A/N: My triumphant return to actually having time to sit down and write, and it's only 600 words and about Jughead and Betty. I'll get back in to the swing of things! (Thank you for bearing with me)

Perfection. Riverdale used to be seen as the perfect example of the Americana small town. But beneath the veneer of perfection always lies something else…

So it's no surprise that man constantly seeks perfection, especially in the heteronormative form of women.

Look no further than ancient Greece, than Galatea. The hand-created example of perfection for Pygmalion. A woman with nothing but the veneer, a woman sculpted from clay. There are less literal iterations, less hand crafted, personality-less version; Pygmalion, Taming of the Shrew, Eliza Doolittle, Funny Face….

The Smurfs had a clockwork Smurfette once. Platinum of the Metal Men. Spike's sex-robot Buffy. Hell, it gets as modern as Mannequin or She's All That.

If perfection itself is a fallacy, the concept of the perfect woman, the blank slate for a man to paint his influence, is laughably unreal.

But, all the same, the unattainable vision of perfection is something we…I…am dumb enough to seek.

The bruise-blue crescents under his eyes told the whole story, more than his words ever could, especially considering how sparse and sardonic his words usually were.

Betty didn't notice them at first, not in the dimness of the halls of Riverdale High, barely even when she entered the newspaper room, which Jughead kept pleasantly dark (in his opinion, not her's).

"Hi Juggie," Betty chirped as she entered the otherwise empty Blue and Gold office, setting her stack of books down on one of the desks before perching herself on it to face him.

Jughead looked up from his laptop, where he had been contemplating the curser blinking on his half written Word document. He had been getting distracted. His book, or novel, or story, or whatever was getting off the rails. Ever since…

He shook his head. "Hey, Betts. How's it going?"

She shrugged and adjusted the collar of her shirt underneath her sweater. "We had a test in calc."

He 'mmm-ed', trying not to stare at her. She was trying to make eye contact.

"We, Juggie. As in, the class you and I are in." Her tone wasn't accusatory. Her voice was soft, friendly. If Jughead hadn't known Betty since they were both barely toddling Li'ls, he might have been surprised. Anyone else who knew her just as the type A achiever her mom wanted her to be…

He shrugged slightly.

She moved to sit next to him. "Where were you, Jughead?"

He turned his head away from her, just enough to avoid her clear stare. "I lost track of time, I guess. Writing can do that."

"Forsythe." Her tone was softly warning. Normally, anyone using his given name made him bristle a little, but coming from Betty…it wasn't so bad.

There was an awkward silence

"Maybe I should start calling you 'Blue'…" she nodded to the bags under his eyes, one eyebrow quirked up to let him know she was teasing.

He raised his brows just slightly in response. "Then I guess that would make you 'Gold'. Seems appropro."

She elbowed him, her body pressing against his gently, just for a moment.

Jughead let out a big sigh. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"I figured."

"Things have been…tense."

"That's an understatement, I think." She smiled at him softly.

He smiled back. He opened his mouth, to tell her about the Twilight, about Jellybean, about the kiss, but he closed it quickly, and scoffed. "It is."

She put her hand on his and squeezed softly. "I'm here for you."

He nodded, speaking softly, "I appreciate that."

She nodded, and held his hand for a bit longer. Her warmth leeched into his skin, and before Jughead even felt uncomfortable, she had already let go, hopping to her feet. "So where are we on the facts?"

…

For the first time in a long time, Jughead felt confused. He didn't know what he was thinking or what he wanted or what he was supposed to do.

But Betty seemed like she was perfect. Too perfect to be true.

And all he wanted was to be near her.