AN: So, since I know we're all missing Riverdale this week, how about a new chapter of Gun Song to tide you over? I know it's not the same but...it's something. I hope you all are having a lovely day and a good week and staying hydrated.


It's been a long time since Jughead has felt so utterly disappointed in the universe. He learned, long ago, that there is a wisdom in expectations that drag on the ground and a secure box in the back of your mind where all things you need and want can be stuffed and left to suffocate.

He was disappointed when his father fell in with the Serpents. It puts a roof over your head, son, don't be ungrateful.

He was disappointed when his mother and father separated, but he was relieved too, tired of worrying about Jellybean and the way her mouth would tightly set, even as a newborn, like she was already prepared to spend the rest of her life with a stiff upper lip and her older brother's cynicism.

He wasn't disappointed when his mother married Tony. Or when Archie let a fifteen year friendship wither and die, or when Jason Blossom was murdered.

He just exists in it, now, that state of detached observation, like the world can't quite reach him where he sits now, on some metaphorical brick wall, legs swinging as he watches the rest of the town scramble in terror beneath him. He sits, and he notices, and he writes.

But he's given up on being disappointed.

That is, until Betty. Until she let him pretend that there was something he could offer her that night at Pop's, like it might actually comfort her to be near him. Until she talked him onto the Blue and Gold, as though she knew he was losing his last memories of what human interaction really feels like and she was throwing him a lifeline. Until she found him, soaking wet, in the middle of a hurricane, and dragged him unrelentingly into a warm bed and a murder investigation and a partnership that hardly makes any sense at all in its sudden and overwhelming centrality in his life.

Now, as he rounds the corner to her street, he feels a wave of disappointment, of indignance so acute it nearly knocks him off his feet.

How is it possible that life has treated Elizabeth Cooper so unkind?

He replays the scene from the group home over in his head, Polly's screaming and Betty's soft, lethal words, and the way Alice's hand curled like a shackle around her daughter's wrist. She'd left marks there, bruises and tiny red crescent moons from where her fingernails dug in, he'd seen them.

It's not right. No, more than that, it's unacceptable.

And it's been a long time since Jughead has found anything unacceptable.


He's gotten good at scaling the side of her house. It's a wonder, really, that Archie hasn't caught sight of him hanging from the Cooper's drainpipe at some point. But then, observation has never really been his strong suit.

She left her window unlocked, like she always does, and it's just now occurring to him that maybe she shouldn't be doing that while Jason's killer is still roaming free on the streets of Riverdale somewhere. He's grateful for it now, though, as he slides it open, crawling through to find her splayed limp across her mattress.

"Hey, Juliet." She doesn't answer. "Betty?"

He tiptoes toward the bed, unsure if she's asleep. Her big blue eyes flit toward him, and she scoots over to make room.

"They're crazy," she sighs. He's certainly not going to argue with that.

"They're parents," he points out, sinking onto the mattress beside her. "They're all crazy."

"What if I'm crazy too?"

He's not sure she meant to say that out loud, but decides to respond to it anyways.

"Then you're crazy." He rolls onto his side, scrutinizing her face to get a better sense of her mood. "Want to know a secret?"

She nods at the ceiling.

"I'm crazy too," he whispers. When the corners of her mouth turn up, just the slightest bit, he sends back a relieved smile of his own. "We're all crazy," he adds.

Small towns surely more than most.

"I can't let them keep Polly in that place."

"I know." It seemed like purgatory to him, and he never even got past the receptionist. He waits, wondering if a plan will follow. It doesn't, and he rolls onto his back. Her ceiling isn't nearly as interesting as she's currently making it seem. Eventually, she's the one to break the silence.

"If I'm Juliet, does that make you Romeo?"

His heart stutters, and he has no idea why.

"I hope not." He folds his hands behind his head. "Romeo dies."

"So does Juliet," she reminds him.

"Oh," he remembers, throat suddenly dry. "Right."


"I've been thinking."

"A dangerous pastime." He doesn't even look up from his laptop as he replies, fingers closing around one of her fries and snaking it off her plate. He doesn't need to be able to see her to know that she rolls her eyes at that.

"I think you need to tell Archie."

This time, he does look up at her, frowning.

"Tell him what?"

That earns him a confused tut.

"About your…living situation."

"Oh." He was halfway toward stealing another fry, but his appetite suddenly dries up. "You finally sick of me?"

