Jughead knew something was wrong because Jellybean was calling him.
She never called. She thought it was 'old fashioned' and 'a little awkward'. She religiously texted Jughead every day, even during her exam periods. Sometimes she messaged him with a meme, sometimes with a ridiculous TikTok video, and sometimes with just a simple: Hey bro, daily checkup that you're still alive.
But never, not even once, did she call him.
He abandoned his latest attempt at writing a sequel to 'The Outcasts' and answered on the second ring. "JB? Hey, what's wrong?"
"I think you might need to sit down for this." His sister's voice was shaking, and Jughead's stomach dropped. "Me and Dad… we thought it was better that you found out from us before it starts making headlines…"
Jughead swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Just tell me, JB."
Jellybean sighed, and steadied her breath. "It's Betty…"
Jughead slumped into his desk chair. "Is she hurt? What happened, JB? Please… just spit it out."
"Well, I don't know if you remember this because we were both avoiding her, but over Christmas she was talking about this serial killer near Quantico called TBK - you know, the Trash Bag Killer…"
And Jughead did remember.
How could he forget? Betty had successfully completed her FBI training and was immediately thrown into field assignments. She seemed exhilarated as she relayed the details over Christmas lunch to Charles, much to the disapproval of her new boyfriend Glen.
He, too, was in the FBI. Higher up than Betty, but not directly in her chain of command, so their relationship wasn't technically fraternisation. Glen was more talkative than Adam Chisholm, and annoyingly had better social skills. He was interested in serial killers, and was studying them for his dissertation, but he also liked motorbikes, and small towns, and appeared particularly enamoured by anything and everything that Betty had to say.
But he was also more assertive than Adam ever was, and far more opinionated. He rubbed Jughead the wrong way - there was just something about the gleam in Glen's eyes when he looked at Betty that reminded Jughead of a ravenous dog resource guarding his favourite ball. It made Jughead want to smack the smirk right off Glen's well-groomed face.
Jughead, however, found that he didn't need to express his less-than-subtle distaste for the man, because Charles hated him enough for everyone in the household.
"He's a dick." Charles said quietly when Betty and Glen excused themselves from the family home and headed back to their hotel room. It was necessary, because Betty's childhood bedroom now belonged to Chandler, and the home was cramped enough now that Polly and the twins were living in the basement (It was Hiram Lodge's fault, of course - the low-income apartment building that Polly rented had been bought by the mayor, who promptly knocked it down).
Jughead was only slightly mournful about losing his bachelor pad. It didn't really matter, because he lived alone in an apartment in Manhattan, and only came back to Riverdale for holidays. His book was popular enough that he could afford to stay at the Five Seasons, but he knew FP loved having him in the house, and the couch was comfortable and close to the refrigerator.
Besides, he couldn't bring himself to sleep in the same building that Glen was no doubt using to sleep with Betty.
Jughead raised his eyebrows and turned to face Charles. He leaned forward, his elbows planted firmly on the dining table. "I thought Glen was an old friend of yours?"
"Friend?" Charles scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "More like rival. He was always trying to one-up me at the academy because our mentor favoured me. He knew exactly what buttons to push to rile me up and he was just waiting for me to snap and lash out at someone." Charles smirked, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It never worked, but God it was frustrating trying to keep him at bay."
Jughead tried to keep the grin off his face.
"Well, Betty deserves nothing more than a dick." Jellybean piped up, a scowl forming on her face.
"Well, you've clearly had too much wine. That joke was terrible." Polly said as she sipped from her own glass.
"No jokes from me. I'm dead serious."
Charles shook his head. "I know you're still mad at her, but I disagree. Betty deserves better than that scumbag." Charles' scowled deeper than Jellybean; his eyes could have set fire to the front door. "I don't want him anywhere near my sister."
Jughead raised his glass. "I'll drink to that."
Polly and Jellybean both rolled their eyes, but Charles nodded curtly.
Jughead hadn't seen Betty for most of the previous year.
She had moved to Virginia for FBI training the second she turned twenty three. As with all things, she excelled in her new career, and delved into investigations with as much passion as she had during her teen years.
Since getting his book published, Jughead's life was full of writing events, and meetings with his agent, and drunken one-night stands with college girls who just loved his literary skills and wanted to get to know the inner workings of his mind.
He never called them back, and rarely remembered their nights together.
He tried to, he really did. Jess was long gone from his romantic life, but no matter how many times he tried to connect with another woman, a deep feeling of anxiety and disgust welled up inside of him with every flirty smile and suggestive comment they sent his way.
