riverdale fanfiction

He looks at Archie and Veronica, and Kevin and whoever he’s dating at the moment, and Cheryl and Toni, and wonders why the hell he can’t feel like that about someone. 

It’s not just the looks of loving, he’s got that. Treating someone like they’re the best thing in the world, he can do it. But the passion he sees in Archie when Veronica comes wearing a deep V neck or a slim outfit, the way his cheeks heat up? Or when Toni bites Cheryl’s lower lip and Cheryl lets out a moan she thinks no one notices? 

Those are the things that make him ... confused. Objectively, when he dated Betty, he could tell she looks sexy, or hot. But it didn’t change anything about how he feels towards her. 

He sees all those people just wanting to be on top of each other and he doesn’t feel it. 

At first, he wants to talk to Betty about it. But then he remembers their breakup, and how sometimes when they’d be making out, deep down, he’d feel there’s something he’s missing. 

He can’t go to her unless he understands himself first. 

So he goes to Kevin instead. 

“How did you know you were gay?”

Kevin laughs. “Wow, blunt approach. Okay. Um. I was just never into girls. Why? Are you gay?”

“No,” Jughead says. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, I’m listening.”

They’re at Kevin’s place – it’s Jughead’s first time being here. They’re sitting on the floor because Kevin has a damn comfortable carpet and neither of really know what to do. This is the first time of them being alone like this. 

Jughead plays with the hem of his sleeves. “I just ... I don’t really know how to say it.”

“Give it a go. I haven’t got the whole day.”

“I get crushes, and I like girls – I loved Betty, still do. It’s just that I think I connect to them more emotionally than physically. I don’t mind kisses, they’re good and sweet and cute but I don’t ever really want something more. Like – I mean, you’ve seen Archie and Veronica, you know what I’m talking about.”

“When they’re trying to eat each other’s faces? Yeah, can never unsee it,” Kevin says. “So you just don’t like making out and being extremely physical.”

“It’s not just that. I see the way Archie looks at Veronica when she’s wearing something tight. I never feel that way.”

“Are you trying to say you don’t desire someone? Don’t feel lust?”

“If that’s what it is, then no. I don’t think I do.”

Kevin lets out a ‘hm’. He stares at Jughead like he’s trying to figure him out just by looking at him, and Jughead, for once, doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think it works, though, but if it does, then great.

He just wants to feel right again. 

“You’ve researched all of this already.” It’s not a question.

Kevin knows him. 

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I think I’m asexual,” Jughead says.

This is the first time he says it. It doesn’t feel as liberating as he thinks it would.

“So? If you’re asexual, what’s the problem?”

“That is the problem,” Jughead says. “Me being asexual is the problem. It’s ... it’s —”

“Wrong?” offers Kevin.

“Yes! It feels wrong. Like someone forgot to make me whole, or something, like they forgot that part.”

This time, when Kevin takes a deep breath, he doesn’t have even a little bit of humour in his expression. This is how Jughead realises that he’s either said something very wrong, or very right.

He has a feeling it’s the former.

“Jughead,” Kevin says, “do you think being gay is wrong?”

“Of course not. Why would I think that?”

“Because essentially, that’s the same problem. Look, once upon a time they thought homosexuality is an illness. Homosexuality is, basically, wanting to love and have sex with a person. And gays experience exactly the same feeling as straight people.”

“I don’t get why you’re telling me this.”

“Just listen. If I can look at a man and feel lust and desire and you think it’s normal, then why wouldn’t you be normal if you don’t feel that? And besides, maybe you just need to find someone you’ll want to have sex with. You can’t know.”

“That’s like saying you might want to be with a girl.”

“Well, who knows? I say I’m gay because I’ve never felt anything romantically or sexually for a girl, but maybe I meet someone and I feel something for her. That won’t mean I don’t like boys anymore. Just that I like this particular girl.”

“I’m still not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“Asexuality isn’t a fault, okay? I’ve had a long time to accept myself as I am. With society as it is, it’s not easy. But honestly, Jughead, the most important thing is that you don’t need to label yourself asexual if you’re not sure that’s what you are. If your partner loves you, you can explain to them how you feel and it likely won’t matter.”

