Betty Cooper was never supposed to hear Jughead Jones sing a single note, or strum a guitar, even in passing. His music was something that he held deep below surface level, something he enjoyed keeping just to himself. There was no pressure that way. Betty Cooper never would have heard him sing, if it hadn't been for October second. She knew better than to surprise him with a big birthday party, so she settled for surprising him with her own presence. She opened the door to FP's, smiled at the man's napping form on the couch and headed for Juggie's room, gift tucked securely under her arm. She paused just outside, peeking through the crack of the almost closed door, alarmed to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with a guitar in his lap. She was even more startled when she noticed the familiarity with which he moved his fingers over the strings and frets, the tune floating from the instrument was polished and smooth. Betty Cooper forgot how to close her mouth when Jughead opened his and began to sing.
And so it is just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze
Most of the time
And so it is the colder water
The Blower's daughter
The pupil in denial
I can't take my eyes off you
I can't take my eyes off you
"He's something, isn't he." Betty's mouth snapped shut and she spun around to face a bleary eyed, freshly woken FP. She recovered quickly and smiled at him before turning back to the crack in the door.
"He really is." She whispered back to her lover's father. Truthfully, she was swooning so completely she couldn't believe she was still standing upright. "I didn't know he played. Or sang."
"Betty Cooper," She looked at him again, "People are insane to think that rockin' FP Jones the second didn't teach his son to play. Singin' he figured out on his own though, only does that when I pretend to sleep."
"How -" Betty started, but stopped when the door they were huddled in front of swung open, Jughead standing on the other side of the frame.
"What are you two doing?" He squints at them.
"Um," FP froze in his tracks, but Betty was quick to cover for them.
"I just got here a minute ago and woke your dad up really quick so we could come in and tell you happy birthday together!" She smiled so widely she thought her jaw might really break off.
"So you weren't spying on me?"
"I'm just gonna go back to my nap," FP shot Betty an apologetic glance as Jughead zeroed his glare on her, slinking back to the couch. Betty watched him and turned slowly to face her boyfriend with a sheepish smile on her face. When his expression softened near imperceptibly, she pushed him into his bedroom and shut the door behind her, reaching her hand up to his face and pulling him in. They kissed, and Betty thought that she may be off the hook for her blunder, so she reached her hand up his shirt slightly before he stepped back from her.
"Don't think you've gotten out of that just yet," He smirked at her, "I just wanna know what's in the bag you abandoned on the floor over there." He gestured to the patterned bag she had carried in and shed in an attempt to distract the boy.
"Oh!" She hurried over to it and scooped it off the floor, " It's your present. Nothing too extravagant, don't worry." She held it out to him and he stared at it for a moment, like it might blow glitter in his face and start singing as soon as he grabbed it. He noticed the slight pout of Betty's bottom lip and took it from her before she decided to rescind her gift and presence, he didn't need to make her feel bad on his birthday for a third year in a row.
Last years news that his beloved canine Hot-Dog had died came in the form of a phone call from his mother a few minutes before Betty arrived at his door. He was so upset he didn't talk to her the whole time they had a Tarantino marathon, despite her several attempts to start a conversation. He wouldn't even eat any of the snacks she brought, he just sat there trying not to cry. In the middle of the third movie, she turned the TV off and stood, ripping her blanket off of him.
"Where are you going?" He looked at her. She said nothing, just lifted her purse quickly, unclipping her car keys from the strap as she slipped on her Birkenstocks. "Betty?" He said as she turned the knob of the door. She paused, still looking forward.
"Happy stupid fucking birthday, Jughead." His whole body tensed at her language. Outside of sex, he had never heard her curse. She didn't even spare him a glance as she breezed out, slamming the door behind her.
"Shit." He scurried to his feet but by the time he had gotten up and sped out the door, she was already squealing away in her Volkswagen. He spent three hours sitting on her porch, knocking every 15 minutes before the door opened and Betty was shoved outside by her mother. She stumbled back as the door banged shut, and regained her footing just in time to hear the faint *click* of the deadbolt locking. "Hi." Still, she said nothing. "I'm sorry, Betty. I should have just talked to you."
"Hm." She stood facing the door with her arms crossed, waiting for her mother to let her back inside.
"Betty, baby, please look at me." He stood to her right, his hand reaching out to grab her elbow and spin her to face him, but she beat him to it.
"Gosh, I had to just prove that I'm a good girlfriend, that's why I suggested we have a movie marathon at your house. So many people there to witness me being perfect for you while we were sitting alone in your living room." She had red eyes, they glimmered with freshly forming tears.
"Please, let me explain."
"Not the whole 'weirdo' speech again, please. I get it. You're so unique." She sniffed at him and glared. "Anything else you'd like to add?" He figured she had the right to be mean, he had been insensitive, again.
"My dog died." He said simply. The angry look melted straight off her face and she began to cry as she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry I was a jerk, Betts."
"I'm sorry I was too." She nestled her head into his chest and he smiled. He may not have had his Hot-Dog anymore, but he still had his Hot-Girl.
"Alright, what is it?" He still held the gift as far away from him as he could.
"Oh, just open it, you scaredy cat. It's not a dead bug!"
"Trust me, that's not what I'm afraid of." He heard her harrumph as he eyed the bag, so he sucked it up and shoved his hand to the bottom, feeling his way through the tissue paper. He felt something flat and pulled it out. It was an embroidered, silver, crown patch, with a red circle and a white rectangle. He looked up at Betty, a quizzical look on his face.
"I've noticed when you're wearing your jacket, you don't wear your hat. I thought this might be a nice way to pay homage to it, but still look like a scary man."
"Betty, this is actually-"
"Awful? I'm sorry. I didn't know what to get you and the first thing I think of when I hear your name, besides that devilish grin of yours, is the hat so I guess I just did something easy which was clearly wrong so I can just-" He cut her off with a bone crunching hug, followed by a high pressured, chaste kiss.
"No, it's really perfect."
