Author's note: Hello! First things first, I feel I have to clarify something important. The only Betty I ever really liked was the 1960's Betty by a certain artist, the comics where Betty was funny and tomboyish and stalked Archie obsessively. She was very witty and quick with jokes where Veronica was not and she was a bit unconcerned with what others thought. She was interesting and fun and Archie was a little scared of her, for good reason. She was very close to Jughead and they collaborated quite a few times on schemes to make Veronica angry with her many boyfriends. This is the only Betty I ever feature in my stories. If you're concerned that my Betty is too different from the Betty in today's comics, it's because I don't write Betty in today's comics. I write 1960's tomboy Betty. That's all.
(In case you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, I can't post them here but I've just included some links in my profile to the best Betty ever and YOU'RE WELCOME because she's amazing!)
Edit: ADDED MORE. Gosh I keep doing this! Thank you so much for your reviews, and if you haven't yet, please review if you can! I love to hear others' opinions and suggestions on the story. I started a forum too but I have no idea what I'm doing with that lol who knows
Jughead spun once, arms pasted to his sides and face stony. Betty laughed warmly. "I didn't mean it, you goof," she told him, giggling to herself on the bed. She moved to the side, patting the quilt next to her, and he steeled himself in response. He did everything he could in that three-second pause to prepare himself to take his place beside her and feel the body heat emanating from her naked limbs. He inhaled sharply.
Nope.
Nope, nope, nope.
He could hardly even look at her without swelling at the front of his pants.
He instead turned sharply away from her and opened the second drawer of his dresser, extracting a loose-fitting pair of fleece pajama pants to pull on over his idiotically printed underwear. He busied himself, facing away from her, until he heard her humming lightly. Then she grinned at him, wet hair falling like tiny blonde rivers across her shoulders and chest. She twirled a piece of hair around two fingers as she waited patiently, tapping the place beside her for the second time.
Yes, he told himself. Friends. He did his best to forget what had happened only an hour ago as he knelt back down to cuff his pants. They didn't need to be cuffed. They looked stupid cuffed. He uncuffed them. He stalled at the side of the bed until he heard her sigh.
"A-are you hungry?" he attempted, his throat much drier than he'd realized. She rolled her eyes at him, leaning backwards on his mattress. His eyes stole downward for half a second. Black biker shorts. A gift from Aunt Carolyn. His eyes shot back up.
"Not really," she said with a little smile, "but I'm sure you are."
He placed a hand on his stomach thoughtfully. It had been hours since those Fruit Loops and his mother had mentioned a fridge full of leftovers. This would also give him a bit more time to stay the hell away from her, seeing as their little tryst in the park was obviously long over by now. He winced.
"I'll take that as a yes!" she giggled, jumping down off of the mattress and padding over to the door in bare feet.
"Sweetheart, what in the hell happened to the bathroom?"
Jughead jumped up, mouth full of sausage. He stole a look at Betty, her own cheeks puffed out with steamed broccoli as she struggled not to choke on her laughter. "I'm so sorry, mom, I messed up," he managed. His mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, one hand pressed wearily to her forehead.
"I'm not angry, love, just clean it up before morning," she sighed, smiling. "I'm off to bed." Jughead nodded vigorously.
"I'll do it right now, mom," he answered, pressing past her and into the living room.
"Honestly though, Forsythe, what happened?" she inquired, following him across and to the door of the bathroom. "It's such a mess in here, it almost looks like there was a real emergency!" He swept up bandage wrappers and stuffed them into the trashcan, chewing as he did so.
"Betty fell," he answered simply. At this, his mother turned quickly back to the girl in the kitchen, who waved sheepishly.
"Oh, no, no no!" his mother tittered motheringly, rushing over to feel Betty's forehead and take a quick look down her throat. "No, no, Betty dear, there's enough bandages in there to cover the entire house, are you alright? Do you need anything?" Jughead snickered as he disposed of the pile of ripped cardboard box. He heard Betty swallow and the hesitance in her voice.
"I'm completely fine, Mrs. Jones," she began sweetly. "Jughead—he—well, Jug just—I think he may have overreacted a bit," she finished lamely. She held out one bandaged leg from underneath the table for Jughead's mother to see.
There was silence.
And then loud laughter.
When she was finished, Jughead's mother wiped her eyes and sighed. "Well, he does love you very much, darling, so I'm not surprised."
Jug froze. He was squatted next to the toilet, pills and bottles in his outstretched hands, face paling so steadily and to such an extent that had anyone been looking at him they'd have been concerned he was actually dead. His heart had stopped. He prayed to whatever gods and deities existed that Betty had not heard, or that his mother would recover gracefully, or that he'd have a heart attack and maybe they'd all be distracted. He prayed he could rewind time, or that Betty had never come over, or that he actually was dead.
None of his prayers were answered.
"That's sweet," Betty answered finally. Jughead held his breath and waited, still frozen in panic, heart beating a hole into his chest. He searched for any kind of expression or emotion in her voice, the two words echoing again and again in his head, but he found none. Time stopped. He panicked. He couldn't breathe.
