A/N: This is my first fanfic for Riverdale and Betty x Jughead. Mercy on me, please. Enjoy! Hope you like the start.
Betty Cooper pulled up her collar at the slight breeze drifting across the familiar square, rustling her ponytail and pressing around her slim form, but her hands were not cold; they were sleekly stuffed into her puff jacket pockets, her right hand holding on tightly to the opportunity that brought her back to Riverdale.
She felt its jagged edges against the sensitive skin of her palm, and felt that same familiar feeling of jagged edges when she thought of the years she'd spent away from Riverdale – the reasons behind her departure. It jabbed her like the key now indenting itself into her flesh.
"Get it together, Betty Cooper," she whispered to herself, shaking her head and sighing. "This is a huge chance to prove yourself." She pulled the key from inside her pocket and held it up as if to inspect it. "You've got this."
She reached out, slid the key into the lock and stilled her hand from turning it and flinging the door open. Instead, she stepped back a few steps and looked at the glass doors, those of which brought back memories. Not great ones, not fond ones, but memories nonetheless.
The Register used to be a prestigious point of information and gossip for the town of Riverdale, but –as with a lot of small town papers—had become useless thanks to the world wide web and cell phone devices. Well, that is what her parents had told her when they had suddenly decided to give her the business. For Betty, it was more that nobody wanted to read the doom and gloom of yesterday, and the utterly boring events of today. People craved drama and excitement; none of which The Register gave anymore. Perhaps that is why her parents decided to end their relationship with the troubled paper—there wasn't enough business for them to stick their nose in.
"They said you were back in town," a familiar voice called from behind her, startling her. "Couldn't stay away, huh?"
She wheeled herself around hastily, facing an older version of the reason she left. He still had windswept black hair that slicked to one side, a curl resting in the middle of his forehead. His attire also looked quite the same from the last time she saw him: suspenders hanging down on either side of his dark denim jeans, and a black V-neck sweater over a white t-shirt. He looked like he had grown an inch or two, but she wasn't sure if that was the dusk casting illusions or not. The last thing she noticed that was the same was the large smile from ear-to-ear. It was a vast difference from the night she left town—left him standing there watching her go, fading into what would be a three-year absence.
"Jughead," she said, a lump forming in her throat. "Hi." She swallowed the lump and cleared her throat. She took a step closer to him and smiled. "You look great!" Betty wasn't anything if she wasn't polite—though the pain ripping through her chest just looking at him ran through her veins like acid.
"As do you," he replied, reaching out a slim hand to pull the tip of her ponytail. "Welcome back, Betty Cooper." He dropped his hand from her hair and placed it on her shoulder. "I've actually come to see if you needed some help." He nodded toward the only car on the street—her small sedan filled with boxes and belongings.
"I—" she started.
"You can pay me with food like you used to," he told her with a wink, cutting her off, "if that's the problem." He let go of her shoulder, placing it at his side.
She backed up a few steps, allowing the smile to tumble from her lips as she placed her hands back in her pockets. Her eyes closed for only a few seconds, enough to gather her composure and shake off the feeling of his fingertips brushing against her shoulder. When she opened them, Jughead was already opening her car door and lifting a box into his arms.
"I guess if I told you to put that down, you wouldn't listen?" The smile was back.
"You don't want me to break your…" he looked at the label on the top of the box, "books." He snorted. "Why am I not surprised that's what I'm lugging around?"
She led him to the door and opened it for him without a reply. She wouldn't tell him that almost all the boxes in her car were books. The studious side of her didn't vacate after she left; if anything, it ramped up. She followed him into the small office filled with computers and desks. The smell of dust and cobwebs almost made her cough as she pointed to one of the desks closest to Jughead.
"On there, Juggie," she said, her index finger pointing where to place the box. "The small apartment in the back needs to sorted out."
He sat the box down and turned to her. "There's an apartment in here?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "The things you find out."
"Dad used to use it when mom was angry at him," she explained. "Anyway," she said, shaking her head and hurrying on, "you don't need to help with the boxes, Jug. I'm perfectly capable of bringing them in myself."
The look on Jughead's face nearly broke her. He looked hurt and taken aback by her perceived pushiness to get rid of him. And, in a twisted way, he wasn't wrong in that. It was still painful for her, even after three years. For him, he seemed okay with it all – almost like he knew she'd come back one day. Maybe he was biding his time, or he was just hoping she'd reappear. Or, maybe the guilt she felt was exactly what he was feeling. Juggie always did have this way of folding inside himself. Often masking hurt and pain so it didn't make him vulnerable. She always could sense, though, his vulnerability, tried to nurture him into opening up.
He was silent for a minute, his eyes searching hers with such intensity that she almost looked away. He sighed and nodded his head at her in understanding. The smile he gave her now was only a shadow of the one he had there earlier—this one did not quite reach his eyes.
"Okay," he replied softly, "I'll leave you to it, then, Betts."
She only let him step a few paces before—without a conscious thought—her hand shot out and gripped his wrist. She didn't know what possessed her to do it, but it was too late to do anything about it. "Thank you, Juggie. Seems like you're the only one who cares I came back."
She felt his other hand pat her knuckles. "They care," he assured her. "They'll come around, I promise."
"You did," she replied. She regretted it the moment it shot from her lips.
"We were young, then, Betts. We did things that our older selves would cringe at. You can't expect them to open their arms to you. Not after…" he trailed off.
"Yeah, well," she responded with a sigh, "I've hurt you the most and here you are." She laughed irreverently. "Taking boxes from my car like I've done nothing." She looked down in shame.
The move was so unexpected that she had no time to react. His hand was up at her chin, tilting her head so her eyes kept contact with his. She shivered involuntarily at the warmth of his fingertips resting on her flesh. Not a cool shiver, but a hot flash driving down her spine like fire. The touch was so familiar, yet so strange after not feeling it for so long.
"Hey! Betty Cooper! You know how they say time heals all wounds?"
"That's a stupid cliché, Jug. Some wounds cut too deep to heal properly."
"Yes, that's true. Dumb cliché, but time is like a scab, you know? It covers the wounds. Just don't pick at it too much." When she didn't reply, he added, "Okay?"
"Okay," she breathed.
She watched his eyes flicker to her full, rosy lips before he let her chin go and turned from her. She wrestled with herself for a few seconds before she sighed.
"Jug, wait!" She watched him turn to face her. "Since you did bring in…a box," she thumbed at the desk where it sat, "how about I treat you to Pop's? It is still in business, isn't it?"
His smile was blinding this time.
"It is," he replied. "I own it." The shock must have registered on her face because he laughed. "Oh, Betts. A lot has changed since you left. A lot."
Some, as she'd find out soon enough, wasn't exactly for the best. For now, though, the problems she and Jughead had faced were behind them.
Betty Cooper once again pulled up her collar at the slight breeze. This time, her hands were being warmed by Jughead's Sherpa jacket as they walked to Pop's fifteen minutes later.