It kills him.
It kills him every time he looks at Archie, and sees him flirting with someone else. With Betty, with Veronica, with Josie. It killed him when he looked into the music room and saw him with Ms. Grundy, and it kills him now, watching him in Pop's, smiling with Betty and Veronica like Jughead isn't lurking a few booths over. It kills him that a few months ago, it wouldn't have been like this. A few months ago, it would have been Archie and Jughead in that booth, laughing, having a good time, sharing a plate of fries, but now Archie is on the inside - he's on the football team, he's got girls everywhere vying for his attention, he's writing with the Pussycats, and Jughead is alone.
He's not even sure what happened, not below the surface. He's not sure exactly how it happened. One day, Archie was there, his best friend since childhood, and the next, Archie was just...gone.
Of course, if Archie knew what was going on in Jughead's mind, he was sure Archie would have been gone a long time ago, but that's neither here nor there, because Jughead has kept those things buried deep, and now it's likely that he always will.
They were eleven when Jughead first realized there might be something different with the way that he saw his best friend.
It was sixth grade, and everyone was in a tizzy about their first ever school dance. Boys were trying to figure out what to do while girls whispered in the hallways, and in the cafeteria, about who might actually get invited to the dance, who would be asked to slow dance, and so on.
Archie and Jughead, of course, weren't in that group. They went to the dance together as friends, and Jughead remembers to this day leaning against that gym wall, arms folded across his chest as a girl in their class shyly asked Archie to dance. It was just one dance, but it was the longest three and a half minutes of Jughead's life, because it was in those minutes that he first felt the jealousy he feels now when he sees Archie with a girl.
He wanted it to be his arms, out stiff, hands on Archie's shoulders, swaying back and forth awkwardly, afraid to be too close in the way that only pre-teens could. He wanted it to be him blushing at the ground while Archie cracked jokes to ease the tension. He wanted it to be him that shared in the awkward hug when the song ended. He wanted it to be him in Archie's arms, and it wasn't.
After that, things got tough for Jughead. He didn't want to stop being friends with Archie, but they were growing up. It couldn't just be them in that tree house forever. Boys were starting to like girls all around him, Archie was starting to like girls, and Jughead? Jughead just saw Archie.
They were thirteen the first time Jughead cried over Archie.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and Archie came over unexpectedly, pounding on Jughead's door. They were just about to start at Riverdale High, and it was all the same kid's they'd grown up with, but something was different, and when Archie showed up with a grin on his face, Jughead knew it wasn't going to be because the comic book shop had called to tell them the latest Spider-Man was in.
He was right.
Archie gushed for almost an hour about his first kiss, and how it was more than that, how they had decided to date, and just like that, Archie had his first girlfriend, and Jughead couldn't pretend anymore. It wasn't the two of them against the world. Archie had a girlfriend, and Jughead? He didn't have the far-out hope inside of him anymore, that maybe deep down, Archie wanted him the same way that he wanted Archie.
After Archie left, Jughead, had curled up in his bed, and fought the lump in his throat for as long as he could before the tears came. He hated himself for crying over a stupid boy, but he couldn't stop himself, no matter how hard he tried.
After that, it was one thing after another. Archie's first relationship ended, but there was another girl waiting in the wings, there always was, and even if there hadn't been, it wouldn't have mattered. They were growing up, they were growing differently. Archie blossomed, and Jughead withdrew, putting a tense strain on their friendship that Jughead could pretend to ignore - just the way that he had pretended to ignore Archie's impending heterosexuality when they were younger - until it was so glaringly obvious that even he couldn't delude himself into ignoring it.
They were fifteen the first time Jughead admitted to himself that he was in love with Archie.
It was just the two of them - something that had become increasingly rare in recent days. They'd stolen a couple of beers from Archie's dad, and were up in the tree house. They hadn't been up there in years, and they were laughing about how wrong this was, and of course, feeling badass in the way that only two fifteen year olds who had just pilfered their first beers could. It was easy in a way that things hadn't been in awhile. They were talking - about school, about their lives, and it wasn't about girls, or dating, or anything like that.
It felt good.