He became friendly with a fellow writer for a while. She wrote mystery novels for middle schoolers for the same publishing house he was signed with, and she was smart and attractive - but there was no spark, and after three mediocre dates with her he ended it and apologised for wasting her time.
Last he heard she was engaged to one of the Harlem Globetrotters.
After the fifth weekend in a row of being blackout drunk and waking up with a stranger, Jughead started to believe that something in his mind was broken. The only intimate female interaction he was capable of seemed to be when there was alcoholic influence, because when he was sober he shied away from women, no matter how well-suited to his personality they seemed.
He was over Jess, and over Betty, and over feeling like he was doomed to a life of loveless trysts with people whose names he didn't know.
It had been the very thing consuming his thoughts when Jellybean called…
And so Jughead listened to the devastating news coming through his phone, his heart pounding and his eyes prickling with moisture as Jellybean told him that Betty had been working undercover with a local group of prostitutes. They were particularly vulnerable to TBK because people usually weren't looking out for them, or more importantly, keeping track of them.
And it seemed that nobody in the FBI had been adequately keeping track of Betty.
She'd been missing now for a whole week.
Jughead postponed several important meetings with his agent to go back to Riverdale and look after Chandler. The toddler asked Jughead where his parents were every few days, and Jughead forced himself to smile and relay the cover story that Alice and FP were just on vacation, and they'd be back very soon.
Truthfully, the pair had driven down to Virginia with Charles and were doing their own investigation into TBK. Jughead wanted to join them in their search for Betty, but Jellybean was in her final months of her senior year of high school, and Polly had to work, so FP had begged Jughead to babysit his brother indefinitely. Jughead did so, of course, but knowing that he wasn't a part of the team looking for Betty was… difficult to deal with.
A week later, Betty was still missing.
Polly cooked for them each night while Jellybean stared moodily at her plate. Jughead found that he couldn't stop eating, the stress of knowing that Virginia's most violent and disturbed serial killer in history had Betty locked away somewhere driving him to chronically munching on snacks while he entertained Chandler with picture books and cartoons.
Chandler was oblivious, but the twins knew something was wrong. News had spread throughout the town that the locally raised Betty Cooper was the notorious TBK's latest victim, and even Juniper and Dagwood were worried about their aunt.
"Is Aunty Betty… dead?" Dagwood asked quietly one night at the dinner table.
It was the RIVW's fault. The six o'clock news had been on in the living room, and the chirpy fill-in reporter who was taking over for Alice in her absence had made the gruesome claim that most of TBK's victim's bodies were usually found scattered throughout Virginia in the third week after their abductions.
Jughead hadn't managed to turn it off in time to stop the twins from hearing the perky reporter sadly state: "It's unlikely Betty Cooper will be found alive" .
"Of course not." Polly said quickly, her voice filled with forced optimism. "Your Aunt is in the FBI. She's super strong, and she's going to be back home before you know it. Don't listen to what anyone else tells you."
The twins nodded sadly, but Jellybean hiccuped and excused herself from the table, then hurried upstairs. Jughead frowned and followed her up into her room.
When he slowly pushed her bedroom door open, his heart lurched when he saw her quietly sobbing into her pillow.
"JB… hey, it's going to be okay…" Jughead said softly as he sat down beside her on her bed.
Jellybean pushed herself up. Her face was red, and tears streamed down her cheeks. "I was s-so awful to her." She stuttered out and wiped her face. "Last Christmas, while she was here… she came in and started ask-king m-me about school." She coughed out another sob. "And I s-said… I said: Get out of my room slut." She kept crying, and looked at Jughead with hurt and fear in her eyes. "What if that's the last thing I ever say to her?"
Jughead's insides were in all kinds of a mess, but he forced himself to say: "It won't be… they're going to find her."
Jellybean was still crying when she responded. "Do you really believe that?"
"I have to, JB." Jughead said, his voice breaking. Jellybean sat up and wrapped her arms around him tight.
Jughead spent the remainder of the night torturing himself with research on the Trash Bag Killer.
TBK had murdered thirty seven women over a three year period. They were all females, between the ages of sixteen and twenty eight. They were hookers, or runaways, or hitch-hikers. Easy targets for predators.
Not all of the girls' body parts had been found. Most of the pieces of them were discovered by unlucky drivers on the highways in trash bags. TBK had decapitated and de-limbed them while they were still alive. The girls had all been tortured and starved… and raped and mutilated. One woman's head had been found without her eyes.
Jughead's hands shook as nausea swirled in his stomach while he read through news articles and police statements. Betty had been gone now for two weeks… if the details circulating online were correct, she didn't have much time before it was her body parts the FBI would be finding on roadsides. Jughead lay awake in FP and Alice's bed for hours, trying to force himself not to think about all of the gruesome and horrific things that could be happening to Betty while he was safe inside her childhood home. Betty had to be okay… she just had to.
