i've been so lost for you

The aftermath of the party is not something Jughead would like to relive. He wakes up on the floor, right next to Veronica's queen bed, head pounding. His vision is tainted with black spots, something which Veronica has informed him is normal for intense hangovers. 

He had never gotten drunk before. He was always content with holding Veronica and Cheryl’s hair back while they took turns emptying their stomachs into the nearest toilet after a long night of partying. He never felt the need to join them. But the thought of Betty and Sweet Pea together had plagued his mind last night, and the solo cups were right there . 

Groaning, he sits up from the carpet of Veronica’s bedroom. He can faintly make out his friends’ whispering in the living room, along with a familiar male voice he can’t place. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he reaches for the leg of Veronica’s bedpost, using it to lift himself up. He wanders to the bathroom, washing his face and swallowing a freakish amount of mouthwash. Walking back out to the bedroom, he notices the vague smell of overpowering aftershave wafting in from the living room. 

Archie. 

He quickly walks to the door separating Veronica’s bedroom from the living room, before catching sight of himself in her full-length mirror. 

Jesus , he looks horrible. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual, his hair untamed.

“...Fangs,” Archie says as he walks into the living room. “Does Jughead know?”

“Know what?” Jughead asks, announcing his presence. Veronica holds out a cup of coffee from Pop’s and a donut, sending him a soft smile. She’s sitting on the couch beside Cheryl, who appraises him with a smirk.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” she asks, amused.

He flips his middle finger up, turning away from her. Unfortunately, this means he’s now facing Archie, who is leaning casually on the kitchen counter. He doesn’t bother holding in his laugh, cackling at the sight of Jughead’s unkempt appearance.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greets happily. Really, Archie doesn’t have the right to be laughing at him; he’s been twice as drunk on many more occasions.

“Mmm, you too.” He takes a bite out of his donut. “Is this cinnamon?”

Veronica nods. “Yeah, Pop gave them to me, on the house.”

“That man is an angel. An angel ,” he says as he removes the lid off his coffee cup. He dips the end of his donut in before taking a bite out of it. He lets out an ill-mannered moan, and Archie whacks him on the back of his head. 

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Jughead asks while taking another bite out of his donut, sans coffee. 

“Wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” he replies. 

“I’m not,” Jughead says seriously. “I knew hangovers came with headaches, but this is too much.”

“They’re the worst,” Archie agrees. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Jughead raises an eyebrow questioning

“I’m talking about Betty…?” Archie prompts. 

“Betty? We’re fine. We’re cool. All good.” Jughead looks up at him suddenly. “Why? Did she say something?”

Archie barks out a laugh. “See this , this is exactly what I’m talking about. Reggie owes me 20 bucks -- you like her!”

“I do not,” Jughead argues feebly. 

“Right. But if you did, then I would tell you that she asked me to tell you to text her before I left the house this morning.”

Jughead winces, massaging his forehead with his hands. “I have no idea what you just said.” His headache hurts more and more by the moment. 

“She wants you to text her,” Archie simplifies. 

“Betty?”

“Yes, Betty. Geez, Jug, how much did you drink last night?”

“He barely drank,” Cheryl chimes in. “He’s just a lightweight.”

“My head hurts too much to talk to you, Cheryl. Could you shut up?”

She scoffs, turning back to Veronica. 

“I should get going,” Archie says. “I think Val is waiting for me at Pop’s.”

“Didn’t you two break up?” Veronica asks.

“Oh shit,” Archie says. “You’re right, we did. I meant Munroe.” He rushes out the door, grabbing his letterman jacket from the coat rack on his way out. 

“That boy is a mess.” Veronica laughs.

Cheryl nods sagely. “Someday he’ll get what’s coming to him.”

“He means well,” Jughead says. “At least, I think he does.”

“Enough about Archie,” Veronica dismisses, turning to him fully. “We need to talk about you, Jug. And the hot mess that was last night.”

Jughead groans. “Do we have to?”

“Yes! Why wasn’t I made aware that you were so into Betty?”

“I told you I liked her,” Jughead counters.