“Likely,” echoes Jughead.

Kevin gives him a sad smile. “We can’t always get the full package.”

For the rest of the day, Kevin’s words are an echo in his mind. He remembers the conversation time and time again, every time trusting it more. 

“It’s not easy accepting yourself when you’re not what the society wants and expects you to be,” Kevin told him, “but they’re not the ones living your life.”

Betty, Veronica, and Kevin are sitting with the two on a lounge couch in one of Veronica’s clubs, a little out of Riverdale. It’s nearing midnight, no one is drinking non-alcoholic drinks and their fake IDs actually worked. 

“It’s because we all look older,” notes Kevin. “Happens all the time.”

“I still look like I’m fifteen,” Jughead says.

“You don’t. I don’t think any of these guys would be eyeing you like that if they thought you were any younger than twenty-one.”

Everybody turns around and just as Kevin said, there’s a group of guys looking in their general direction, but one of them winks at Jughead. He’s tall, with dark hair and a delinquent smile.

“Hm. That one’s more your type, Kev, don’t you think?”

“They’re all my type,” Kevin says. 

Archie puts an arm around Jughead’s shoulder, pulling him closer – but he doesn’t stop looking at the boys. 

“Archie,” Jughead says. 

“Yeah?”

“What are you looking at?”

Archie finally looks at him and before his face breaks into a devilish smirk, Jughead thinks he saw something violent and primal in his eyes. “Jealous, Juggie?”

“Not really. No one can measure up to me, you know.”

They both laugh and Archie pulls him closer, then into a kiss. It’s more lustful than most of their kisses are, and he’s definitely going for more tongue than usual. 

Jughead doesn’t mind. Or at least, the alcohol in him doesn’t.

The next time it happens is when Jughead’s visiting Archie’s on his way from school, about two weeks later. He’s been working on an article with Jason Blossom, who decided the newspaper would look good on his college applications, even though he already got a football scholarship. 

Jughead thought it was good that he’s thinking about that. Archie thought it was fishy. 

“Why does he want to become a writer, all of a sudden?” he asks, sitting on his bed. Jughead’s lying between his legs and Archie’s playing with his hair, beanie somewhere in the mess of the room. “He’s never shown any interest in writing, he’s got a scholarship and whatever he does now, it won’t do much for his application.”

“Colleges today look for more than just brains or brawns,” Jughead says. “You’ve got to have both. And as many extracurriculars as possible. You could learn from him.”

“Are you saying I’m not smart enough?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Archie. You can’t just—”

“You think he’s better with me, just because he fakes wanting to be a writer? I could do that, too.”

“Even if he fakes it, what’s so bad about it? He’s actually pretty good at articles.”

“Then why are you helping him so much?” Archie asks. “You’re with him almost every week, staying late.”

At this, Jughead turns around and faces him. “Are you implying I’m cheating on you?”

Archie falls silent. Whatever he’s thinking, Jughead can’t decipher. 

He looks away. “No. I think he likes you.”

“And?” laughs Jughead. “Arch, I’m with you. For a reason. He can like me all he wants, but I love you. And that’s not going to change just because someone else might like me.”

When Archie looks at him, Jughead sees the return of something primal he saw that night in the club. It disappears as soon as he puts his hands on Archie’s cheeks and kisses him softly. 

“Something so stupid can’t change what we have.”

He isn’t wrong. That’s not what changes it. 

With two months of the junior year left, things are getting difficult. Jughead spends more time with Kevin and some of his friends because they take the classes he’s struggling in, and none of his current friends can help him with it. 

That’s all it is. But no matter how many times he explains it to Archie, he always insinuates he’s cheating. 

It isn’t the first fight they have. It’s Jughead who decides it’s the last.

“I’m done,” he says. “I’ve had enough. You treat me like I’m your trophy, meant to be in a glass cupboard so you can show me off.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You’re being stupid,” Jughead fires back. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing. Whenever there’s someone even looking at me, you feel the need to show everyone I’m yours.”

