- Amata bene -
Everyone in Riverdale is a little crazy – Alice Cooper, for Jughead, is a prime example. Even the Blossoms don't have all of their petals on the same branch, and for all that Hermione Lodge seems like the spoiled wife of the town's resident baddie-in-jail, Jughead knows there's more that goes on in that head of hers.
His dad is probably, for the most part, sane - just a little lost. At least, that what he likes to think.
"I might be a little bit crazy," Betty says.
The sky is a fiery orange, the sun setting low in the sky, the shadows making her cheeks look sharp, and then soft again as darkness and the stars blanket over her.
He turns to her, watches the way she lays splayed in the grass of the Riverdale High field, both of them hiding for the moment from life and friends and responsibilities. He bops her on the nose with the tip of his finger.
Betty is too bright for Riverdale, he knows, even when she gets seduced by the dark corners of her mind, the ones where its too easy to get trapped and never come out. He's glad to say that when her eyes are cloudy and far away, and he runs his thumb over her cheek, her eyes sparkle in a way that makes him feel a little less lonely.
"And I like you all the more for it," he replies, straight faced, and her smile always lights up her face. He can't seem to find the words to describe it.
She runs to him, sometimes, most times, when her eyes are red-rimmed from her parent's harsh words, and there is mascara clinging to her face, her eyelashes clumped and watery.
"It's too much, Juggie," she says, trying to hold back her tears, look strong and unbreakable.
His mind is usually a jumble of words and images he will never transfer to paper, but in those moments, he takes her hands, spindly fingers over soft palms, and threads their fingers together, like the beginning of a tapestry.
"Then let's run away," his face is close, his breath skimming over her temple.
He'll wipe her tears, and she'll look in his eyes, and giggle. A death so sweet he would never know.
"Let's go to Pop's?" She'll counter, lips sugar sweet against his cheek.
Graduation is a looming dragon that Jughead is yet to conquer. There are those like Archie and Veronica, who are brimming with potential and no outlet. Cheryl and Jason are scheduled to run a legacy. There is him, of course, who will no doubt be stuck to Riverdale like glue, only in different places but with the same hat.
Betty, though, Betty is destined for greatness. Her mind is full of knowledge, neurons strong and axons thick with connections that make math easy, debating an afternoon hobby. She is meant for Harvard and Yale and law schools that he has yet to know the name of. He, not so much.
Betty will leave, one day, and he will be left in the dust, but all the better for it, if it means he can in this moment wrap his arm around her waist, feel the length of her body against his, cover her eyes as she giggles and shrieks and tries her best not to show how scared she really is at the movie they're watching.
Yes, he will be all the better for this, for her, but he can't help but dread that looming dragon, the one threatening to swallow him whole.
"I love you, Juggie," it is unassuming, a fragile whisper in his ear, but her eyes are serious, and he seems to have lost his voice.
It's probably stuck somewhere near his heart, thumping wildly against the thin skin of his ribs.
Her fingers twitch nervously against his hand, but there must be something in his eyes, the way his mouth is frozen, slightly open. Because she just smiles, a sweet, close-lip one that makes him cough against the pressure in his chest.
Slowly, she wraps her warm hands around him, gliding over his stomach, and he can feel her breath against his neck.
Sweet, sweet death.
"What a coincidence," he says instead, wrapping her up in his arms.
She is small, or maybe he is just terribly tall, but it feels nice, the way he can wrap around her, keep her close, before she flies away from little Riverdale.
Graduation comes and goes, Jughead slipping through it, barely noticed. It's preferable, this way, with less questions and concerns from snoopy parents, although Archie's dad is the most persistent.
"If worst comes to worst, then I can always depend on you, right, Mr. Andrews?" Jughead has some experience with construction, at least.
Mr. Andrews looks slightly ruffled, but says nothing more. Archie, if anything, tries to hide his smirk behind a slice of pizza.
She was always a morning bird, pulling him out of bed to appreciate the rising of the sun, and that is just what she does now. The morning is foggy, the sun barely up, and she knocks on the Andrews' door, her hair pulled in a tight ponytail and her car filled to the brim behind her.
Jughead answers the door, his brows knit together, trying to piece together the sleep clouding his mind, the girl before him, the unusually full car.
"Betty?"
She giggles, "Yes, it's me."
"Oh, good," he takes her hand, pulling her inside for a morning coffee, but she resists.
He looks at her, because Betty Cooper is anything but the predictable, girl next door. She is sneaky, he has learned, and enjoys it more than he should.
Her eyes are filled to the brim with magic, "Let's run away."
Time stops. Because this time, she isn't laughing. Her eyes are not red-rimmed, there is no mascara staining her cheeks.
He still asks, "Are you su-"
She kisses him so ferociously that he practically flies up the stairs, bag in hand and clothes – well, clothes were never really important anyway, especially not now. Archie is smiling, a knowing twist to his mouth, and Jughead throws a shirt at him.
"You knew?"
"We are neighbors, Jug. Best friends."
But he's the one running away with her, and when Jughead runs back downstairs, kisses her fiercely, he can't help but notice the dimness in Archie's eyes, the sad smile as he leans in the doorway, giving her one last hug.
"Not the last," she says, her fingers already intertwining with Jughead's, as they turn away, into the great, brilliant unknown.
The morning is still dewy, light barely filtering its way through the trees of the neighbourhood, and all that is left for them is Betty's tiny buggy, filled to the brim with bags and knick-knacks, and now Jughead's tiny suitcase on top.
He picks her up in his arms, and twirls her around, and then she begins to laugh, and he says, "Where will we go?"
And she says, with the confidence of a fairy-tale princess, "Anywhere."