He opened his eyes as the sound of pattering feet approached the open doorway. He sat up on his arms as Chandler came toddling into the bedroom, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. "Hey, bud… are you alright?" Jughead asked quietly.
Chandler shook his head. "I had a bad dream." He said in a croaky, whiny voice. He sniffed again, and looked up at Jughead with sad, sleepy eyes.
Jughead's face fell as he reached a hand out to the toddler. "Come here, C… you can sleep with me tonight."
Chandler hurried to climb up into the bed. He snuggled in close to Jughead's side, and Jughead tried not to let any tears fall as he finally passed out from exhaustion.
Another week went by with no promising news. Between Alice's connections with other journalists, and the information Charles could gather from fellow Private Investigators and old friends from the FBI, the group in Virginia were using all the resources they could to try and find Betty. The FBI seemed to have a more desperate interest in the TBK case since one of their own had been taken in a botched undercover mission.
But they had no real leads.
When the three week mark since Betty's disappearance came and went, the mood in the family home dropped significantly.
"Why are you all so quiet?" Juniper asked curiously at the dining table over breakfast.
The truth was, the adults in the house were all keenly aware that by the three week mark, there was little to hope for other than that Betty's head might show up in a trash bag. But they all claimed to just be tired, and eventually Polly left to drop the twins at school with a solemn expression on her face.
Jughead willed himself to believe that as long as Betty wasn't declared dead, there was still room to hope that she was alive out there.
The next day, a hiker found trash bags full of body parts littering a walking track in the woods. FP called to let Jughead know, because Alice was too distraught to call Polly. Jughead told the girls with a monotone voice, and his face remained stoney as they both held back tears.
Two days later, the pieces of the body were identified - but they didn't belong to Betty.
Jughead had been so relieved he felt like he could float. The RIVW reported on the teen runaway named Teresa who had met her gruesome end at the hands of TBK, and clarified that Betty Cooper was still missing.
Several more days passed. Jughead, Polly and Jellybean began holding silent vigils beside the phone while the twins played with Chandler. None of the children had much of an enforced bedtime; it wasn't like the adults were going to get much sleep anyway.
They all flinched every time the phone rang.
Finally, almost four weeks after Betty went missing, they got the call they were waiting for.
Polly answered it, her eyes stayed wide as the person on the other end of the line relayed information. She gasped, and her breathing became laboured, and she quickly burst into hysterical sobs and dropped the phone. It dangled below the receiver as she slid down to the kitchen floor. Jellybean hurried to crouch by her side, and Jughead swallowed, feeling numb as he retrieved the phone.
"Hello?" He said, nerves welling up in his voice.
"Jug." It was FP, sounding breathless and stressed. "They found Betty." Jughead's heart froze over for only a moment before FP continued. "She's alive."
Jughead was so stunned that he couldn't answer right away. "She's… she's alive?" His voice became higher pitched, and his mouth dried up.
"She's alive. But Jug, she's… not doing well…"
Betty had escaped… and she was exhausted, and malnourished, and horrifically injured.
She was found on the highway; the first of TBK's victims to not be found there in trash bags, and the first of his victims to still be living and breathing.
Everything hurt. There wasn't a single part of her body that didn't feel like jagged glass scraping over skin. Her legs were unsteady and ready to give out. It took everything in her dwindling willpower not to collapse in the middle of the road.
She had no idea where she was.
The trees along the highway started to all look the same. Her phone was gone. The tracker the FBI had attached to her purse was probably in a trash can at the seedy nightclub where she was stationed. She was unconscious when TBK had taken her to his farm hellhouse, so she had no reasonable estimation as to how far from the nightclub he had taken her. TBK mostly kept her in a deep dug-out dirt well in his barn, and would often be gone for days at a time, giving her a dark and lonely reprieve from his torture techniques. It gave him plenty of time to travel to and from Virginia. For all she knew, she could be in Canada.
And so she just kept walking, ignoring the protest in her limbs and the searing pain in her still-bleeding arm. She'd done her best at creating a tourniquet out of TBK's leather belt, but the blood loss was still making her weak.
Several cars and trucks drove right past her, but she barely took notice of them. She felt almost as if she was in a daze. The hot Spring Sun was glared down on her, warming her cold skin - but vaguely, she noted that she was shivering.
Someone had called the police when they saw her. If she wasn't so numb, she may have noticed them parked off on the side of the highway calling out to her. She was a complete mess; her hair dirty and dishevelled, her white bra - the only clothing covering her chest - stained red with blood (some of it her own), and her black miniskirt rustled in the wind and swayed with every bare-footed step she took on the rough gravel.