“That’s cause you are!”

“No!” Jughead breaks something. It might’ve been a cardboard box, or a glass, or a window – he doesn’t know and doesn’t care. “I’m not yours, that’s the problem. I’m my own person. You act like I’m your possession, like you own me. And I’m done.”

There’s silence.

Then, “Jughead.”

It’s a plea.

“No.”

Jughead turns his back to it. To Archie, to their relationship, says he’s done one more time. Archie just stands there. Hangs, like someone’s cut his lifeline.

Jughead doesn’t look back.

After that, he barely hears from Archie. They see each other at school and months go by, but their friendship group falls apart and now it’s Betty and Kevin and Jughead, and Archie’s off playing catch with Reggie and the rest of the footballers.

They are done. Just like that. Two years erased with the snap of a finger. A kick into a cardboard box, an argument too many.

When he talks to Betty about it, some weeks after it happened, he says, “I feel like I haven’t been breathing all this time. But I can, now that he’s gone. I’m back to being Jughead, not Archie’s boyfriend.”

Betty listens to him. She hugs him, she’s there for him when he needs her.

Being without Archie hurts. But as Betty says, “Being with him hurt even more.”

They don’t trust each other. They can’t. Everything bothers them, everything is wrong and askew and nothing is as it was when they were just teenagers who fell in love in midst of chaos.

Now there’s no chaos, nothing to keep them investigating together, and their lives seem to keep them away from one another. If not physically, then emotionally. It’s like they fell out of sync at some point, and there’s no going back.

It hurts. But he hurls insults at her friends, accuses her of ignoring him and pushing him out of his life and that hurts even worse.

She fires back. She can’t help herself.

From there, it only gets worse.

He punches the wall. She breaks a glass. They don’t physically assault each other, but their words cut deeper than anything physical could.

Betty cries. Jughead doesn’t, but he answers to her emotions with heightened, blind rage and stammering and neither of them stop, even though they know they should.

She is the one who storms out, wearing nothing but a thin sweater in the middle of December.

He doesn’t go after her.

In that moment, Betty feels like this is something they can’t repair.

She walks around for a while, adrenaline from the fight keeping the cold at bay. Eventually, she stumbles across a small bar at the edge of town, where she’s only been a few times when she wanted to get drunk.

“Vodka,” she says and sits at the bar.

The bartender eyes her and decides she really needs one. “Life’s bit you?”

Hoarse laugh comes from her. “You have no idea.”

“Here.” He places two shots of vodka in front of her. “For people who look as shitty as you, one’s always on the house.”

“Thanks.”

She downs the one she ordered. It burns, but not enough. She downs the other one. Then orders another one.

It’s not long until the bartender asks her if she knows anyone here, someone who could get her to a safe place. She’s not completely drunk and both of them know it, but if she drinks any more it’ll be too much.

She says no. The bartender raises his voice and asks if anyone here knows here, and for a moment, no one says anything.

Then Betty feels a tap on her shoulder.

“Betty Cooper. It’s been a while.”

Black, tall and handsome. Chuck Clayton is standing in front of her in person, the great football star he is. He’s playing for some big league, she heard, but she gives not enough shit about football to know which team.

He’s smiling at her, pulls her into a hug.

“Chuck,” she says. The disbelief in her voice is muffled by the alcohol.

“Jesus, Betty. What happened?”

“Oh, it’s a long story. I can tell you if I get more shots.”

Chuck and the bartender exchange a significant look and before she knows it, Chuck’s got an arm around her shoulders, sitting on the stool next to her.

“Hey,” he says, “I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You are, but you need to drink water and you’ll be okay soon.”

“I want to get more drunk, Chuck.” Betty looks at him, at last, and she’s surprised to see actual concern in his eyes. That’s why she resists the instinct to move his hand away. “Look, I’ve had a really shitty day and I need this.”

“You need to talk to someone, not drink yourself to death,” he counters. “Have you talked to Veronica? Archie? Jughead?”