"What?" That seems to surprise her. "No, it's-I just don't know how long I'm even going to be able to stay at my house after…you know." Her eyes drop to the table.

"Ah." He finally realizes what this is about.

"And I know you and Archie are in a weird place right now, but-we both know he'd want to know you were alright. I want to know that you're alright."

"I'm fine, Betty."

She sighs.

"I meant that I want to make sure you won't be sleeping at the bus stop again if I-if we have to leave."

He hadn't really considered this, if he's being honest. His arrangement with Betty had always been temporary, sure, but it's not him that he's worried about now. If she leaves her parents' house, voluntarily or not, where will she go?

"Okay…" He says thoughtfully, knowing she won't let it drop until he agrees anyways. "But what about you?"

"What about me?" It doesn't seem like she even means to be flippant, her gaze now lost somewhere outside the window of their booth. He can't help an exasperated sigh at that.

"I don't blame you for wanting to get away from your parents," he says, waiting until her gaze drifts back toward him to continue. "In fact, I encourage it. But where exactly would you go? Archie might be happy to let you crash, too, but I'm not sure how many strays Fred can fit in the basement."

"He's not going to put you in the basement," Betty murmurs, her lips twitching. "And I dunno. It seems like anything would be better than having to stay there…looking at them and knowing everything they've done to Polly. I can't believe anything they say anymore."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Do I need to be worried about you sleeping at a bus stop? That doesn't exactly sound like a plan."

Betty makes a noise of frustration, dropping her chin into her hands.

"I don't know, Juggie. Once I get Polly out of that group home she can't exactly go back to living with my parents either."

"And then there's the baby," he adds, his appetite reappearing as he steals another handful of fries. Her mouth drops open.

"Oh, god. I completely forgot about the baby. Where are they going to live? What are we going to do?"

"Hey." He reaches out, hand settling reassuringly on her arm. "We're going to figure it out, okay? I promise."

She looks up at him through her lashes, which, god those are long, how has he never noticed that before?

"People are always saying that," she murmurs. "'We're going to figure it out, it's going to be okay'. But sometimes it's not. I feel…I feel like maybe this time it's not."

She sounds so hopeless, then. And he-he can't allow that.

"This time it will." He doesn't mean it to come out quite so intensely, and her eyes widen a little in surprise. His hand slides up her arm to cup her cheek, and to his surprise she tilts her head, leaning into his touch.

There's been this…something, there, in the back of his mind for the past few weeks. At first it was just a draw to her, like a moon in orbit, this unquenchable desire to be near her. He chalked it up to her sunny disposition, figured maybe someone like him needed someone light like her to even him out.

But lately…lately it's been more. The need to be near her has grown into this strange need to touch her, to sit close enough that their legs brush, to lean over her shoulder and let their arms press together. It's new for him, and he'd almost wonder why he's fighting so hard to keep those feelings at bay.

But he doesn't have to dig deep to answer that. It's not a mystery.

Betty loves Archie. That fact is one of the few constants of the universe, like gravity, and the way you're never quite going to feel like you got enough sleep on a Monday.

And Archie loves Betty, too.

Jughead wasn't sure of that, before. He can't really be sure of it now either, but after their moment over breakfast he has his suspicions.

Besides, how could he not? The sweet, beautiful, fiercely loyal girl who's too good for all of them, too good for her life.

He has no illusions. The cheerleader and the heartthrob football player end up together. He knows that. The faux-edgy, homeless outcast isn't even in the picture.

So why does that glimmer of something contrary, that tiny but persistent flame in the deep dark of his chest, refuse to go out?

He's smarter than that.

Or, at least, he used to be.


They're eating lunch when she kicks his foot under the table.

"I'm going to get another coke," she announces, sending him a pointed look. "V, you want one?"

She probably doesn't, but she's nothing if not observant, so she stands and follows the blonde in a straight line back towards the cafeteria. Archie isn't so observant, and takes another bite out of his apple, eyes trained on the marching band practicing on the field.

It's not that Jughead is afraid to tell him. He's just not looking forward to the pitying stare, or explaining that he's been living at Betty's, or asking for a favour in general. But this is Archie, and as much space may have grown between them this past year, he was still Jughead's best friend once. Might even still be, somewhere underneath all the rubble of the summer.

"Hey, Arch."

The redhead looks back at him, still chewing. He makes a munching noise in response.

