A/N: As always, I'm so appreciative for your follows and reviews! I'm working on another Bughead fic, though the next will be AU. I don't want to start that one until I wrap up the few I've already got going at once, but I'm really excited about it. Please let me know what you think of Jughead and Betty FINALLY getting to air some shit out! I've tried to reward your incredible patience by giving you a slightly longer chapter this time!
The next morning, Archie and Veronica dropped Betty off at the curb in front of 2257 W Aspen street. She turned to wave them off, the storefront pharmacy window illuminated behind her as the storeowner was unlocking the door. She craned her neck to see up to the second floor, but all the windows were drawn. A bell over the door dinged as she walked into the pharmacy.
"Morning, Miss," the proprietor called, rounding the counter where he'd stashed his keys. "Can I help you with anything?"
"I'm here to see someone. Jughead Jones."
"Oh, sure. He lives above the store. Can't get up there from here, though—you've got to go back outside. There's a door that opens on some stairs. Just take those up to the loft."
"Of course," she smiled gratefully. "Thank you."
Betty's heart was pounding as she pulled open the old, heavy door and mounted the steps, which creaked under her weight. They were so steep and the steps themselves so shallow that she had to grip the railing to steady herself. Though, truthfully, she might have had to do so regardless of the condition of the steps. She reached the landing and a short hallway with two doors. The first was just to her right at the top of the stairs. She gulped in a few breaths, rolled her shoulders back, and knocked on the door.
A moment later, Jughead opened it, his face sincerely surprised. He was wearing jeans and dark socks and a thin t-shirt. His hair was still damp and clung to his forehead.
"Betty," he exclaimed in surprise. "Come in."
He stepped aside and she entered the small studio apartment. It was nothing like she'd expected—all wood floors and white walls. The entire opposite wall was windows that looked out onto the street. To her left was a small kitchenette, and a dinning nook was set into the opposite wall. The middle of the room was dominated by a large area rug, television, couch, and coffee table. To her right was a door that led, presumably, to the bathroom, and at the front right of the space was a raised platform surrounded by slate gray curtains. Betty could only assume this designated Jughead's bedroom. Aside from a laptop and open notebooks spread on the coffee table and an impressive Blu-ray collection visible through the glass doors of the entertainment center, nothing about the open, well-lit space screamed Jughead Jones. It was small, but still quite a step up from FP's trailer in terms of aesthetics and cleanliness.
"Wow, Jug. This is really nice," she admitted, letting her bag fall from her shoulder to the floor just to the right of the door.
"Thanks. Can I take your coat?"
"What? Oh, no. I won't be here long," she asserted, but she knew that Archie and Veronica were well on their way back out of Riverdale by then and she would need to figure out a ride by the time she decided to leave.
"I'm surprised to see you," he admitted, walking around in front of her after he'd closed the door. "I wanted you to come but I didn't think you would."
"Yeah, well. I thought I should."
"Do you want some coffee or anything?" he asked, walking toward the kitchen counter where a pot had finished brewing.
Betty started to say no, but then realized having something to sip between statements would buy her some time, as well as giving her a prop to focus on when things got uncomfortable, so she accepted.
"Still drink it with milk?" he called over as she stepped deeper into the apartment, scanning his movies.
"Yes," she answered, her chest throbbing as she thought of sitting in FP's trailer—at the table, on the couch, on the living room floor—with steaming mugs, late at night, working on things that had been, at the time, life or death with the person she'd loved most.
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and scuffed the toe of her boot against the wooden floor, pretending to be so focused on Jughead's movies that she didn't notice when he came back with two warm mugs.
"Here," he held one out toward her and gestured at the couch. Betty perched lightly at the very edge of the far-right cushion, nearer to his bed, and Jughead settled back on the far one nearer to the kitchen and dinner table. There was momentary silence as they each sipped their hot coffee, then Jughead cleared his throat.
"I need to apologize."
"Oh?"
"I was totally unfair to you last night, Betty. You had every right to do what you did—with the song and everything. You were right. Everything you said was right. I don't get to decide how you grieve and it was unfair of me to get pissed."
"Grieve?" Betty asked, her chin jutting forward accusatorily.
"I mean…yeah. You know, over us. Over our relationship."
"'Grieve' though? Really? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of Wonder Boy Writer."
"Okay, shit. Not 'grieve', then. What would you call it?"
"I don't know, Jug. But it was years ago and it was puppy love, not someone's death."
"It didn't feel like years ago last night. And you know it was more than that."
Betty scoffed and rolled her eyes to the windows. Behind the slatted blinds she could see the cold morning light.
"Look," Jughead huffed out a frustrated breath and swallowed hard. "I don't want to fight with you. But if that's what you need to get this done, to have closure, then I will."
"What makes you think I need closure?" she demanded.
"How could you not?" he snapped. "I have so much to say to you and I'm not the one who got royally fucked so I can imagine you have some shit you want to say to me, too."
Betty closed her eyes, swallowing back hot, angry tears that she refused to cry in front of him, and gripped her mug in both hands.
"Say whatever you need to say to me, Jughead Jones," she breathed. "You asked me to come by—you begged me—and I did. So just say what you want to say."