The mention of her boyfriend’s name stings. “I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Okay, fair enough. But you need to stop drinking.”

“Why?”

“You’ll do things you’ll regret in the morning.”

Betty snorts. “I’m already doing them.”

Chuck sighs and gives her a long look, deciding what to do next. She thinks he’s right, she should stop drinking, but she still thinks of Jughead and the alcohol, so far, hasn’t helped very much in that department. 

His words hurt. You go behind my back and hang out with Trev, and blame me when I do the same. He didn’t get the point. It wasn’t because he did it. It was because he did it to spite her. 

And that’s what hurt the most. 

Chuck pays her bill, thanking the bartender. “Let me take you home, Betty. You’ll feel better about whatever this is in the morning.”

“I can’t go home.”

“Where do I take you, then? Your Mom’s place?”

“No,” she says. “Can I stay at your place?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Knowing she has somewhere to stay without having to go home and face Jughead while her emotions are still on a high feels better than she’d admit. Chuck’s car is modern and comfortable and he gives her his jacket while they wait for the heating to turn on. 

“Why were you at the bar?” she asks.

He takes some time answering. “I was with some friends.”

It’s not a lie. But it means he left his friends to take care of her. It doesn’t seem like a Chuck Clayton thing to do.

When they arrive to his place, all Betty can think is that it’s more modest than she expected. She asks for him to let her sleep on his couch, but he insist on her taking his bed, especially as the bathroom is connected to his bedroom and she’ll probably need to vomit. 

She hates how nice he’s being to her. 

When she takes a shower, she dresses into some of his clean clothes that somewhat fit her, putting her own, alcohol-stained, into the washing machine. She’ll get it in the morning.

Her phone died some time ago and when he puts it on the charger, she finds no new texts or missed calls. She wonders if Jughead is worried by now, or if he’s decided to not care at all.

Chuck comes to check up on her. 

“You doing fine?” he asks, leaning against the door frame. 

“Better,” she says. “Still a bit drunk.”

“Are you drinking water?”

As an answer, she points to a massive glass filled with water on his night stand. He laughs at that. 

“Good, then.” He lingers for a moment, looking like he’s about to say something else, but decides against it. “Have a nice sleep, Betty.”

“You too, Chuck. Hey,” she adds, when he starts turning around, “thanks for everything.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I just... Can you stay here, for a while? I want to talk to you. I don’t want to go to sleep just yet.”

“Sure.”

He sits on the bed next to her. “What do you want to talk about?”

At first, Betty is searching for words. Then she spills out how she’s confused with everything that’s happening in her life right now, how she feels sorry for not giving him a second chance when they were older and more mature, and how thankful she is that he she has him tonight. 

And he looks at her and says, “I messed up with you once, Betty. Then I realized you were better than that and decided I need to be there for you as much as I can, if I want.”

“But I never gave you a second chance.”

“You did,” he says, “today.”

And he kisses her. It’s not passionate; it’s cautious, exploratory. And she realizes she isn’t drunk anymore and what is happening is entirely of her own volition. She thinks of Jughead and his bitterness, and Chuck’s soft and worried eyes, of him making sure she’s feeling okay and Jughead not even texting her to check up on her. 

And she kisses him back. And her kiss is everything but cautious. 

He asks her if this is what she want and she kisses him even more. It’s not long until her fingers are tugging on the hem of his shirt, taking it over his head. His do the same to her shirt. 

He feels nothing like Jughead. He kisses nothing like Jughead. He’s more fiery, filled with lust and desire of a kind Jughead never had. There’s no romance or longing or soft touches just to show admiration. 

Betty should be ashamed. But Chuck is here and Jughead chose not to be so when she doesn’t stop kissing him, her boyfriend is eventually lost in the animal instinct. 

They fall asleep naked, tangled beneath the sheets of Chuck’s bed. Whatever worries Betty might have in the morning, they are reserved for the morning. 

Betty, standing at her locker and talking to Veronica, hears someone walk up to them. She turns around and sees a familiar face that she doesn’t really recognize, but still gives him a smile. 