"I, uh-" He can feel the flush crawling up his neck, the heat of it licking at his jaw. Betty would tell him not to be embarrassed, but-

Betty tells him a lot of things. She has expectations. Something no one has had, not of him, not in a long time. And it's been even longer since he's felt remotely like living up to them.

"I was wondering if I could crash at your place for a while." There. It's out. He can't take it back, not even if a loud and squirming piece of him wants to.

Archie blinks at him, taking the time to swallow. And process.

"Yeah, Jug, of course. Why…what's going on?" His ginger brow draws down, that rare crease of real concern forming on his forehead. He's an easy guy, Archie Andrews. Give him a football, or a pretty girl, a guitar. He's happy. Pushing aside the emotional trauma he's still burying from his relationship with Grundy, anyway. Jughead picks at the remnants of Betty's chicken fingers, trying to come up with the least pathetic sounding version of this story. He should have done this ahead of time, he just…he was putting it off. Trying not think about it.

But he's been putting it off so successfully that now he has to start from near the beginning. The whole sordid tale in one go, and it's just-well. All there is to do is start.

"Tony kind of kicked me out." Seems as good a place as any, though it's an understatement. "He, uh, did the usual fit of apoplectic rage over nothing, and told me to get lost. My mom tried to talk to him but-it was just better if I left. He seems to get more worked up when I'm there, and with Jellybean getting older I just..I don't want her to remember that, you know?"

Archie is staring at him with wide eyes now, like he's realizing that this is more significant than one of the countless weekends when Jughead just needed a few days away from his parents' yelling, from his father's drinking. It's permanent.

"Jug-"

"Just," Jughead holds up a hand. He has to get through this in one go, or he'll lose his nerve. And, honestly, once he's told the story to Archie he'd rather not talk about it again. "There's something else. My dad…he's not good either. He fell off the wagon after Mom married Tony and never really got back on. It's not even worth it to tell him, he'd probably end up at the house starting something with Tony and getting himself arrested. Anyways," he pauses to take a breath. "I was living at the Twilight, but it, you know."

"The Twilight closed over a month ago, Jughead." Archie looks alarmed now, as he processes all this, and that's an expression that's positively foreign on his chiseled features, causing Jughead's stomach to flip uncomfortably.

"Yeah."

The admission that he's been sleeping a wall away from Betty for the past couple weeks sticks like a thistle in his throat. The hard part was supposed to be admitting that his family has fallen to pieces, that he's essentially homeless. That he's been living at the Cooper's shouldn't feel like something illicit. Like he's done something wrong.

"Where have you been living, man? At the school?"

He blinks.

"For a while I did," he says, nodding. "And then Sven found the window I'd been sneaking in through and fixed the lock. So, uh…I've been staying at Betty's since then."

Archie's face twists in confusion.

"Betty's? But…I mean her mom-"

"Doesn't know." Jughead's own face tugs into a bitter smile. "Yeah, she would freak out if she found out. Which is kind of why it's not a great long-term option."

"Well you can definitely stay with us. I'll talk to my dad after school, but I know he won't mind." Archie assures him. And it's done, just like that. All that build-up, all that worry, for nothing. Maybe Archie has been feeling it too, this guilt, like they owe it to their decade long friendship to fix things. They were like brothers once. Jughead isn't sure they can ever get that back, but ever since Betty brought it up that night he can't stop thinking that he wants to try.

"Thanks man." Jughead blows out a breath. He pulls his phone from his jean pocket, and answers Archie's raised eyebrow with- "Might as well text Betty and tell her it's safe to come back. She's been wanting me to tell you for ages."

A shadow flickers across Archie's face at that, but it's gone so quickly Jughead's not sure if he imagined it.

"Has that been weird? I mean staying with her. You two were never that close." Archie asks. It's innocent, or it should be, and Jughead isn't at all sure why it sends a flash of irritation crawling up his spine.

"Not really." He says. "We're…it's fine. It's Betty, you know how she is. She found me sleeping at a bus stop and-" he waves a hand vaguely. "Here we are."

"Yeah." Archie takes another bite of his apple. "Jug?"

