Seeing the inside of FP's trailer looking cleaner, tidier, more inhabitable than it had in months, Betty had guessed that Jughead had some idea of where he wanted the evening to go. They had been alone, really alone and inside and safe like they hadn't been before, and she'd felt the minute the door closed them in that something electric leaped between them and linked them, buzzing, together. She'd sighed contentedly into the possibilities and kissed him open-mouth, twisting her hands in his hair and smiling against him when he'd lifted her up onto the kitchen counter; she'd pulled her shirt off over her head and pressed greedily against his hard, warm chest. Then the bang on the door, the fear that her mother had followed them, and instead rounding the corner to find something that was much worse—Jughead in a Southside Serpents jacket. Betty had felt her stomach go cold and had heard his name slipping out from between her lips and when he looked back at her, his head jerking around, startled, there'd been fear in his eyes, too, only not fear of the Serpents—fear of her.

Betty disappeared back around the corner and picked up her discarded clothes on the way to the bathroom. She could hear low murmurs behind her—the Serpents apologizing for the clear interruption—and she shut them out with the bathroom door. She redressed and studied herself hard in the mirror. Her face was unfamiliar to her. It was flushed with desire—her eyes dewy and her hair loose and wild—and she regarded her reflection as the stranger that it was. She heard the trailer door close and then there was silence. Betty turned the door handle incrementally and stepped back out onto the carpeted hallway. Jughead was standing just in the door, looking down at himself in the jacket. He looked up at Betty when she reentered and slowly shrugged out of the jacket, letting it drop heavily to the floor with a dull thud.

"Is that really what you want?" she whispered, unable to keep the revulsion from her voice. She nodded toward where the leather crumpled stiffly. "I mean—" she stammered, taking a step forward. "Are you actually going to wear that?"

Jughead stiffened at her tone and his mouth tightened. "Is that a problem?"

"Um yeah, are you serious? You're going to throw in with them? After everything they've done to your dad?"

"What is your deal, Betty, it's just a jacket," he sneered, flicking his hair from his eyes. He shifted his weight to one side and leered at her, mean, like he always was when he felt backed into a corner. Betty felt hot, angry tears in her eyes and knew she was too emotional but didn't stop.

"I don't believe this. You're the one who always goes on and on about how we're not our parents and then the first change you get you're just like your dad."

"Hey," Jughead said tightly, stepping toward her. "What's wrong with my dad? Just a few hours ago you were defending him to the whole town and now he's scum? You just said you weren't going to give up on him."

"He's not scum, but he's made bad choices, Juggie. You of all people should know that."

"Yeah, Betty," he spit her name like a curse. "I do know that. I don't need you lecturing me about it."

Betty was shaking her head before he finished, tears flinging from her cheeks. "Then what are you thinking? Look at yourself!"

Jughead stooped and tore the jacket up from the floor and pulled it back on roughly. "What, just because I put this jacket on means I'm going to turn out just like my dad? That's what you think of me? It's just a damn jacket, Betty. Get over it."

"No, it's not just a jacket. I can't believe you're being like this." She crossed her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Like what? Like who, Betty, like him?"

"The Serpents are drug dealers and murderers!"

"No, the Blossoms are drug dealers and murderers."

"They both are! They all are!"

"Just what is it that you're saying?" Jughead leaned toward her, over her, the vein in his forehead pulsing, his mouth in a snarl. "If I wear this jacket you don't want to be with me anymore? Just like that?"

"Well I just," Betty dropped her arms and looked away, angrily wiping a tear away with one fist. "I don't see how I could be with you, even if I wanted to. Even though I want to." She looked back at him earnestly and reached out for his hands and took them in hers and searched him face desperately. "I love you, Juggie. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me."

"And I can't be with you if I'm with the Serpents, right?"

"I don't know. I guess not. No. I have no idea how to be with someone who would chose to be associated with them."

Jughead pulled his hands out of hers and glared. "These people are the only ones in town who don't want to stone me right now. They're all I have."

"That isn't true! You have me, you have Archie and Veronica and—"

"No, Betty. No. I'm keeping the jacket."

There was a thick silence. Both breathed heavily. Betty's breathing hitched as she sniffled.

"That can't be what you want. Please don't do this."

"If you walk out that door right now, it'll be because you chose to, not because of anything I did." He stepped away from her and back from the door, backing into the far corner of the trailer. "Go ahead. No one's keeping you here."

"Fine." Her voice was low but just as determined as his was. "Fine, Jughead. You pretend this is out of your hands. You tell yourself you couldn't keep me from running out of here. But I know and you know that you didn't want to be with me enough and that's why I had to go."

She pulled the door open with enough force to shake the whole trailer and ran down the steps and across the gravel, out into the late night and home.