The police cruisers spooked her so much that when they pulled up beside her she ran in the direction of the trees.
She screamed when one of the burly officers grabbed her.
By the time she realised she was in a hospital bed, a thick bandage in one arm and an IV in her other, wearing a clean white gown with her mother clutching her hand and sitting rigidly by her side, she still hadn't spoken a word.
She didn't speak at all for three more days.
Her body was on auto-pilot, and her throat was so raw from all the screaming she'd done the last month that even if she could talk, she wasn't sure how coherent she'd sound. She recognised Polly when her presence replaced FP's nervous demeanour. She ate when the nurses told her to, and nodded weakly as the doctors explained her treatment and test results - even the ones that left her so terrified that the crushing numbness started to fade.
Alice told her not to worry, that they'd take care of her, and everything would be okay. Betty couldn't think clearly enough to make a decision, so shocked and horrified by the doctor's words that she shoved them deep into the darkest parts of her mind. But it didn't matter; when the cramping pain in her abdomen started, she knew what was happening, and she was sucked back into an awful memory of Jughead holding her in her college dorm room while she cried.
When the FBI sent in a social worker to interview her and ask her questions about TBK, the first words that left Betty's mouth were: "I killed him."
The FBI had relentlessly searched properties that were close to where she was found on the highway. They'd gathered enough evidence from TBK's lair to conclude that he was a white man in his forties who had little family and an abusive upbringing. Typical serial killer MO - mother issues, inability to hold down a job or a relationship, and one estranged daughter who hadn't spoken to him in over ten years. His ex-wife had a restraining order against him that he'd violated three times, and he'd served time for sexual assault as a teenager. His trigger for killing was when he'd hired a hooker who resembled his mother; she was open to BDSM play but he'd taken it too far and choked her to death. Her body was the first to show up in trash bags.
The FBI had also found TBK's decapitated body - the chainsaw used to end him ominously settled beside his bloody corpse.
That had been Betty's doing…
She knew from the excited, gleeful look in his eyes that this was it. She had no more time, and he had tired of playing with her. She screamed so hard when he pressed the chainsaw into her arm that she thought, perhaps, she'd damaged her vocal chords. He walked back slowly, waving the chainsaw in front of him like the red cape of a Matador. Her hands were duct taped behind her, her ankles bound to the legs of the wooden chair, and she writhed in her seat with everything she had - but still, she was restrained, blood trailing down her arm and wetting her wrists as it pooled around the duct tape.
And then… she felt her wrist slip.
It was subtle. And barely noticeable. But she felt the duct taping starting to slide along her wrists, her own blood the lubricant that created some resistance to the tight stickiness of the tape. A desperate need to live forced her to hold back from giving in to the pain in her arm, and she rubbed her wrists against each other as she tried to free her hand…
TBK stalked closer, the sound of his chainsaw ringing in Betty's ears…
He stood before her, and lifted it high above Betty's head…
And then her hand was free. When he brought down the chainsaw, aiming for Betty's shoulder, she used all her energy to jump up and force it back towards him with her now-free hands. He stumbled back in surprise and lost his footing. He tripped backwards, and the chainsaw lodged at his throat. Blood spurted out of his neck and covered Betty's skin…
She sobbed in disbelief and hysteria as she set to work on freeing her ankles. Then she finally made her first step out into the sunlight after almost a month of being held captive, and it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen in her life.
The FBI released a statement to the public that the notorious Trash Bag Killer was dead, and confirmed that the undercover agent who'd killed him was not going to be charged with voluntary manslaughter. Betty was celebrated in the tabloids for her apparent heroics, but she didn't feel like celebrating.
She spent a week in the hospital, then over the next month had to endure no less than five gruelling therapy sessions before the FBI's psychiatrist would clear her to go back to work. Even then, Glen kept her in a desk job, filing old cases and writing reports.
The lack of activity was maddening.
Her mother could tell she was struggling, and more than once she'd woken her up from nightmares that left her screaming and thrashing in the bed of her small apartment.
"Betty, honey it's okay, wake up, wake up, I'm here… I'm here." Alice whispered soothingly. She stroked Betty's hair and held her close, and Betty tried to breathe through her sobs.
Her mind forced away the ghastly images of TBK rising from the dead on the floor of his barn, and chasing her down the highway, headless and brandishing a bloody chainsaw. She hated the nightmares; even though TBK was dead, he was still haunting her from beyond the grave.
"Mom?" She asked quietly and pulled back from her mother's embrace.