"Mmm." His own mouth is full of chicken fingers when he hums in response. They've had a lot of conversations over the years that involved him eating through some monologue of Archie's, whether about a girl, or football, or any of the various everyday dramas that seem to flock to his friend like moths to a porch light. Apparently this isn't one of those times, though, if the next thing out of Archie's mouth is any indication.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He feels a little like a deer in headlights, then, blinking at his former best friend. There's real hurt on Archie's features, and it surprises Jughead that that feels shitty. He clears his throat.

"I don't know. I wasn't going to tell anyone. It was just kind of a fluke that Betty saw me."

The other boy looks skeptical.

"Look, man, if it was about this summer-"

"It wasn't," he says, although he's not entirely sure that's true.

"I'm sorry."

Jughead stares.

"I never actually said that," Archie adds. And it's sincere, as most things he says are. "But I am. And I, uh, I miss being friends."

It's a little sappy, for them, but maybe they were so overdue for a little affection that it was inevitable. The apology hangs there, for a moment, while Jughead thinks.

"We are friends," he says, not unkindly.

"Not really," Archie quirks an eyebrow at him. "Not like we were."

"No," Jughead sighs, slumping in his seat. Maybe it's time to stop fighting this. To stop fighting absolutely every person who tries to pry their way into his life. "Not like we were. And I'm sorry too." He is. He has been. It's just never been relevant before now.

"Friends?" Archie offers.

"Roomies," Jughead counters, wiggling his eyebrows. Archie grins back at him, and it feels a little like before. It feels good.

When Betty and Veronica reappear, bringing soda and tales of Kevin locked in the midst of some explosive catfight with Cheryl, the blonde sits next to him, fixing him with a questioning glare.

"I'm fine," he says, a whisper in her ear as he leans so close he can smell her strawberry shampoo and that faint scent of vanilla and motor oil that clings to her though he still hasn't figured out where it comes from. "We're good."

She pulls back with a smile, bright and toothy and happy, and it almost knocks the air from his chest.

As the lunch hour wears on, he decides it's a good thing his time in the Cooper house is coming to an end. Because Betty is the only thing in his life that's actually steady right now, though she's pushed him to repair his relationship with Archie and he's finally beginning to be grateful for that.

And this growing need to touch her, these decidedly unsteady feelings that have started appearing whenever she's near him, they threaten that. Threaten what they have now. Something he's not prepared to lose.

All he can hope for now is that a little distance will be enough to shake those unwanted feelings loose.


"It's weird."

"What's weird?" He wonders, throwing his last t-shirt into his backpack and zipping it shut. Betty had insisted on washing his clothes before sending him off to the Andrews', because it's a house full of men and who knows if they even know how to do laundry. He'd pointed out that Mary had been gone for years, and neither Archie nor Fred seem to be lacking for clean clothes, but she'd waved him off. He knows by now that the best thing to do when she gets like this is just to go along with it.

"I mean, it's going to be weird. Not having you here."

He stops, straightening up to fix her with a quizzical look.

"I'll be right across the street. Besides, I'm sure you're sick of having me around all the time anyway. You'll finally have some time to yourself with me lurking in the corner." He's only half joking. It's been gnawing at him, the idea that she's too nice to say anything and this whole plan to get him to reconcile with Archie was just a ploy to get away from him. She doesn't seem to resent his presence in her house, but then, she's Betty. She's too polite for that.

"You don't lurk," she sighs, flopping down on her bed. He's been keeping most of his clothes and stuff in her room, figuring it would be easier to explain their presence in Betty's room than Polly's if Alice were to find them. "And I'm not sick of you, Juggie. I'm actually going to miss you."

Her confession tugs dangerously at his chest, and he forces his answering smile not to be too wide.

"Going soft on me, Cooper?"

She wrinkles her nose, then laughs.

"Maybe a little."

"I won't miss your snoring," he says, because it's not like he can say what he's really thinking. She gasps in outrage, sitting bolt upright on the bed.

"I do not snore!"

He grins.

"Oh? How would you know? You sleep through it."

"Forsythe Pendleton Jones III!" She gets to her feet, shoving a pink painted fingertip into his chest. "You take that back."

His hand snakes out to catch her finger, and without meaning to, the rest of their fingers lace together.

"I will not. It's true. Like a lawnmower." He's looking slightly down at her, like he can whenever she's in bare feet. Her lashes are darkened with whatever unnecessary makeup she always puts on for school, a few freckles still dotting her nose from her deep tan still lingering from the summer. Her electric blue eyes have always been just on the right side of abnormally large, like permanent doe-eyes. It works to her advantage, he knows. She can get a lot of people to do a lot of things just by batting them a few times. He's certainly turned out to be one of them. Her pink lips curve, almost unwillingly, and he knows she's trying to fight the smile.