"Loves you like he loves his little Jellybean," his mother sighed, and Jughead's exhale was so sharp and so full and round that he felt them look over at him.
"This mess," he muttered to himself, pretending to be completely engaged in what he was doing even as the color rushed back to his face and ears in a purple tornado.
The two women were silent and Jughead could only imagine the worst: that his mother was whispering about him, or that Betty was making some kind of horrible face, or some combination of the two. He couldn't bear not knowing, and, nearly on the verge of tears, he glanced over his shoulder and found that they were merely smiling politely at each other.
"Well!" his mother finished, clapping her hands together. "I'll see you in the morning, Betty, dear. You are staying over, aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, thank you very much," Betty replied.
"Sweet dreams, then!"
Jughead gave the sink and floor a quick wipe with the hand towel and stood up to move into the doorway. As his mother passed, she gave him a look of panicked apology and he returned it with a look that plainly said he was never again telling her anything for the rest of his life.
"Goodnight, sweetheart!" she chirped, heading to the immense master bedroom on the first floor. He rolled his eyes.
Jughead tossed a package of red raspberries onto the direct center of the bed, followed by a still-sealed bag of popcorn. He sat down and exhaled heavily, expelling all of his fear and relief and sexual frustration in one drawn-out breath. Betty sat next to him.
He looked at her. She popped a raspberry into her mouth and took a swig of her water, making a face at him as she capped the bottle. He looked away. He was tired of skirting around this issue, of feeling his heart flutter when she made eye contact with him, at the low rumble of his belly as he remembered the taste of her lips. He'd figured that feeling would leave as he began to gradually think of more mundane things, but here he was, three hours later, still replaying the same damned scene in his head again and again and again. He covered his face with his hands. He half-wished it never had happened.
"I'm sorry I touched you."
His face whipped around to meet hers so fast it probably shouldn't have been physically possible. She was staring directly into his face, expression serious but blue eyes somewhat dull and unreadable. He furrowed his eyebrows and gawked at her, certain that either he'd misheard or she'd misspoke.
"I didn't mean to, you know." He sputtered silently, mouth opening and closing. His heart rate picked up again to a million beats per minute as he slowly realized what exactly she was talking about. He struggled to find something to say. She sighed. "I've ruined everything, it's all my fault, and I know it. I'm sorry, Jug." She picked up the ends of her hair and examined them thoughtfully, drawing her arms and legs up to her body in self-consciousness. She thought better of it and opened her mouth to speak. Jughead struggled ever still, face growing hot as he continued to gape at her wide-eyed like a suffocating fish.
"I just—you—" She struggled a bit more before throwing one hand up for emphasis and huffing frustratedly. "You're very handsome, okay, like you've gotten cute, Jug, I'm sure you know, and you were touching me, like, all day—"
Now his mouth opened fully despite himself. "I was touching—" he sputtered incredulously.
"—and I was, just, like, so upset, and whenever you come near me and try to help and give me little hugs and whatever—you just—I—" He watched in amazement as her cheeks tinged pink and her words were reduced to stuttering stammers. "I—i-it's very confusing, Forsythe," she finished bluntly, crossing both arms over her chest.
He stared at her. She glanced up at him from underneath her curtain of hair and plainly blushed before crossing her arms tightly over her chest and shrikning up a bit more.
"I wish you wouldn't, is all," she finished huffily.
"Wish I wouldn't—" he answered, utterly bewildered. "Wh—you attacked me!"
"I didn't!" Betty protested, her flush spreading across to her ears.
"Betty!" he continued, utter amazement evident in his voice. "When you—You were—Have I ever given you the impression that I wanted to—to do things—th-those kinds of things—with you before?!"
She turned away from him, arms still crossed.
"I'm so careful, Betty, I'm so very, very careful!" he told her, the words spilling out of him hot and fast like lava.
"And what is that supposed to mean, Jughead Jones?" she asked, turning angrily back towards him.
"WE'RE FRIENDS!" he roared. He'd recited it in his head a million times that night, and, once again, it was more to assure himself than her. He hopped off the bed and paced back and forth across the plush carpet, gesticulating wildly. "W-we're friends, Betty Cooper! And you are my best friend's girl! I mean, you're practically going steady with the guy and I—"
"Well, maybe I could go steady with him if you'd stop confusing me all the damned time!" she shrieked, coming to her knees on the bed.
"Confusing you?!" Jughead bellowed back. "Things are confusing for you?! Betty, I don't know if you've noticed, but—"
"I said I was sorry about touching you, Jughead Jones," she continued fiercely, lowering her voice to a near-whisper, "and I said I was sorry for ruining our whole friendship, and I am, I really really am sorry, but you look at me weird now, Jug, and I didn't want to make it worse by just never talking about it again, okay?! I am SORRY!"
She fell backwards onto her butt, crushing the box of raspberries as she went. She made an angry little noise in her throat and tossed the box aside. When she spoke again after a solid eternity, her voice was broken and small. "And I'm sorry for ruining your quilt."
Jughead sighed deeply. He pressed the heels of his palms into the sockets of his eyes, rubbing lightly, before expelling all his breath in one shuddering puff. Betty lay crumpled in a heap in the center of his bedspread, facing away from him, face shielded with both hands. She gave a little sob and, true to form, he crawled up next to her and wrapped her up in his arms. For the thousandth time.