Alice pushed a stray lock of hair behind Betty's ear. "Yeah, honey…"
"Earlier today, I was thinking… I wanted to talk to you about going back to Riverdale." Betty swallowed back the lump in her throat.
Alice nodded and smiled sadly. "That sounds like a good idea. You need some time at home with your family to recuperate."
Betty shook her head. "No, I'm not talking about me… I'm talking about you."
Alice's eyes widened. "Betty…"
"You've been in Virginia for almost two months." Betty sat up straighter in bed and scooted back against the headboard. "I know you must be getting worried about Chandler."
"Honey, Chandler is with FP. He's okay." Tears welled up in Alice's eyes. "It's you I'm worried about."
"You don't need to worry about me. I'm fine." Betty said defiantly. "But Chandler still needs his Mom."
"Elizabeth, you're not fine." Alice's voice sounded like she was speaking around a golf ball, and Betty's heart lurched as a tear fell from her mother's cheek.
Betty frowned and looked down at her bedspread. "I am, Mom… obviously I know I'm still recovering, but I'm getting better every day. And I'm back at work now," it was tedious work, but it was still work, "and even Polly's back home with her kids. I don't want to keep you from yours any longer."
"You know Polly would still be here if she could, right?" Alice asked. Betty didn't answer immediately, and Alice quickly continued. "Jughead was helping out, but he had to go back to New York, and between Chandler, the twins and Jellybean, FP was struggling to keep up with everything in the house. Polly would still be here with you otherwise. And… you're my child too, Elizabeth." Alice whispered. "I spent weeks worrying that I'd never see you again. I don't want to leave you here alone…"
Betty swallowed and tried to keep her voice even. "But I'm fine now Mom. And I have… a boyfriend. He'll be here if I need him to be. I just need my life to go back to normal. Besides, I'm sure Jellybean will want you at her graduation ceremony…"
It took a few more days of convincing, but eventually Alice gave Betty a tearful goodbye as she got ready to leave, and made her promise that she'd call her if she needed anything.
Coping with being alone wasn't as easy as Betty hoped. Every creak of the floorboards and rustling of the windows in the wind made her jump. She told her therapist that the nightmares had stopped, but truthfully they'd only gotten worse. More than once she stayed up until the early hours of the morning, huddled on the couch with her cat Toffee as she reviewed cold cases involving serial killers. Maybe Alice was right, it could have been too early for her to be alone with her thoughts, but with every passing day Betty felt more and more guilty for keeping her family from returning back to their normal lives. She wanted her old life back; it wasn't perfect, and the FBI field work was often stressful… but she had been happy.
Glen tried to be comforting, but he was more out of touch with Betty's needs than ever before. He hadn't imposed his presence on her in the weeks after her discharge from hospital, leaving the heavy-duty moral support to Betty's mother and sister, but once Polly was gone he stopped by more than once to check in on Betty, and stayed to impress Alice with his cooking skills.
A week after Alice left, Glen stopped by Betty's apartment after work, and she was less than thrilled to see him at her door.
"Not happy to see me, babe?" He asked, smirking when she merely stared at him.
Betty forced a smile on her face. "Of course, I'm just… tired. I was thinking of going to sleep early."
"I could join you, if you want?" Glen asked, a cautiously hopeful edge in his voice.
Betty's smile turned to a grimace. "Not tonight." She said firmly, and apologised as she closed the door on him.
It wasn't that Betty had gotten sick of Glen, per se… just Glen's decision to keep her behind a desk. And with each week that passed, Betty felt her resentment over that decision building. She pulled away from his casual touches in the office, shot down his advances any time he came onto her in the parking lot, and rejected all his suggestions that they 'hang out' after work.
He was being patient with her, she knew. He wasn't being overly pushy… but she knew Glen. Her boyfriend's sex drive was as high as hers, and they'd never been shy with each other. When the date hit that signified four months since she'd escaped TBK, and Betty realised that meant it had been over five months since she and Glen had had sex with each other, she decided enough was enough; maybe she just needed to reconnect with Glen - maybe hanging out after work again like they used to would be a good idea.
So she let him back in, and tried not to grit her teeth in frustration when he told her about his latest drug raid at the local high school. She tried not to compare the seedy English Teacher that was providing his students with drugs to the South Side High Teacher that'd helped Jughead revamp the Red and Black Newspaper and met an untimely death at the hands of her father.
In fact, she tried not to think about Jughead at all…
Their after work 'dates' became more frequent, and Betty felt herself relaxing slightly. She forced herself to remember why she'd started seeing Glen in the first place. He was confident, ambitious, career driven, talkative, and he respected her opinions on their cases. Having someone to casually flirt with at work was good too, because something about solving crimes and busting criminals just got her so… heated.