“Hi, Betty.”

“Hi,” she says, because she doesn’t remember his name. 

He smiles like he knows that. “Would you like to chat over milkshakes sometime soon, say, this Friday?”

“Oh,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. “I’m not sure.”

“C’mon, give me a second chance.” At this point, he’s walking backwards, away from them. “You got my phone number, so text me what you decided!”

And with that, he’s gone, and she’s left with an amused Veronica and a hell of a lot of embarrassment. 

“That’s Trev Brown,” Veronica reminds her. “You went on a date with him two years ago because he had information about Jason Blossom.”

“Oh,” Betty says. 

Few days later, she texts him it’s a yes. He picks her up on Friday at 6 and instead of Pop’s, they go bowling and then he takes her to see East of Eden. Part of Betty wonders if it’s an accident. Another part of her is certain he knows how much she likes James Dean. 

By the point they actually get to Pop’s, Trev is as much of a mystery as she isn’t anymore. 

She managed to learn he’s Valerie’s brother and a big supporter of the Pussycats, that he went back to playing football in freshman year when all the drama with the playbook was history and that he knows their first date wasn’t actually a date, but an interrogation of sorts. 

Betty feels ashamed. He buys her a strawberry milkshake and she feels even worse. 

“How does it not bother you?” she asks, twirling the straw around her index finger. She can’t even look at him. “I mean, you knew what I was doing.”

“I did. It didn’t bother me, because I still got to hang out with you and meet you,” he says. When she looks up at him, he’s smiling. “Look, you’re a town hero, whether people know it or not. You solved Jason’s murder. You got the Black Hood. And on top of that, all that drama with your friends and your boyfriend... I knew I didn’t fit in with your lifestyle. Now that everything’s calmed down, though? I feel like I might have a shot.”

Betty looks away.

“Do I? Do I have a shot?”

She thinks about it. “Yeah, you do.”

“Great to hear. You can look at me now, you know.” She does. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Tell me something about yourself.”

“That’s what you want to hear?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Of course,” Betty says. 

She decides to give him a chance. For her, it means learning what he’s like, his passions and hardships, and that’s exactly what he gives her. He makes her laugh a lot throughout the night and she enjoys his company a lot more than she thinks she would. 

He offers to walk her home. Betty is the one to take a detour and take him to a small park, not far away from where he lives. 

“Huh,” he says. “Never thought I’d be surprised today.”

They sit on a bench, right in front of the playground. It’s late so the park is empty, and it’s just them in the middle of a small forest and the moon. 

“You’ve never been here before?”

“No. It’s nice, though.”

“It is.” Betty smiles and relaxes into the wooden bench, feeling the heat of his body right at her shoulder. “I used to come here all the time when I was little.”

“With Archie?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’d be alone, forced to play with other kids.”

Trev laughs. “I can’t imagine you not wanting to be friends with someone.”

“Oh, I was a horrible child. I didn’t like almost anyone and I wanted everything for myself.” She looks at him and finds him looking at her with a playful, interested smile, and he nudges her to go on. “I mean, it was nothing serious. I had Archie and I thought that was enough.”

“And now you’re trying to befriend every single person in town.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a chuckle. 

They sit in silence for a few moments. She hears some squirrels around them, maybe a stray cat, and some people talking far from them. 

Now that they’ve sat down, Betty starts feeling the October night cold. She shivers, barely noticeably – but Trev notices. 

“C’mere,” he says.

He puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, shielding her from the cold breeze. It’s a little uncomfortable and she wiggles a little until she feels alright, resulting in both of them laughing. 

“This is nice,” he says.

She agrees.

“Can I kiss you?”

She thinks about it. 

She agrees to come as soon as she’s finished with her homework. They end the call and he watches her wave at him and go to her desk, out of his sight. That’s when he plops down on his bed, thinking about the way he said her name. 

It was soft, in the way morning rays wake him by painting his room a soft orange. But they tell him to wake up, to start his day, to do something – just the way his saying her name was meant to make her come over. 