“Oh Jug, babe, you don’t just like her. That is some true love shit,” Cheryl says, inspecting her nails.

Jughead blushes. “I don’t- You don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Right,” Veronica says, rising from where she had moved onto Cheryl’s lap. “Of course not. What was I thinking- You? In love with Betty Cooper? Not in this world.”

“Exactly,” Jughead confirms, lying through his teeth. “Now that this conversation is over, can I please get back into bed?”

“We have school today,” Cheryl says. 

“What?” Jughead asks aghast. “It’s Monday?”

“Unfortunately.”

Betty isn’t at school. She wasn’t in first period English, according to Veronica, nor in Math or French. She didn’t show up to lunch, either; not that this was abnormal, but she usually grabbed a snack in the cafeteria before making her way to the Blue and Gold. She wasn’t there either.

“Should I call her?” Jughead asks, pacing the Blue and Gold floors. He hasn’t bothered trying to work on the paper today; he can’t get anything done without Betty anyways.

“Go for it,” Cheryl answers lazily, propping her feet up on Veronica’s lap. 

Jughead dragged them both along in his search for Betty. After scouring the whole school, they had ended at the newspaper office in hopes she had lost track of time going through papers. 

“Is that too desperate, though? I mean, after last night, I wouldn’t want me to call me.”

“So I see the Advil helped,” Veronica comments. 

He glares at her and pulls out his phone, nervously pressing the small buttons along the side. 

“What if she’s just avoiding me?” he voices his thoughts out loud. “I don’t fully remember last night but if it was as bad as you guys say it was, then I don’t blame her.”

“Oh, Jug.” Veronica stands up from her perch on one of the tables, letting Cheryl’s long legs drop to the floor. She walks to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Don’t go there.”

“I’m already there!” he exclaims exasperatedly, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m so far past there- there is like, a small speck in the distance!”

“Have you ever thought about joining the theatre?” 

“I’m serious! It’s already so unlikely that she could like me, but now I’ve just made a fool of myself.” Jughead deflates. “God, where is she?”

Veronica and Cheryl exchange a fleeting look, affirming both of their thoughts. “Why don’t we do something to take your mind off things?” Veronica asks. 

He perks his head up. “We’re in school?”

Cheryl shrugs. “We know all this already,” she says. “Let’s ditch.”

Jughead grins, throwing an arm around Veronica’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”

It’s early November during work hours, so Riverdale Farms isn’t too packed. Jughead cuts the ignition on his truck and hops out, coming around the sides to open the door for Veronica and Cheryl.

“Ugh, why on Earth did we come to a farm ?” Cheryl exclaims, picking her leg up and examining the bottom of her boot. “Couldn’t we have gone to a spa?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t have minded a spa,” Jughead muses. “I can feel a pimple about to flourish.”

“Maybe your skin would be better if you didn’t eat like you did,” Cheryl shoots back aggressively. She links her arm through his, looking over to Veronica who is texting speedily on her phone. “Babe, who are you texting?”

“No one,” Veronica says quickly, pocketing her phone. 

Jughead eyes her suspiciously but lets Veronica take his other arm. He leads them into the farm excitedly. 

Riverdale Farms has always been one of his favorite places in their small town. He used to come here all the time with Betty, before she disappeared on him. They would pick blueberries, strawberries, and raspberries while talking a mile a minute about anything and everything. This place holds some of his fondest childhood memories.

“What are we picking?” Cheryl asks, eyeing the rows and rows of tall vines and bushes. “Apples? I would love some Honeycrisps for Thornhill.”

Jughead nods. “I’m gonna grab some Granny Smith’s. I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

Cheryl raises an eyebrow, joining her fingers with Veronica’s. “Will you be okay alone?”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “You two need to check yourselves sometimes, you’re not my moms,” he snarks. 

Veronica tilts her head at him, appraising him with a look he knows all too well means, really?

“I’m fine ! Just need to think a bit. Alone.”

They size him up once more, before turning towards the sweet apples. He watches their retreating forms until he’s sure they’re not going to turn back, then heads to the Granny Smith’s.