Or it did, at least, until he put her behind a desk.
"I think," Glen said casually one night, after she'd spent hours sorting through a cold case involving highway killings that she suspected may be the work of another serial killer the FBI had been chasing through California, "that I know what you need to unwind."
"Huh?" She replied eloquently from her seat on her couch.
Glen walked out from her kitchen holding two wine glasses. "You've been so tense lately, Betty. I think you just need to do something that'll help you relax." He sat down beside her and handed her one of the glasses. Toffee hissed at him when the cushions jostled him awake, and jumped down to the floor to prance off into the bedroom.
Betty's eyebrows raised curiously. "What sort of relaxation are we talking about?"
"Well…" Glen said. He took a sip of his wine, placed it on the coffee table then slid closer to her. She swallowed to avoid cringing away from him. "I think you need something that'll take your mind off of… what happened."
Betty frowned. "My mind is off of what happened." She said stubbornly, though her hands began to shake. She gripped the wine glass firmly and sucked in a deep breath.
Glen wrapped his arm around Betty in what she assumed was meant to be a comforting manner. His hands slid up to her shoulders and started to massage the tension. Betty felt like she was being squeezed by a boa constrictor.
Betty abruptly shrugged off his hands. "Are you seriously trying to have sex with me right now?" She asked incredulously.
"You make it sound so dirty." Glen retorted, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "I'm trying to help you. I know what you need when you're so wound up." He leaned in and kissed her neck.
Betty shivered with revulsion. "What I need," she said, her voice clipping with anger, "is for you and the rest of the FBI to stop treating me like I'm made of glass." She stood up and moved away from him. She placed her wine glass on the table; if she didn't, she had half a mind to throw the contents in his face.
"Betty," Glen sighed and stood up to make his way towards her, "you need to start opening up. It's not healthy to close yourself off to your emotions like this."
Betty crossed her arms over her chest. "You sound like my therapist."
"Maybe she has a point." Glen said seriously. He placed his hands on her crossed arms and pulled her closer. "You've been so… distant with me lately. You need to talk about it eventually… why not with me?"
Betty pulled her hands away. "I don't need to talk about anything with you. You already read that report - you know what TB… what he was like. The things he did to those other girls. I don't need to explain it all to you."
"But, Betty—"
"No." She said firmly. "Why are you pushing this? I don't want to talk about it. Not with you, not with my Mom, not with the therapist, no one. It's over now, Glen. And we have plenty more open cases involving serial killers that need to be solved - which I could help with if you'd let me come back to field work. I caught serial killers in high school! I'm wasting away behind that desk."
Glen had the audacity to shush her. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You're getting yourself riled up because you're avoiding your feelings."
"I'm not avoiding my feelings."
"You are." His expression softened for a moment, and he gently put his hands at her waist. She stiffened, but he held them in place. "Come on… I'm sorry. You know that while the therapist won't sign off on it I can't let you back out on the field." He put his hand up to her face. "I miss having you out there, you know that."
Betty felt her glare wavering.
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. "It's all going to be okay, baby." He said quietly and leaned in to kiss her.
She accepted it, and tried to relax into his embrace. A dark sickness was building inside her with every kiss he gave her, and every slight brush of his hands against her back. "Glen, I don't think…" she started to say, but was cut off as his mouth became more aggressive on hers. He pulled her in closer, and Betty's heart started racing. Her head began spinning as Glen's hot breath reminded her of TBK's ghoulish grin. She turned her head to the side and he kissed down her cheek and jaw. "Stop, I'm not ready for this…"
"Just relax… you need this." Glen whispered against her neck.
But Betty could only think of TBK's gruff voice saying: scream louder, Agent Cooper, nobody can hear you…
"Get off me." Betty said roughly and slapped Glen across the face.
"Ouch!" He said and took a step back, his hand moving up to rub his cheek. "Fuck, Betty, are you serious?"
Betty was still shaking as she angrily told him to leave. That night, she couldn't sleep, because every time she closed her eyes she saw TBK's staring back at her.
Betty went back to work the next day, and for the first time felt relieved to be stuck inside the FBI headquarters. At least she wouldn't have to see Glen.
Soon enough, she did see him. He showed up at her apartment with supermarket flowers, and begged for her forgiveness and promised not to push her like that again.
She caved eventually, but their meetups had an edge to them now, and Betty's trust in her boyfriend was dwindling. Sex became an oversized elephant in the room for several weeks, one that neither of them had the courage to acknowledge.