She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

He steps away like he's been burned. They're so close to getting back to normal, to him moving in with Archie and putting some much needed distance between them. He can't afford to slide any deeper down this path before then.

She blinks at his sudden movement, the budding smile turning downwards.

"I should get going, before your parents get home."

"Um," she bites her lip. "Okay."

"Thanks," he adds. "You didn't-I really appreciate you letting me stay here. It was a lot nicer than the bus stop would have been."

Instead of laughing, she winces.

"Of course, Juggie. I just…I wish you would have felt like you could come to me. I know you have your pride, we all do, but I-" she breaks off, like whatever she was going to say, she's thought better of it. "I'm here for you. I care about you. You know that, right?"

It's his turn to stare at her, dumbfounded.

"I-" he thinks back to when she'd asked him whether they could ever go back to how they were before. The surprise he'd felt at knowing she valued their friendship that much. It hits him again, that warm feeling, so unfamiliar. "Yeah, Bets. I do."

He wants to say it back. But he's not sure that's what will come out if he opens his mouth just now.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," he manages instead, hiking his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. She doesn't look disappointed. If she is, she hides it well. Absently, he thinks that they've both gotten pretty good at that.

"Okay," she says again, softly. "Bye Jug."

"Bye," he mumbles, turning for the stairs.

She doesn't walk him out.


It's not that he was expecting Fred to turn him away. Archie's father has always been good to him, better to him, certainly, than his own. But when he steps through the Andrews' front door to see Fred hauling an air mattress down the hallway, he stares.

"Hey, Jug," Fred says. "The guest room is full of stuff for the company right now, but we'll get it cleaned out this weekend. Until then you're bunking with Archie."

"Okay." Jughead says, following him down the hall into Archie's bedroom. When Fred moves to connect the pump to the mattress, Jughead stops him. "I can do that."

"Oh." Fred blinks. "Sure."

"And, uh," Jughead licks his lips, mouth dry. "Thanks, Mr. Andrews."

"You're always welcome here." Fred claps a hand on his shoulder, and it's something FP has done a million times, but for the first time, it actually feels steadying like it's meant to. "I mean it, Jughead. I don't know what's going on with your stepdad, Archie only told me a little. But you can stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks," his voice cracks on the word, but Fred is kind enough to pretend not to notice.

"Dinner's in half an hour." Fred turns toward the door. "Archie's in the garage."

And that's that.


Jughead was lying when he said Betty snores. Archie, on the other hand, actually does.

He sighs, rolling over to catch the first few meagre rays of sun filtering through the window as the redhead on the bed beside him lets out a particularly loud snort. It doesn't usually bother him, but he woke up a few minutes ago with an unsettled feeling and no recollection of his dream, and now he can't get back to sleep. Archie sawing logs a foot away from him isn't exactly helping.

He grabs his phone from where it was charging on the ground, and groans at the time. Its just past six. Too early to be awake, but…he doubts he'll fall back asleep before his alarm goes off. Rubbing his face to try and shake the last dregs of sleep, he gets to his feet. If he were home, he'd make himself an early breakfast. But he doesn't yet feel comfortable waltzing into the Andrews' kitchen and helping himself, so instead he swipes a pack of Newports from his backpack, stuffing them into his back jeans pocket as he pulls them on. It looks cold enough out, with the mist swirling to cut up the dark, that he grabs his denim jacket too.

It might have been a while since he slept here, but he remembers that the third stair from the top creaks, and to jump over the hollow spot as he walks through the hallway to the front door. He remembers a lot of things about this house, having spent half his tumultuous childhood hiding out while Fred pretended not to be concerned every time Jughead was called home.

The cold air hits him like a punch as he steps outside, but it feels good, waking him up. He pulls out a cigarette, and barely has it lit when he spots a familiar blonde ponytail swinging toward him.

"Betty?" The little white stick wobbles on his word, and she looks up from the ground in surprise. As she gets closer he can hear her panting, and from the way a few loose curls are sticking to her neck, he surmises she's just getting back from a run.

"Juggie? What are you doing?" Her cheeks are red, whether from the cold or exertion he can't be sure, and it just makes the blue of her eyes stand out all the more as they narrow in confusion.

