the need to clarify.
Betty scoffed. “Seriously, Juggy?”
Jughead scowled.
“You can have my burger on Fridays,” she offered earnestly. “Say what you will about my mom, but she’s a great cook.”
Damn her, she knew his weaknesses all too well.
“…Fine.”