Betty was the one to give in. Glen really wasn't a bad person, and he seemed to really want to support her. It was unnecessary, because she was fine - but still, she felt incredibly guilty that their relationship had suffered a six month dry spell. And Glen was being so patient. Previous to their incident the other night, he'd never been pushy with her about sex (but to be fair, she'd also never denied him before). Surely it was a one off, based entirely on him trying to help her out and not knowing how… at least, that's what Betty told herself.
So after a shared bottle of wine on the couch in front of the TV in Betty's apartment, Betty pushed through her sickening nerves and let liquid courage do its job. Their movie ended, and she waited for Glen to finish commenting on Kenneth Branagh's acting skills before she swallowed back her fear and straddled his lap.
She forced herself to kiss him, and he responded with desperate enthusiasm. She was still extremely uncomfortable, but kissing Glen was… okay. She relaxed slightly when no nausea reared its head, and felt Glen's hands slide down her hips and around to her ass. She was almost completely fine with the speed at which they were going, and considered asking him to slow things down a little. Maybe they could just make out tonight, and build their way back up to actual sex in a few weeks…
But then Glen abruptly pulled her closer and roughly turned them both sideways so that Betty was pinned beneath him. Her eyes opened wide and all the air in her lungs left as she let out a startled gasp. Glen must have taken it as a gasp of pleasure - or maybe he just didn't care at all - because he was suddenly kissing her neck and down her chest. His hand slid up her shirt, and Betty's chest constricted in pain.
"Glen… please…" She breathed out heavily. She wanted to push him off, but her limbs were frozen and her body seizing up.
"Yeah baby, I got you." He groaned into her chest.
Betty was shaking and shivering. "No, stop, please…" She forced the words out of her lips, but Glen ignored her, and in her mind his caresses were fast becoming the forceful grabs of TBK's rough hands.
"Agh!" Glen groaned, and Betty realised she'd reflexively kneed him in the gut. She used his distraction to scramble off the couch and run into the bedroom. She hastily locked the door behind her and dropped to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"Betty!" The door handle rattled. He slammed his fist on the door. "Betty come on, I'm sorry… I just got carried away." Her hands came up to her ears as he called out to her a few more times, but left when she refused to open the door. Her front door slammed, making her jolt.
Toffee cuddled up to her feet while a panic attack wrote her off for the rest of the night.
Glen tried calling her several times, but she ignored him. He came by to visit her more than once and apologised profusely through the door, but she was in no mood to deal with him. She told him to give her space, but he started cornering her in the office. She flinched away from him so often that even the other people in the office started to notice.
"Do you want me to call someone for you?" One of the new trainees asked when Glen finally gave up trying to engage her in conversation and stormed out of the office door. But Betty shook her head and threw herself back into filing.
By the end of the week, her frustration with Glen had reached a breaking point.
"Go home, Glen." She told him after he tried to convince her to leave work early and come back to his place so they could talk. "You're lucky I'm not reporting you for harassment, you resurrected Neanderthal."
"Oh, so it's harassment for me to want to have a physical connection with my girlfriend? Who I love, by the way, even though she's never told me the same thing." Glen said frostily. "What do you want me to do, stop coming to see you?"
Betty slammed a stack of files onto her desk. "No, I want you to respect me enough to acknowledge that I've been through something traumatic and I'm going to need time to get over it."
"So you admit it was traumatic?"
Betty made a noise of frustration. "You know what? I'm done with this conversation. Leave me alone, I have paperwork to file." She turned away and stalked towards her shelf full of cold cases.
Glen's expression turned to a grimace. "So what, you want me to just keep waiting around?" Glen crossed his arms over his chest. "It's been almost seven months, Betty. I'm a man, I have needs."
Betty was instantly furious. "Well then, by all means go and find someone else to take care of those needs."
Glen's eyes flashed with anger. "That sounds great. Why don't I just go ask your sister?"
Betty spun around to face him, her eyes filled with fury and hurt. "Excuse me?"
Glen's face held a smirk. "You didn't hear? It's Polly, right, your older sister?" When Betty merely glared at him, he continued. "She was arrested for prostitution a few months ago. Our team in Riverdale have been looking into Hiram Lodge again, and they've picked up on quite the trail of crime in that town."
Betty opened her mouth but no words came out. She swallowed and tried to think of a response. "Polly's a hooker? But she… she didn't tell me…"
There was a dark gleam in Glen's eyes. "Well, maybe if you were more open with her—"
"Fuck you." Betty said, and the stapler by her coffee mug suddenly seemed like it would look very nice stuck to Glen's forehead.
"Is that what it takes to get to that dirty mouth of yours? Well, if that's the case I could tell you what your step-brother's been up to—"
"Get out!" Betty practically screamed. The agents who'd been loitering inside the office all turned to her in shock. She took a deep breath and lowered her voice. "Stay the hell away from me. We're finished."
