Yes, I know. Please don't hate me. Happy Valentines' Day! They won't let me do a heart symbol or even a less than three in these authors' notes, which is dumb. I heart you anyways.
Disclaimer: Archie Comics belongs to a horde of angry beavers
"Juggie," Betty sighed, her arms intertwined atop the counter and her knees tucked firmly into the barstool's floral cushion. Jughead glanced at her for a moment, then concentrated his attention back onto the milk that he was currently pouring into her blue dragonfly bowl.
"Yes?" he replied, folding the lip of the carton back in on itself.
"Do you really think my face is stinky?" she inquired, extending her lower lip and fluttering her eyelashes at him in what probably should have been a pity-inducing glance. Jughead made a disgusted face.
"I'm sorry, I was distracted by the smell," he answered, fanning the air with his hand. She leaned sharply backwards and grinned.
"Wow!" She giggled and leaned back into the counter, dipping a finger into his bowl and pulling out a single Froot Loop. He swatted at her.
"Those are mine," he snarled, bending down so that his eyes were level with hers. She made a small noise and then pressed the Froot Loop back into his palm. He smirked. "Thank you."
"So, why is this taking so long?" she asked, spinning herself around on the stool. "Is cereal really that complicated?"
"I'm taking a reasonable amount of time, I think," Jughead replied, frowning slightly as he readjusted the spoon against the side of her bowl. She huffed and snatched the bowl away from him.
"I am hungry," she explained bitterly, shoveling the colorful circles into her mouth. She rested the food on top of her knees, held tightly against her chest, and spooned heaps of cereal towards her face. Jughead grinned.
"You are a monster," he mused, crossing the counter to sit beside her. She guffawed and crossed her eyes at him, scrunching her face up in an attempt to look more sinister. He rolled his eyes and dug his spoon into his own bowl, raising it to his lips contemplatively. Betty set the cereal on the countertop and spun to address him, leaning haughtily on one elbow. He raised his eyebrows at her.
"I like your shirt," she said suddenly, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. She lifted another spoonful to her mouth.
"I like your face," Jughead retorted, making strange guttural sounds as his tongue attempted to maneuver around the Froot Loops and milk in his open mouth. Betty snorted, a bit of milk spraying out from between her lips. Jughead watched amusedly as she flushed a bright shade of pink and slid her fluffy blue sleeve hastily across the wooden surface.
"Please pretend you didn't see that," she said, her arm still making circles across the countertop. He laughed genuinely and brought the rim of the bowl to his mouth before gulping down a substantial amount of milk.
"See what?" he asked innocently. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, a smirk playing across her face.
"You are learning," she observed offhandedly. He laughed again and, before he knew what he was doing, had snaked his hand out to affectionately ruffle her blonde hair. Her nose wrinkled in the most endearing way as she anticipated the action, and he drew his hand back as if she'd unknowingly shocked him. She stared worriedly back at him, her eyes making two perfectly round blue circles in her face. "What?" she asked. He exhaled.
"Your hair is...sharp," he told her lamely, feeling the heat creep up his neck as he registered the stupidity of his excuse. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Yours is black," she teased.
"Yeah, well at least it's not yellow," he scoffed, turning to face his food.
"You take that back!" she whined.
"No," Jughead answered, swallowing his last bit of cereal. "Never. No." He stood up, grabbed her empty bowl, and started towards the sink.
"Take it back or else," she prompted dangerously.
"And what does the or else mean?" he sneered, eyes half-lidded. He flipped the handle upwards and water began to spill out over the dishes in his hands. "Or else you're going to get your sweater caught in my belt again?" She blinked at him.
"You're not wearing a belt," she said simply. He started to turn towards her, but she was quick-and, with the agility of a small and blonde jungle cat, she was out of her seat and her arms were around his waist and she was yanking.
"H-HEY!" Jughead yelled, doing his best to spin away from the wall. The water sprayed him in the face and he sputtered, dropping the bowls into the sink. He was dimly aware of Betty's tinkling giggles and he wiped at his eyes with his bare arm. "That's not funny," he whimpered. His eyes opened and, as if by magic, he found that his pants were exactly where pants are supposed to be. He looked up. Betty stood, leaning against the countertop with her arms folded across her chest and a very smug smile across her face. "That's not funny," he repeated, pointing towards his jeans.