"Couldn't sleep." He catches the cigarette between his fingers, tugging it from his lips. "Are you getting back from a run already? What time did you get up?"

He knows she's usually in the shower by the time he'd get up in the morning, but he hadn't realized she had usually already gone for a run and come back, too.

"Uh, I don't know. I didn't look." She shifts on her feet, eyes not meeting his. She's lying.

"Uh-huh." He won't push it, though his curiosity is certainly piqued. As his eyes drift downward, he realizes she's wearing that damn Pacman shirt again.

"So," she's still a little breathless. "How's Archie's?"

"It's fine. He snores louder than you do, though." He takes a long drag, noting the way her eyes follow the movement to his lips. Betty rolls her eyes.

"I don't snore," she mutters. "And when are you going to give those up?"

She gestures at the smoke in his hand. He raises an eyebrow.

"I thought we decided you were going to lay off the lectures," he says tiredly, taking another long drag just to annoy her. It works, her delicate brows furrowing.

"But if you get cancer and die who'll work on the Blue and Gold with me?" She replies, though it's only half hearted. Her mind has wandered on him again, he can tell.

"I don't think it works that fast," he points out. "I'm sure we'll be well into our thirties before the cancer gets me, don't worry. You'll be president or something by then, you won't miss me."

It's a joke, but her bottom lip juts out, and she catches it between her teeth. For a second, he imagines catching it between his teeth instead, thinks she probably tastes like vanilla and sin, then slams a mental wall down on that line of thought. He can't go there. Betty is in love with Archie, and all that will bring him is pain when Archie finally pulls his head out of his ass to realize he returns the feeling.

"Oh? You wouldn't be my Vice?"

He shakes his head, blowing a stream of smoke behind him to keep it out of her face.

"I think Veronica would be better suited to that. I'm more like…the guy who creeps around and digs up dirt on the opposition. Or the custodial staff."

She rolls her eyes, then claps her hands suddenly, eyes bright again.

"You could be my speechwriter!"

And, okay, that actually would probably work. Except that-

"You know it's not real, right Bets?"

She waves that off, a mere technicality. He just raises his cigarette back to his mouth, inhaling and relishing the acrid burn down his throat. It always feels a little like punishing himself, which is one of the reasons he started. Now he's just too tired to deal with the unpleasantness of quitting. Besides, it feeds his reputation for being moody and unapproachable.

"I started reading Jason's journal."

He blinks at her sudden change in topic, then frowns.

"I thought you were morally opposed to that." She'd made a big production of that fact when he'd tried to convince her to let him read it, reminding him of how violated she felt when her mother read hers, and the chaos that followed. It's their only lead, has stayed their only lead for over a week, but he couldn't bring himself to force her hand.

Apparently he didn't need to.

"I was." She sighs. "But ever since Polly…I've been thinking about how my nephew will never get to meet his father. And right now that journal could be the only lead we have," she adds, parroting his thoughts. "I owe it to them, both of them, to find out what happened to him. I think he'd understand."

He's not sure if she's right, had never really had any interest in getting to know Jason Blossom that well when he was alive, but he'll take any reason if it means they can move forward with the investigation.

"So?" He prompts. "What does it say?" He's itching to get his own hands on it, but this is more personal for her. Now more than ever.

"Not a lot," The tips of her ears are beginning to turn red, and he realizes she's probably starting to cool down from her run. "So far it's just been about Polly and how frustrated he is with his parents for constantly trying to break them up. But I only got about halfway through."

"Okay." He gestures toward the house with his shoulder. "You wanna come in? It's kind of cold out here and I was going to make some coffee."

She glances at the house, but shakes her head.

"That's okay, I've got to shower before school anyways."

"Okay," he says again. It hasn't even been a day and it already feels strange to be spending his morning apart from her. But then, that's just a reminder of why he needs to do exactly that. He's getting too close, too comfortable.

"I'll see you at school, Jughead."

He nods, watching her jog up the walk and disappear inside. As he strains to make her out through the mist, he realizes how thick it's suddenly gotten. Like a layer of cloud has seeped into the town, blinding them.

It doesn't feel right. And even as he walks back inside the house, slumping against the countertop as the smell of coffee fills the kitchen, he can't quite shake the sense that while he can't remember much of his nightmare, he's certain there was fog there too.