He wasn’t lying, he did want time alone to think. And, yes, the Granny Smith’s had always been his and Betty’s favorite fruits to pick. Something about the sweet tanginess just made them both fall in love with the fruit. 

He wanders through the maze of trees, occasionally plucking a green apple off its stem and popping it in his basket. He’s about to turn back and find Veronica and Cheryl again when he sees a flash of blonde hair through the branches. 

No. Way.

Cautiously, he walks towards where he maybepossiblyspottedBetty , ducking under the low branches. He hears a low rustle, then a muffled curse. 

“Betty?”

She looks up from where she’s planted on the ground. “Jug? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Shouldn’t you?” he fires back. As soon as the words come out of his mouth he regrets them. Are they at that point of friendship where you can be mean as a joke? He’s not sure.

But he relaxes when she laughs, shaking her head. “No, Jug. There’s no point for me. I’m hopeless. And now I’ve gone and hurt my ankle -- can you help me up?”

He reaches a hand down, the one that’s not carrying his basket of apples. She grasps it, not waiting for him to help her, and hauls herself up. She lets go of him, steadying herself, then swiftly collapses on him. 

“Betty, you can’t stand,” he says. 

“Thank you, Jug, I wasn’t aware.”

He feels his face heat up, aware of how close they are. She rights herself against him so she has an arm around his shoulders. Her hair is touching his collarbone and he can feel the scratch of her leather against his wool.

He’s going to die.

“Are those Granny Smith’s?” she asks, pointing to the green apples he’s holding steadily.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “You still like them?”

Betty nods. “Of course. They were our favorite when we were younger.”

He motions with his head to the pile in his basket. “Do you- do you want one?”

“Now?” she asks. “Sure, I guess.”

He removes the topmost apple, mentally slapping himself upside the head. He did not think this through. Is he just going to feed it to her? Let her bite into it?

As if she can read his mind, she nudges his ribs gently. “I’ve got a knife in my back pocket you can cut it with.”

He blinks rapidly in shock. “A knife ?”

She grins. “Of course. Do you not carry a knife around with you, Jug?”

He says nothing.

“Oh for fucks sake. Reach into my pocket and grab the knife unless you want to feed it to me bite by bite,” she says in exasperation. 

He snaps out of his state and reaches across their bodies. His hands wander awkwardly, not wanting to accidentally go too far. Eventually, he finds the pocket. Gingerly, he slips two fingers in, feeling around for the knife.

“Uh, Betty, I don't think you have a knife in here.”

“I do, Jug, I feel it. It’s at the bottom.”

“Christ,” he whispers, pushing his fingers deeper. His middle finger hits on something metal and Betty squirms against him. He reaches around the small piece, slowly tugging his fingers upwards. Finally, finally, the knife is brought into the light. It’s small, and black, with little carvings engraved on the shiny metal. His thumb absentmindedly strokes the rough texture. It’s very Betty . 

“Give me the apple,” Betty says, pulling him from his thoughts. She hasn’t yet shifted away from him, so they’re still standing together, awkwardly entwined in the middle of rows of Granny Smith trees. Their smell is enticing, and he’s just aching to reach for one and bite hungrily into it. Alas, he has Betty Cooper wrapped around him, and really, it’s not a competition.

He hands her the apple that he's still clutching in his other hand, then watches, captivated, as she angles the knife in the apple and cuts skillfully. 

It’s almost unbearably attractive.

The thing about Betty is that as much as he loves to be around her, it’s so hard for him to be. Everything she does: walking easily down the hallway or a small lick of her lips -- it takes all but a Herculean effort to not bow down at her feet and confess his feelings to her. 

And that’s not a good idea -- confessing his feelings. 

“Could you, uh, put it in my mouth?”

Jesus. He chokes on his own saliva. “What?”

“I don’t have any free hands.” She gestures with her head to her current position. “Just drop it in my mouth.”

He eyes the piece of apple in her hands, taking it from her. “Open up, I guess.”

She tilts her head up, opening her mouth wide. Her tongue is slightly hanging out of her mouth and- Fuck, this isn’t fair. 