"I could have," she answered simply, shrugging as she did so.
He rolled his eyes at her. "You're small, you know? I could probably pick you up and throw you out the window if I wanted to." She blinked at him, blank-faced.
"You wouldn't, though," she answered finally, laughing to herself. He shrugged, toweling his hands with the rag beside the sink.
"I might."
She stood with her back to the counter, her palms gripping the edge and her knees pressed together in hesitance. "You couldn't," she squeaked. "I'm-not that small."
"Smaller than I am," he remarked off-handedly, taking a step towards her. She jumped. "And you weigh practically the same as a cotton ball, I know that from experience." She bit her lip apprehensively and pressed herself farther back against the countertop, her sneaker-clad feet bumping into each other as she struggled to find balance. Jughead was rapidly closing the gap between them. He grinned.
"Now, Jughead, think about this for a second-" she began, putting up her hands to stall him.
"Done," he interrupted. The opening was all he needed and he swept his arms underneath hers, hooking them across her back and swinging her over his right shoulder as he did so. She shrieked, her voice shrill and loud as her fists collided with his back.
"Not the window!" she screamed, kicking her messily bandaged legs around in the air behind her. Jughead patted her back to calm her. "Where are you taking me?" she asked. He felt her elbows digging into his back as she rested her chin in her palms. He shivered and tightened his grip around her knees to compensate.
"Here," he answered plainly, and then stopped abruptly. She looked up and he took the opportunity to throw her backwards onto the couch. Her head bounced against the cushions and he laughed at the expression of pure shock on her face. "Next time," he warned, brandishing a finger in her face as he sat beside her, "do not test me." She bared her teeth at him.
"There isn't going to be a next time, Forsythe," she answered, kicking at his finger with her shoe, "because I am never speaking to you again." She finished with a huff and crossed her arms, turning her face away from him and shutting her eyes angrily.
His face fell.
"Hey," he began, tickling at her ankle with his pointer finger. She yanked the leg away from him and moved herself up towards the arm of the couch. "Hey." He scooted closer to her. She sat up and huffed again, turning to the wall. "Hey," he said again, this time getting up and sitting down so close that his thigh brushed against hers. He leaned in so that his breath was on the side of her face. "Hey." To his delight, she giggled and batted at his arm, grinning as she pushed him away and towards the other side of the couch.
"What?" she demanded.
He beamed at her. "I promise I won't pick you up anymore." She sighed as she returned his smile, then leaned back onto her legs.
"I wasn't mad, stupid," she told him sincerely. "I was only joking."
"I know," he answered, brushing blue lint from the front of his black jeans. "But I'm sorry anyway. You're very easy to lift, you know," he added, judging her face for a reaction. She wrinkled her nose again, and suddenly he felt nauseous. "Don't do that," he said seriously. And then he almost slapped himself. She looked back at him, her blue eyes wide and sparkling.
"What?" she inquired, her voice soft.
"Nothing," he responded hurriedly, his face flushing. He scratched at his shoulder blade and shifted his sitting position.
"O-kay," Betty giggled. She swung her legs over the side of the couch and scooted closer to him, resting her arms in her lap. "But whatever it was, I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything," Jug stammered, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Her voice was imploring. Concerned. He scraped his teeth against his bottom lip and willed himself to stop blushing. He knew he was blushing.
"I'm fine. I'm cold," he lied, rubbing at his arms. Her eyes lit up.
"I can help!" she told him brightly. Confused, he opened his mouth to retort. He stopped, however, when she grabbed a fistful of blue sweater and yanked upwards. Underneath, she wore a tight-fitting, long-sleeved black shirt. Plain. And he'd seen her in it before. But somehow, for reasons he couldn't explain, it looked different this time. He buried his face in his hands and she handed both bundled sweaters to him. "Here. Be warm," she explained. He grabbed them without looking at her, and sighed heavily before pulling her baby blue one over his head.
He thanked her and rubbed hopelessly at the side of his face with one hand. She smiled at him and then, after a moment's hesitation, forced herself into his own red sweater.