Not an order; a plea. 

Her name rolls off his tongue differently every time he tries it, but he can’t replicate the one time he thinks it mattered. Maybe it was because he was seeing her on the other side, knowing that she needs him the way he needed her when he and Veronica broke up. 

It’s not a band-aid to help heal the wound. It’s not bitter alcohol burning in it and cauterizing it. It’s not stitches that help keeping him together. 

For him, Betty is the soft medicine that comes around the wound, helping the skin heal itself on his own. She pushes him forward and helps him heal himself without depending on someone else. 

She’s soft smiles and warm eyes, soft touches and warm words. 

That’s how it felt to say her name – only this time, he was her medicine.

He doesn’t know if she noticed.

When she finally comes, half an hour later, she says it was mutual. She’s not heartbroken, but it was a long relationship and she still loves Jughead – it’s just not working out anymore. 

She looks like she just needs to let it out of her system, so that’s what Archie lets her do. She’s lying on his bed, pouring her heart out as the sun begins to fall, and he’s sitting on his chair and watching her, listening intently. 

He watches her lips move and her tongue lick them when they start drying out. He watches her hair spread across his sheets and the curves of her body sinking into the mattress. He is amazed by how natural the sight is – as if he’s seen it a thousand times. 

He thinks about touching her. Not sexually, not for one moment; touching her lips, wondering if they’re as soft as they look. Running a hand through his hair and placing butterfly kisses on the side of her neck. Trailing down her nose with the tip of his finger and the kissing it. 

He thinks about having her. 

When she looks at him, eyes lighter than they were before and a smile creeping in the corners of her lips, Archie realizes he wants to keep her safe. And happy. And he’ll do whatever it takes to achieve that; hurt whoever hurts her. 

“Thanks, Archie.”

He doesn’t notice it, but she says his name in the same way.

He spends the next month knowing nothing is the same. He doesn’t know if he wants to be with her or aches for her constant presence in his life, soft and harmless and like medicine for an open wound. 

Except there’s no wound this time. Or maybe, he’s been one as a whole this entire time. 

Betty comes over because he’s waiting to hear from the music academy down in New York. She’s already heard from NYU and she’s accepted, and Archie thinks the universe is trying to tell them something.

He doesn’t voice it out loud, of course. He keeps the thought buried deep in his heart, fluttering at the tip of his tongue when he says her name. 

Part of him is worried because this could launch his music career. He doesn’t care much about football, not anymore, but music has still remained his number one priority. That, and Betty. 

So when he calls her and she realizes the state he’s in, she comes over only seconds later. He welcomes her lying on his bed with face buried in a pillow, wallowing in anxiety and self pity. 

Betty sits next to him. Places a hand on his back, rubbing it softly. 

He can’t see her, but he knows she’s smiling. 

“Arch,” she says. “Look at me.”

He doesn’t. He can’t. “No.”

“Archie.”

She says it the way he said it a month ago. Softly and carelessly, caressing the vowels like they’re made of satin. 

He turns to face her, props himself up against the wall, and looks at her. 

“Talk to me,” she says.

He does. He tells her everything about how worried he is and she listens, without saying a word. She’s holding his hand, he notices in the middle of his monologue, but neither pay attention to that. 

When he comes to the part of the possibility of not being afford the Academy, Betty sits next to him and curls into his chest. He stumbles on his words—just for a short breath—and puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. 

No amount of close will be close enough when they’ve got the emotional barrier between them. 

So he breaks it. He stops talking and looks at her. 

For all his life, he thought of Betty as someone who’s going to be by his side until one of them dies. He pictured her at his wedding, their kids playing together, double dates when they’re middle-aged and watching their kids go to college, drinking themselves to sleep because they’re old now. 

There has never been a possibility of Archie’s future without Betty in it. 

Somehow, he never really considered that she might be the one he’s getting married to and that double dates aren’t double. That they don’t drink when their kid goes to college, instead they drive him to where he’s staying and reminisce of old times, when that was them. 