He’s so much more than just blushing at this point. As soon as Betty had attached herself to him, he was blushing . When his hand reached into her ass pocket he was blushing . This, though-

This is like, porn level stuff.

Or so he thinks. He doesn’t really watch porn. Veronica and Cheryl have tried to get him into it once, but it was weird once they settled down next to him. On his own, he’s never really felt the need to watch any...adult films. Besides, Veronica and Cheryl’s feminist beliefs have rubbed off on him, and he much rather prefers softcore anyways. The intimacy of it does something to him.

He takes a deep breath, clearing his head of any near unholy thoughts, then drops the apple into her mouth. 

She smiles widely, chewing and swallowing before saying, “Those are just as good as I remembered them.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. She’s looking up at him and he swears he sees her eyes flicker down to his lips.

If they hadn’t been interrupted, he might have kissed her. 

Thank goodness for Cheryl and Veronica.

“Well, what do we have here?” Veronica asks slyly, pushing through the branches. Both her and Cheryl’s forearms are laden with paper bags full of sweet-smelling things. 

"Betty fell,” he says dumbly.

“And I hurt my ankle,” Betty adds on. “He’s just being a sweetheart, per usual.”

Cheryl raises her eyebrows. “Mhm,” she murmurs. “Interesting indeed.”

“Hey, can we get out of here? Find a table or something outside?” Veronica asks, swatting flies away from her face. 

“That would be amazing,” Betty says. 

“Can you stand?” Cheryl asks. 

“Oh,” Betty says, separating herself from him. She stands on her foot warily, testing it. “Yeah, I’m all good now.”

Cheryl looks at him with an unreadable expression on her face. He tilts his head questioningly, but she just shakes her own in response. He rolls his eyes, turning back to Betty. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

She nods. “I’m fine, Jughead.”

He doesn’t believe her -- she was just holding on to him ever so tightly -- but decides to drop it, taking two bags from Veronica and Cheryl’s arms. 

“Shall we get going?”

They find a table near the entrance. After paying for his apples, Jughead squeezes some of Veronica’s sparkly Bath and Body Works hand sanitizer on his hands, then practically rips the box of the apple pie open and digs in. 

“Shit,” he moans. “This is amazing.”

The girls around him regard him with disgusted expressions. 

“Here, try some,” he offers through a mouthful of crust. He pushes the plate forwards, but Cheryl slides it back.

“We’ll try some of the blueberry later,” she says. “We don’t want your saliva in our mouths.”

He wishes he missed Veronica’s sidelong glance in Betty’s direction. Especially because Betty doesn’t glance back.

He should be enjoying this moment. Instead of at school, he’s at a farm, with his best friends and the girl of his dreams. But there are those underlying thoughts, fears, doubts, that keep plaguing his mind and he can’t for the life of him seem to get rid of them.

Because what if Betty likes Sweet Pea? What if Sweet Pea likes Betty? What if Cheryl is right and he should just buck up and ask her out? What if she says yes? What if she likes him back?

That last one is the most terrifying of them all.

For all the time he’s spent dreaming of Betty Cooper, and being with Betty Cooper, he has never managed to wrap his head around the thought that she could ever like him back. And if she did, then what? Would they go out on dates? Hold hands across the table at Pop’s and sip the same milkshake from different straws? Would they hold hands in the hallway, or would Betty want to keep them a secret? After all, she does have a reputation.

He shakes those thoughts from his head. What is he doing? This is Betty. Betty who baked him brownies weekly just because. Betty who plucked flowers from the elementary school garden for his mother’s birthday. Betty doesn’t have a reputation, at least not to him.

In front of him, Betty and Veronica are talking animatedly about a topic he’s not paying attention to. He can feel Cheryl’s stare boring into the side of his head. 

He turns to her. “Stop gawking at me.”

“I’m not,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he replies shortly. He loves Cheryl dearly, but she has no sense of time and place. They can talk about this later, alone, at the Pembrooke. Not with Betty across from them.

“I know about the apples,” she says. 

“What? How?”

“I read your diary a couple of years ago,” she admits. “But it was out of love. I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I’m always fine.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder. “I love you, J.”

“Love you too, Cher.”