Synopsis: "Betty, look- Can't we talk about it?" His voice sounds on the bridge of pleading.
"About what?" She coughs away her sob. "How you broke my heart?"
It's New Year's Eve and Betty Cooper isn't feeling particularly festive. She's standing on the porch, outside the house as a New Year's party rages on inside it. And the man who broke her heart only a week ago steps out to join her.
Genre: Angst/Romance
Timeline: Post S02E09 Bughead break up
Pairing: Betty/Jughead
Rating: K+
A/N: A (late) Christmas gift for my gorgeous friend, Morgan. If you haven't read her Bughead fics, go check them out right now. Her username is Mogitz
For those waiting for my TDOBC update, I promise it's coming. I just wanted to get the festive/secret santa gifts over with first.
Keys
The wind howls in C Sharp Minor. The mourning key of Chopin's Nocturne and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. It whistles it's haunting aria with ease. Betty Cooper turns her gaze towards the sky and wonders if the stars are joining in.
The house behind her is alive with gusto. Cheers are made as friends celebrate the last minutes of this last year. They yelp and holler and laugh through gurgles of alcohol. She doesn't know if they are rejoicing over what has been accomplished or if they're desperate to forget, to start afresh.
She doesn't know what she wants. Instead, she stands on the porch - idiotically clad in a shoulder-less, knee-length dress - and wonders why the world hasn't ended yet.
Because that was what was supposed to happen. As soon as he'd cracked his lips open and uttered the words of their break up, the world should have exploded. Instead, the world had been utterly silent. There was no banshee wail. No bang as the earth cracked open, splitting the car park in two as people began plunging to their deaths.
No. There was just the pad of his footsteps as he walked away. And the acute sound of her heart breaking.
Betty sighs. The condensation from her lips dances in front of her. She leans against the railing, the frost biting her skin, as she stares out at the unfamiliar world around her.
The world that awaits her in 2018.
The world that has dramatically changed since Jughead broke up with her.
Except it hasn't. Her front door is still the same colour. Kevin still smiles at her across the school corridor. Her mom still tuts at her for arriving home late.
Everything is so ordinarily the same.
Who knew Jughead could make so much and so little of a difference?
The door creaks behind Betty, a swell of sound rushing towards her. For a brief moment, the party sounds closer before the door closes again.
"Hey, Betty," the voice is so low, she almost imagines it's still the wind. But this one is in B Sharp Minor. It always has been.
Taking a breath, Betty swings her head around, letting her blonde ponytail swish behind her.
Jughead smiles solemnly. He stands in front of her on the porch, hands hooked into his pockets, serpent jacket slung over his shoulders. At least someone dressed for the weather.
"Hi, Jug," Betty breathes back, letting herself smile. It's not unusual to smile. People do it all the time.
For a brief moment, Jughead hesitates. He moves his hand to motion to the railing beside her and then quickly rethinks it, moving his hand back to to scratch just above his eyebrow. "Would you mind some company?"
He should have asked her that before he'd so willingly taken his own company out of her life.
She looks at him for probably a beat too long. "Sure," she sighs instead.
As if he had stopped breathing until she gave him permission to, he finally paces his way towards her, the leather of his jacket rippling as he moves. He stills as he reaches her, his rough, bare hands gripping onto the porch railing. It's an action reserved only for those who are falling.
"Sounds like everyone is having a fun time," Betty blows out the words as if she were blowing away cobwebs. For a split second, she allows herself to glance at him. He stands there as if he has always belonged. Jughead Jones; the Watson to Betty's Sherlock. The Robin to her Batman. She let's a smile tinge her lips. It's the briefest of happiest in a world without.
It's dark here, on the porch. The light bulb above their heads has clearly been dead for quite some time. It's blackened and smoky and evidently a hazard. Except she's not afraid to stand under it. She supposes it was Jughead who made her braver.
Or maybe reckless.
Betty can barely see his face. His hat almost bleeds into his hair, the shadows making them the same colour. He swallows once. His jaw shivers. She can't help but watch him. He's gazing out across Riverdale, his eyes shaded and thoughtful. She doesn't think she's ever seen them as anything but.
Jughead shrugs, disjointed, letting out a low chuckle. "If fun time equals getting drunk than yeah."
Betty's eyes narrow teasingly. "Now you know why I came out here," she lets out a laugh, biting her bottom lip. Her gaze drips back to the view.
His next laugh sounds like a breathy yeah.
And then they're silent again.
Silence between them used to feel so easy. So effortless. As much as they both relied on words for their identities as writers, words were never needed between them. They just looked at each other and knew.
Now silence feels like torture.
She'll do anything to avoid it.
"I uh- it's a nice night," she starts, the words sounding clunky to her ears.
Jughead breathes beside her, his body slumping against the railing. "We've resorted to talking about the weather now, huh?" His words aren't sharp but they cut like an insult. She knows. Their conversations used to go so much deeper than small talk.
"Okay, fine then," Betty takes a breath, starting again. "Have you got any new year's resolutions?"
He acts as if he hasn't heard. "Betty, look-" she feels him shift beside her, turning to look at her. She keeps her eyes trained on the horizon. "Can't we talk about it?" His voice sounds on the bridge of pleading.
"About what?" Her own voice sounds abrasive and harsh. She coughs away her sob. "How you broke my heart?"
Jughead stutters. "It wasn't like that." He sounds pathetic.
"Wasn't it?" Her voice cracks in half. She sounds pathetic. She sniffs away threatening tears and spins round to glare at him. "Because that's how it felt. You didn't give me the choice. You didn't even let me choose how I wanted my heart to break-"
Her words slip away. As if they have been caught by rainwater rushing down a street. She sniffs loudly, not caring if he can hear her, and wipes wildly at her tears with the heel of her hand.
He's looking at her. Looking and pleading with shaded and shivering eyes. They glimmer with the first sign of tears. He looks helpless. Frail and desperate and harrowing and guilty. As if seeing her cry has broken him all over again.
His lips break open, hesitating for one beat, and she's convinced he's going to give her another excuse. Another lie about how they have to be apart for him to protect her.
Instead, he breathes once and then whispers; "I'm sorry."
She stares back at him. Watery eyes watching watery eyes. In the shadowy darkness, she catches a glimpse of his hand disconnect from the railing and reach out towards her.
A loud laugh barks from the house beside her. It's calling everyone together. It's only ten seconds until midnight.
"I'm sorry too," Betty admits. It's like a breath has been released from her chest. It feels like a whispered I love you.
His hand reaches hers in the darkness. Their fingers intertwine. Her skin is frozen. His is warm. His covers hers.
"I'm scared you'll get hurt," he admits, his voice low. His eyes are connected with hers. He takes a step towards her. The crowd in the house have counted down to seven.
"I'm scared you'll push me away again," Betty leans into him, their fingers finding each other over and over again in the dark. Their words feel like confessions. The kind of fears whispered before a new relationship.
FIVE!
She hears his footsteps pad between them on the porch. They so easily resemble the footsteps she'd heard when he'd walked away from her. Except this time he's walking towards her.
FOUR!
He reaches up with one hand and brushes her cheek. Her heart, though shattered, beats with the question; Can we start again?
THREE!
His eyes shimmer with another question; Can I?
TWO!
She breathes out and meets his gaze with a simple, longing nod.
ONE!
And then, as the crowd bursts into cheers, he leans down to kiss her. And, as he does, she leans up to meet him. Their lips slip together as if they had always been like that.
And, just like in the movies, when they kiss, there are fireworks. There is a chorus of angels. Except this time it's just a simple melody. The keys of a piano. Clear and infinite.
It's in C Sharp Major.