It felt so good that, paired with the beer, Jughead thought for a split second that it might be alright to lean in and kiss Archie.
He had stopped himself, of course, because where would that get them? Maybe they weren't talking about girls, but that didn't mean that they weren't there, didn't mean that tomorrow morning, they would go back to being the first thing on Archie's mind.
They talked about books, and current events, and music, and Jughead couldn't stop himself from thinking that no one really knew Archie, not the way that he did. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about how much easier it would be for both of them if Archie could see that.
For the first time, he couldn't stop himself from admitting that the dull ache he felt every time they made eye contact was love. It was something that he had felt for a long time, of course, but putting those four letters to it? It made it all so much more real.
It made it all so much worse.
They were sixteen the first time they fought - really fought - not some petty argument over who got to Batman, and who was stuck as The Boy Wonder, but really, truly fought.
They had been planning a roadtrip together for years - since they were kids, in the treehouse, talking about how cool it was going to be when they grew up, when they got their driver's licenses. They had talked about borrowing a car from their parents if neither of them had one, driving out of town, just the two of them, going to couple of big cities, to the beach, anywhere they wanted.
Together.
The trip had seemed guaranteed going into the end of the school year. Of course, it wasn't the extravagant trip they had envisioned as children, it just the two of them, driving over a long weekend across the state and back, but they had never left town without their parents, and it was still this big, exciting thing that they were going to do together.
Until, all of a sudden, they weren't.
When Archie cancelled, he did it over the phone. Jughead hung up on him. He hung up, got on his bike, and was outside the Andrews' door in minutes, demanding to know what was so important that Archie had to cancel their trip.
"Something came up," was all that Archie said.
At least it was all Archie said with words, but after years of spending time with Archie, watching him up close, or out of the corner of his eye, he knew.
"I really hope she's the one, then," Jughead said bitingly. He was angry, he was hurt. There was always another girl, there would always be another time to spend with her, but this weekend? It was supposed to be theirs.
The argument that followed was far worse than Jughead ever could have imagined. Every little change, every way, small and large, that they had drifted apart was torn wide open and thrown out into the air between them. Archie called Jughead out for his inability to make other friends, for only having one friend, and being possessive. Jughead laid into Archie for being shallow and flighty, too wrapped up in surface level things to remember what was really important, and by the time Jughead left, neither had anything left to say to the other.
That night, Jughead had gone home, he had sunk into the couch, turned the TV on, and he had promised himself that he would never to pine for Archie Andrews again.
That night, he had lied to himself, and he knew it.
Then Jason Blossom had died, and everything changed. Jughead threw himself into the mystery, into the way that the death of someone so young and popular was impacting the small town. It was a distraction from the heartbreak, from the constant tightness in his chest, and the almost-physical pain he endured whenever he saw Archie. He had thought it would be the perfect solution, the best way to move past his childhood crush.
He was wrong. All of a sudden, Archie was right smack dab in the middle of everything, and Jughead? He couldn't stay away. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Archie was magnetic, and Jughead felt drawn to him, to his charm, to his drama. The need to protect Archie was stronger than anything else, and the realization that he might not always be able to do that was more and more vivid every day.
Jughead couldn't - and didn't - keep his distance.
Things are better now. They're talking again, they've joked a little, but they're still sitting at separate booths in the same diner. Jughead is still alone, and Archie still isn't moving to change that.
Jughead watches, nibbling at the fries on his plate, burger long-since demolished. A part of him wishes that he were at that table, laughing with Archie and the girls, but a smarter part of him knows that this is better. He doesn't know what the status of Archie's relationships with Betty and Veronica are, but that doesn't change the pang of jealousy he feels when he sees either one of them with Archie, doesn't change how out of place he would feel at that table, so he stays right where he is, watching Archie as subtly as he can.
Apparently, though, it's not subtle enough.
Archie looks up, above Betty, above Veronica, catches Jughead's eye, and smiles. Jughead smiles back for a split second before Archie's back in conversation with the girls.
This is the way it's always going to be, Jughead thinks.
Thinks, but doesn't know for sure, and until he does, he's not ready to let go.
A/N Thanks for reading my first Jarchie, written for my best friend!