Ch.11: An Old Flame

Jughead paced back and forth. Betty Cooper was back in town. It had been five years and seven months- to be exact- since he'd last seen her. Jughead had heard nothing of her; whether she was dating, married, had kids. He knew nothing. Archie had been hesitant to even mention her return. Everyone was cautious when discussing the Coopers around Jughead. It wasn't that it had been a bad break up- not for Betty anyway. Jughead had led her to believe that the decision was mutual. He couldn't hold her back from the opportunities that had awaited her in New York, and yet he couldn't follow her either due to his family obligations. For anyone who said that a friendship could be maintained after a failed relationship was wrong. Well, perhaps it's possible for those who were never suited to be together in the first place. Betty had never been his friend. They'd been friendly. And after knowing what it was like to be her boyfriend he could never return to anything less. It was easier to rip off the band aid; clean and quick rather than prolonging his heartache.

Familiar faces stood around the grave, staring into the dark abyss of nothingness, where Hal Cooper would soon be laid to rest. Jughead, head bowed, stood in the back watching her. Betty clutched Polly's arm, resting her head on her sister's shoulder, bleary eyed. A little girl with locks of flame had her arms wrapped around Polly, looking around in confusion. Jughead felt guilt consume him as he couldn't help but delight at the fact that there was no man or children to comfort Betty. Why would she still want you just because there's no one with her now? There could be someone waiting back in New York. Regardless, single, or not, Betty may have just finally come to her senses and realised that she's too good for you!

The burial was over in moments. Jughead had been too consumed by his tormented mind- deciding whether to confront her. There was a queue of the town's people gathering to offer condolences to the family. All he had to do was blend in. Consumed by grief she might not even notice his presence.

Betty discretely glanced around the grave yard- looking for the one person she needed to be there. Veronica and Archie had visited her the night before, but had avoided any topics concerning the boy that still held her heart. Yes, Betty had tried to move on. It had been her decision to end the relationship, and then, feeling obligated she dated around. No one compared. Yes, the men she'd been with were far classier; brought her to five star restaurants, owned penthouses and bought her elegant jewellery. Despite trying to fall for them she couldn't. Her heart was a marionette puppet, and Romeo had never lost his grasp of the strings.

"Thank you," Betty smiled weakly; robotically. She had only arrived home yesterday and it felt as though the entire time was spent listening to people apologise, as though they were at fault for her father's death. No one killed him. No one could cause a heart attack. So why were they all apologising? It frustrated her to no end. She knew it was the polite thing to do, but it was also the most inaccurate thing to say to a grieving family member.
"Are you ok?" A voice asked. The question alone was refreshing amongst all the reparations. Betty glanced up to find the boy- man- with the beanie. Blame the grief, or time, but she threw herself into his arms, locking her wrists around his neck, heaving tearless sighs against his chest.

Jughead couldn't move. She was in his arms. Despite the circumstances, he knew that the last time he'd been this happy was the day his first novel had been published. Unfortunately, he was holding up the queue.
"Want to talk later?" He whispered, not having the will power to let go just yet. She nodded, mute. "I'll meet you there whenever you're ready." He nodded, shook Polly's hand, and left, knowing he couldn't tear her away from her family at that moment.

Fearing she'd changed her mind, Jughead's eyes never left the door as his fingers drummed against the table.
"Not sure whether you'll wear away your fingers or the table first," Pop chuckled, patting his shoulder, as he passed, offering a weak smile. Too occupied with the suspense he simply nodded in acknowledgment. The bell chimed as she stepped inside, unsure. Jughead stood, uncertain of what to do next. Since when do you stand to greet someone? She's seen you now, fool.

The shadow of a smile ghosted over her face, as she slid into the seat across from him, magnetically drawing him to his.
"How have you been?" She asked, attentively, taking in his appearance for the first time. Stubble scattered his jawline- not unkempt or rugged, but aged. He was all sharp, defined. He had filled out, still lean but also muscular- as was visible from the form fitting grey shirt, rolled at the elbows, with the top button opened. Notably, he had a new habit of brushing his thumb across his chapped bottom lip, in contemplation.

Jughead didn't know how to answer. Here she was, coping with the loss of her father, and she was asking him how he was coping! Only Betty would have compassion like that. In truth, he hadn't moved on and in turn hadn't been content with life. Yes, there were positive aspects to his life, and certain things had improved beyond what he'd ever imagined. But the negative overruled any of the good.

"I've been okay. Busy with work." He shrugged, dismissively.
"I read your book." Betty stated. "Definitely worth the secrecy," she added, remembering the times he'd turned the screen away from others insisting: "no one reads it until it's finished."
"How are you holding up?" He asked, overlooking the compliment.
"I hadn't seen him in a year." She withdrew into herself; a hollow, confused expression washing over her features. "I was so caught up in all the stupid things like work. I took it for granted that he'd always be there. I know he wasn't exactly the perfect example of a good man, but all of his flaws are just…it's so irrelevant now that he's gone." Her eyes were glazed over. Betty was no longer in the booth, but trapped in her own blame and guilt. Jughead reached across the table, resting his hands over hers, brushing his thumb across her wrist.

They had sat for an hour, in mostly silence. Jughead was cautious of overstepping and knew that she just needed someone to be there for her. When Pop's finally closed, he offered to walk her home, resting a hand on her lower back. Betty didn't seem to notice that he'd shrugged off the denim jacket, and had slung it around her shoulders, yet when they stood outside the gate she was clutching the lapels.
"Thank you." She whispered turning to face him. Neither were too sure what to do. When was the last time he hadn't been around Betty and hadn't kissed her goodbye? It was the only natural thing he knew. Knowing he couldn't, what else should he have done. Shook her hand and leave her walk out of his life again? There was also the risk of annihilating all of his efforts that evening so far. Betty stepped forward, resting a hand on his shoulder and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips; firm but short. She'd barely drawn back, when Jughead hooked an arm around her waist kissing her more desperately now. She wrapped an arm around his neck. Neither wanted it to end, finally reconnecting after their lonesome five years.

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