Chapter 1
It hasn’t been long enough since the last time Jughead Jones had to forgive someone for something.
It seems as though it’s the only thing he’s doing. He’s forgiving Archie for his latest blunder, forgiving his father for drunken misgivings or forgiving his sister for doing something sister-ish and mundane.
That night at the football game, he didn’t want a smile to pop up on his face, hadn’t wanted to forgive Archie, even with his condition of many nights and many burgers. The stretch of the muscles in his face is still new and deafening and goddamnit Archie it had to be you. You had to be the next person to make me smile.
The fourth of July weekend road trip hadn’t been meticulously planned. The point had been the wandering, the wondering, the possible drinking, the hypothetical joints. Obviously, the point hadn’t been Archie cancelling. For some reason, it hurt far more knowing that Archie had been with Grundy, had been with the school music teacher, had been having sex with a woman twice his age, than if Archie had, simply, been working with his father. The moment he had heard it, Jughead had known it was a bullshit excuse because Mr. Andrews liked him, enough to trust him with his son no matter what.
The lying made it all worse.
The fighting made it worse than that - they had pushed and ripped at the parts of each other that only they knew. The hidden, secret parts they kept between themselves.
"Working with your dad, my ass, Archie. You talked to him weeks ago asking if we could head out and he’d been more excited than you. What’s her name, huh? Oh, don’t look so surprised, pal, I know you better than everybody in this town, I pay attention. You grew up, Arch, just in one summer. You’ll be crawling in girls by the time school rolls around and you’re already rolling in them. I thought that you would’ve had the decency to actually come up with a better lie, or wonder of wonders, tell your best friend the truth."
Archie had stood silent only for a few moments, his face flushed, blending away his freckles, staining the skin beneath his cheekbones.
"You haven’t been my best friend in months, Jughead. You think I’m dumb? God, Jug, I know I’m not going to Harvard, but I’m not stupid enough to not notice that you’ve been hiding something from me, that you’ve been avoiding talking to me about anything important, about anything worth while. You want to talk about keeping secrets, where’s Jellybean? Where’s your mom? Why haven’t I see your dad around? I'm not the only one keeping secrets and some girl seems a hell of a lot less important than half of your fucking family disappearing."
There isn’t even a pause for breath this time.
"Oh, fuck you, Archie. Fuck you. Sure, I've got secrets, but if I trusted you anymore, you'd know them. Clearly I made the right decision in not telling you, considering that you clearly don’t give a shit about me. You’re -"
"I’m all you’ve got, Jughead! You haven’t got anyone else, what’re you going to do if you push me away?"
"Fuck you, Archie. Fuck you and your self-righteousness, you are all I had, but you're gone and you've been gone for months. You're miles away from me, so far that I couldn't push you away if I tried because I can't fucking reach. You were my best friend, Arch. But you kept secrets, you went back on plans and something is happening with you! I'm fucking worried about you, pal, so fuck you. Fuck you, Andrews.
But Archie got in Reggie’s way for him, blacked out for a couple of moments and Jughead feels like shit, because really, Archie, you’ve been gone for months, I can handle them.
He’s had it far worse.
“Hey Jughead.”
He looks up and Betty is standing there, leaning one hip against the opposite side of the booth. Despite everything, Jughead can’t stop himself from liking her.
“Mind if I sit?” Her voice is soft, but firm, like she isn’t actually allowing him to refuse. He gives a slightly grand gesture to the bench across from him. She shakes her head, and moves to stand next to him, staring with one eyebrow raised until he scoots over, dragging his laptop with him, vaguely shocked and reluctantly impressed.
“Why have you and Archie been fighting?”
“What?” Jughead says, slightly mocking. “Golden Boy hasn’t told his favourite cheerleader yet?”
“Jug,” her voice is coloured with teasing and warning, “Don’t be an ass, okay? Leave that for Archie.”
“Fair point.” It’s a tiny apology and Betty smiles.
“So?” she asks, bumping shoulders with him lightly.
“We had a fight, Betty, he said some things, I said some things, it happened in the rain at dusk with many very manly tears and confessions of love.”
She rolls her eyes, leaning back in the booth, arms crossed over her cheerleading uniform. A waiter gives them a huge smile and sits a milkshake on the table before leaving. “It’s been bothering him for months. He was so happy after you two talked at the rally, Jughead. He misses you, a lot, more than he wants to admit.”
Objectively, he’s aware that Archie has to miss him - they’re best friends and have been for years, and therefore a big piece of the puzzle to miss - but he has trouble reconciling it in his mind. Jughead can miss Archie, but it doesn’t work the other way around. Archie has Betty and Veronica, even Kevin. He occasionally has Reggie and Moose and Cheryl if they’re feeling amiable and maybe (Jughead ignores the twisting of his gut) Ms. Grundy. They haven’t really talked about it, about whether or not there was actually an end to that, or if there was just a planned confession. Knowing that Archie has been missing him makes his the space just below his gut and above his hips clench, makes the sides of his heart and his ribs stitch and ache. He can’t tell if the feeling is something he wants.
He doesn’t look up at Betty, but he doesn’t need to. She knows him better than he would like her to.
“Of course he missed you, Jug, you’re his best friend.”
There’s something close to bitterness in her phrasing and Jughead winces internally, while his face twists into something mocking of teenage drama. “He’ll always miss you. I know that he's done some -"
“You’re not playing Devil’s Advocate, Betty,” Jughead says, reluctantly truthful, “Archie… he... We’re working on it. He owes me many burgers.”
“Maybe a hug or two,” she says with a smile.
Immediately, Jughead wants to shake his head and make some comment about being manly, something about douches who nod at each other and repress their emotions, like he did at the game. He hesitates, though, because Betty will see right through that. She’ll see straight into the insecurity that he’s trying to hide. If I hug him I might cry and I’m not alright with that, not yet. Instead he gives her a tiny smile that makes her eyes light up and her whole face crack open, slightly shocked, with something that looks like thoughtfulness and consideration, but predominately pleased.
“Maybe.” Jughead shrugs. “If he asks nicely.”