That’s the future he’s considering now. And with her body pressed into his, with no lust or desire except a form of longing he can’t put in words, he thinks that’s the only future that ever felt real. 

So he kisses her. Softly, carefully, like he’s saying her name for the first time. 

She kisses him back. 

“Betty,” he says, his voice dripping with emotion, the adoration he holds for her. 

She touches his lips with her finger, parting them slightly before she kisses him again and it’s what Archie thinks kissing an angel would be like. 

He’s working on an article he and Jughead have been assigned for English class and realizes he’s stuck. 

As in, can’t put a single word out. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to be writing about. 

It rings, but Jughead doesn’t answer. He tries two more times, then gives up. 

“Shit,” he says. 

He hates homework. 

Out of habit, he glances at his window – right into Betty’s room. When he’s feeling like shit, or scared, or anything remotely negative, he looks at her window and knows that there’s a person who is not only his best friend, but someone who brings something positive out of any situation.

He doesn’t notice anything at first. 

But he does a double take. 

And sees Betty, kissing someone wearing a grey beanie. Someone in dark clothing. Someone who looks a hell of a lot like Jughead. 

Archie goes back to homework. Half an hour later he gets a call from Jughead, but he ignores it. 

He doesn’t know how to feel. 

As soon as Betty leaves the room with Jughead, to go work on the Blue and Gold, Archie releases a loud breath. 

“Guys.” 

“And girls,” says Veronica.

Archie shoots her a look that’s supposed to mean he’s not looking for word games right now, and she shoots him back one that means she doesn’t care. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

In a chair on his right, Kevin grins. “You’re gay.”

“No, I’m not gay, Kevin!”

“He’s definitely not gay,” Veronica agrees. 

“Thanks.” He takes a deep breath, then looks around. They are alone in the lounge room, but he can never be too sure. “Can you come a bit closer?”

Veronica sits down on the two-seat couch he’s occupying. Kevin drags his chair closer, making a lot more sound than he should. Archie shoots him a look that’s supposed to be criticizing what he’s doing, but Kevin just smiles like a puppy. 

No one can be mad at Kevin. 

So, Archie just says it. 

“Betty and Jughead are a thing.”

Kevin gasps. Veronica lets out a cough and clears her throat. Archie feels a thousand pounds lighter. 

“Now that’s a plot twist!” Kevin says. “How long has this been going on? Why do you know and we don’t?”

Archie looks at his lap. He’s playing with his fingers and his mind is buzzing, so he shouldn’t be as surprised when Veronica puts an arm around his shoulders, nudging him to speak. 

“I saw them, two days ago.”

“Saw them what?”

“Kissing, Kevin!” 

“Look, guys,” says Veronica, “I’m sure they’ll tell us. I’m also sure there’s a good reason why they’re not telling us. Maybe even they don’t know what’s going on between them.”

For a few seconds, everyone is silent. 

Then, Archie says, “You’re not surprised.”

Nobody says anything for a moment. Archie thinks it’s the accusing tone of his voice, but doesn’t feel sorry. 

Then, Kevin says, “No, not really. Maybe a little bit.”

“Betty’s unpredictable,” agrees Veronica. “And so is Jughead. And they’re both good people.”

“He’s not someone I’d picture her being with, but now that you say it, it makes sense.”

“They kind of complete one another.”

“Yeah,” says Kevin, turning to Archie, “like you two never could. Because you’re too different. And they’re...”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Archie says. 

Veronica nods. Kevin does the same.

When they leave and he’s left alone with his thoughts, he feels guilt for reacting like that. Jughead and Betty are his best friends – of course he’s going to be protective over them. Maybe, just like Kevin said, he never considered Jughead as an appropriate boyfriend for Betty, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t one. 

Maybe it feels like this because he thinks they should’ve told them. Maybe it’s because in the back of his mind, he expects Betty to still like him. Maybe it’s because Jughead not telling him this feels a little like betrayal. 

He’s just overreacting.

On the way home after football practice, when he glances at Betty’s window and sees her waving at him, he decides that his being supportive is what both she and Jughead deserve.