"I'm sorry I keep losing it," he muttered, his voice soft again. He slouched back against the couch, no longer facing her. "I'm treating you like shit right now and I'm sorry. This is hard for me, too."
"The way you're treating me right now is hardly new."
"…I guess I deserve that."
It was quiet again. Betty studied his profile as he looked intentionally at the blackened TV screen or at the windows or at something past the blinds that Betty couldn't see. She felt sick. The coffee hit her empty stomach and festered there. She felt guilty for hurting him, but she also felt angry and entitled. The angular planes of his face were hard, skin stretched taught over his clenched jaw and the vein twitching in his forehead. His blue eyes were dark. Betty was determined not to be the one to speak first. She sipped her coffee. She sat back against the couch in the same manner as Jughead and looked straight ahead.
"Betty," he whispered finally. "I was 16. I felt obligated to the Serpents. It didn't feel like a choice. And I didn't know how to reconcile you with the Serpents so I forced you out. It hurt me, too. I'm not gonna lie and say I wasn't into Toni. But I definitely wasn't 'over' you. I felt terrible for hurting you. And I missed you. For a long time."
"But Toni was your first."
"What?"
"You slept with her."
"Oh. Yeah."
"I thought this was supposed to be making me feel better," Betty said through tight lips, refusing to look at him though she could feel his eyes on her face.
"I never said I could make you feel better. But I'm trying to explain myself. I want to be honest with you."
"Why, Jug?" Betty demanded, shoving her coffee mug across the coffee table so that some sloshed out onto one of the journals. "Why after all this time, all of the sudden, do you feel like you're obligated to me somehow?" She stood up and walked purposefully to the door, but Jughead was right behind her. He reached out and slammed the door closed when she tried to pull it open.
"Let me go!"
"Please. Please stay. Please, Betty," Jughead gripped her arms and pushed her back, fingers tight through her coat. "What do you want me to say?" he begged. "What do you want me to say?"
Betty struggled against him but she didn't really want him to let go. He was stronger than he had been at 16. She thought of Sweet Pea's large hands pinning her down and caught her breath, imagining Jughead's instead. Imagining his blue eyes above her instead of Sweet Pea's brown ones. Imagining his leather jacket slumped on the floor. Imagining his lips on her neck, against her thighs. She closed her eyes and breathed heavily, relaxing into his grip. He dropped his hands. She didn't open her eyes but she could feel him standing in front of her.
"I want you to tell me why I wasn't enough," Betty said softly.
"You were."
"I want you to tell what she did for you that I couldn't do. I would have had sex with you, Jug. I was ready."
"You think the only reason I went with Toni was because she was willing to put out?"
Betty's silence answered his question. She heard him huff and felt his breath over her hair. Still Betty didn't open her eyes but focused on keeping her breathing steady.
"Betty, I really, really fucked up. I would do anything to go back and undo what I did. I have always regretted losing you."
She looked up into his eyes, so earnest and clear, and knew that she looked unsure and distrustful. She felt his fingers brush against the back of her hand.
"I would do anything. To go back and undo what I did," he said again, his voice low, dipping his chin to better see into her eyes. Betty opened her mouth to say something but didn't know what to say. Instead, shook her head.
Jughead reached up tentatively and touched her cheek with his fingertips. She leaned into his hand as he trailed his fingers along her jaw and cheekbones, her temple.
"Take your coat off," he said. "Stay a while."
Betty obediently tugged the buttons open and shrugged out of her jacket, handing it to him. He held it at his side.
"Betty," he whispered. She turned suddenly and walked back to the couch. She heard him sigh and turned her head to watch him hang her coat by the door and then walk back around to his place on the couch.
"You don't know me anymore, Jug," she said. "I'm not the same person I was when we were together."
"I know that. Neither am I."
"I'm not all sweet and innocent and virginal. I'm older now, you know? I've done things," she shrugged, gesturing uselessly with one hand.
He raised one eyebrow and his mouth tugged up partly at the corner like he might smirk at her the way he once had.
"Virginal?"
"Shut up. You know what I mean."
"I didn't expect you to wait for me, Betty," he said, fully teasing her now.
"That's not what I meant," she stammered in embarrassment, finding it difficult to meet his glittering gaze.
"Well what did you mean?"
"Just," she looked to him for help but he wasn't giving any. "I'm different. I think it would surprise you to know…I mean, I don't think you would have guessed I'd be…like I am."
"Betty," Jughead tilted his head. "What are we talking about?" She laughed tightly at the twinkle in his eye and the bright row of teeth flashing at her, but shook her head and looked away.
"Forget it, Juggie."
Something hitched in his chest and she looked back to see a strange, reverential pain in his eyes.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"You called me Juggie."
"Did I? I'm sorry."
"No. Don't be. Say it again."
"Jug?" Betty asked nervously, suddenly almost frightened by the intensity in his eyes, by the predatory lurch of his shoulders toward her.
"I've never let anyone else call me that," he answered. He slid over to her on the couch and took her face in his fingertips, so lightly, tilting her head.
"Betty," he whispered. "I would really, really like to know what you were talking about just now. I have a feeling I'd like this new Betty you're too embarrassed to tell me about."
"Jug?" she whispered again, almost inaudible, terrified but not strong enough to pull away. He swallowed, looking hard into her eyes.
"Yeah, Betts?"