"For goodness' sake, Betty, don't cry," he told her, attempting awkwardly to hug her even as she lay curled up in a little ball.
"I-ru-ruined it," she sobbed miserably. He found himself wincing at the pain in her voice. He was used to that pain, he'd heard it a million times before, but he was not used to being the source of that pain. He didn't like it. He found himself wondering vaguely how Archie lived with himself.
"Betty, you didn't ruin anything," he told her, choosing finally to forgo the hug in favor of a well-intentioned pat to the top of her head. She snorted.
"I came onto you, Jug," she reminded him. "I didn't know I could be so stupid," she added quietly. "My closest friend, and I..." She sobbed again. He rubbed feebly at her arm, grimacing to himself in his utter confusion. He was dreaming for sure, this time. "Do you hate me?" she asked weakly, her voice a tinkly little whisper. His eyes screwed shut. Jesus christ, if she'd ever used that line on Archie, Jughead didn't know how he'd survived.
"I don't hate you," he assured her. "I could never, ever, ever, ever hate you."
"I really am sorry," she repeated, sniffling softly.
"I'm not," he answered.
No.
No he hadn't meant to say that out loud.
She looked up at him for the first time, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What did you say?" she asked.
He willed himself to act normal, willed himself not to smile or laugh or burst into tears, willed the blush that had been there all day to keep itself from creeping across his features.
"I—" he began, stumbling over the first word. "am..."
"Not?"
He couldn't stop his sheepish grin.
"You're not sorry?" Her own grin quickly expanded to match his. "Is that what you're saying, you're not sorry?" she demanded. She procured a pillow from somewhere behind herself and hit him in the face with it. "You!"
He raised his arms to defend himself, covering his face half to block the pillow and half to hide his embarrassment. He fought to keep himself from giggling excitedly.
"I can't believe you!" Betty laughed, coming up onto her knees to hit him properly. She stopped suddenly and he felt her wrench his hands away from his face. She stared at him so seriously that he was caught off guard for a moment and could only stare back at her, wide-eyed. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked solemnly. There was a silence as he stared at her, noncomprehending.
"No," he answered finally. She grinned immediately.
"I can't believe you!" He laughed in response, and finally there was some release of the horrible tension he'd had to endure all night. "Jughead," she continued, her hand pressed to her chest, "you scared me so much!"
"I scared you?!" he bit back. "You kissed me!"
She blushed but didn't recoil. "You were scared?" she giggled.
"Of course I was scared!" he answered, throwing his hands into the air. "It's you, Betty, a million things could have gone wrong!" He sat backwards onto his heels and counted out on his fingers to emphasize his points. "I could have done something really stupid, for one," he began, giving her a pointed look, "—or someone could have come along and seen, or ARCHIE could have come along and seen, or you could have been just teasing me or trying to be funny—"
"I was trying to be funny," she answered with a nod. "At first. I was trying to be funny."
"But?" Jughead interjected excitedly. Mindlessly he registered that this is what it must have felt like when the girls gossiped about boys. His heart was racing and he was smiling so big and every other noise that came out of his mouth was a laugh.
"But you—you're—" she paused. "You kept touching me!"
"You were touching me!" he yelled back at her, scandalized.
"I only did it because you did it first!" she answered, turning her nose up at him. She crossed her arms and he pushed her lightly to make her fall over. She did. And she laughed.
And then the phone rang.
They both fell silent for the second ring.
Betty stared over at her cell phone, perched on top of her clothes at the sill of Jughead's desk. She glanced back at him before reaching over to grab it.
She looked at the screen and then colored slightly, looking back at Jughead with wide eyes and a serious expression. "It's Archie," she half-whispered. And her eyes filled with tears. His heart ached. His heart ached so much that the physical pain of it resonated in every inch of his body and tears almost sprang to his own eyes. He patted her knee and cleared his throat.
"Should I answer it?" he asked, as casually and as unaffectedly as he possibly could. She paused for a moment, thinking it over, and then shook her head before pulling the phone to her ear.
"H-hi, Arch." Her voice was small. He was going to notice. "A date?" She glanced furtively up at Jughead, who tried his best to keep his demeanor nonchalant. "Right now?" There was a pause. Jughead's heart hammered in his chest. "Maybe, but...I'm at Jughead's house right now." Another pause. He held his breath. She put her hand over the mouthpiece as she pulled the phone from her ear. "He says hello," she whispered.
"Tell him hi," Jughead answered immediately, a sudden and overwhelming guilt eating away at his insides like a million tiny maggots.
"Jughead says hi. Uh-huh. We're not doing much. His mother asked me to stay over, she wants to make pancakes. Oh, you can bring me back here afterwards?" she repeated. Jughead could tell from her second glance that she was judging his face for a reaction. He kept it neutral. There was silence on her end for a moment and Jughead listened intently, watched her face for some clue as to what Archie was saying, waited impatiently for her answer. "O-okay. Yes. A short one. I'll be ready."
He felt sick.