Glen's eyes tightened as he made his way out of the office.
At her next session with the therapist, Betty was told she needed some time off.
"Your outburst at work last week shows me that you're clearly not ready to be back in that environment." She said calmly.
Betty felt an old urge to dig her nails into her palm. "That was a one-off event. I was just angry with Glen."
"And do you normally cause a scene with your partner in public places while angry?" The therapist asked. Betty crossed her arms over her chest but said nothing. "How have the nightmares been lately? Still gone?"
"Yes." Betty lied easily.
"And the flashbacks? No longer happening?"
"Nope." Betty said. She reached out and picked up one of the candies on the therapist's coffee table. "I'm pretty much back to normal." She said as she popped the candy into her mouth.
"Right." The therapist said, but her tone proved to be disbelieving. "I'm still recommending that you take some time off. Maybe go and spend a month or two with your family."
The family who she'd apparently grown so distant from that she didn't know her sister had turned to prostitution to feed her kids? Seemed like a great idea.
And yet…
Betty couldn't believe the relief that overcame her as she packed her car up. Toffee sat calmly in his crate, curled up on the pillow and dutifully watching her as she started the car. She didn't want to be leaving her apartment near Quantico, she wanted to be back on the field, actively fighting against the people who preyed on innocent victims.
But she turned the keys and began her journey back to Riverdale.
Jughead, meanwhile, was spiralling.
Sales for his book were slowing down, so his agent decided he needed to promote The Outcasts on podcasts and through book signings and writing events. It had been fun at the beginning, but he wasn't a huge fan of social gatherings, and all the public interaction was starting to weigh heavy on him.
Another problem that came with publicity was the fact that so many dewy-eyed reporters were interested in finding out more about his personal life, his family life, his love life.
He met a girl named Cora at one of these events. She was a student at NYU and a journalist for an online company he'd never heard of. She was funny and flirty and confident. If Jughead had been drunk, he may have even taken her home with him. But he was trying to stop getting blackout drunk and sleeping with strangers, so he smiled politely at her and answered all her questions, and told her that Yes, I'm single, but I'm not really looking for anyone at the moment.
It wasn't true.
He had tried to make a connection with someone. Several someone's, he was ashamed to admit. He'd tried Tinder, and Bumble, and Hinge, and all the dating apps he could get into. He'd asked out friendly women he'd met through some of the authorial social events his agent told him he was contractually obligated to attend… but he couldn't connect with any of them, and they never got past the third date.
He wasn't sure what was wrong with him.
Why do I have to be drunk to sleep with someone? Was a question that kept him up at night sometimes.
"Can I ask you something, off the record?" Cora asked him, a flirty gleam in her eyes.
Jughead swallowed and forced a smile onto his face. "I'd hasten a guess that you can." He said.
She laughed. "Well, you have a bit of a reputation in my English class." She said nonchalantly.
"A reputation?" Jughead asked, nerves swirling through his chest. "As an… author?"
Cora snickered. "No… as a lover." Her eyes had a heated, lustful gleam as she looked Jughead up and down.
Jughead's smile tightened. "I see…"
Cora twirled a strand of her long blonde hair around her finger. "Oh yes, your name and number are written on the bathroom stalls in all the girls' dorm rooms."
"Really?"
Cora shrugged. "I might be exaggerating a little." They both snickered, and Jughead shook his head in amusement. "But I am curious." Cora continued. She took a step closer to him, and suddenly she was in his personal space. "If you ever want to prove my sources right, I'm always available for people who are… not looking for a relationship." She winked at him and slipped a card into the pocket of his blaser.
Jughead watched her leave, her golden locks swaying in time with her hips.
He had no intention of calling her. Even though she was beautiful and interesting, her striped sweater and blonde hair reminded him a little too much of his ex girlfriend for him to want to go down that road.
Maybe he should give her a chance. They had a lot in common, she was friendly enough, and the conversation between them had flowed easily. But Jughead just… couldn't.
And so he found himself resorting back to old coping mechanisms: sitting perched in a barstool and staring down at a half empty glass of Hennessy.
He wasn't drunk. Far from it, he'd been nursing the same glass for over an hour - the flamboyant bartender alternated between shooting him concerned glances and judgy eye rolls. Jughead contemplated downing the glass and giving Cora a call (she'd definitely show up, and at least he'd have something to do with his night) but he'd meant it when he promised himself he was going to stop letting his apparent fear of relationships dictate his drinking habits.
He was still staring down at the brown liquid when a familiar voice sounded behind him.
"Jughead? Is that you?"
Jughead looked up and turned to face a man he hadn't seen in years. "Kevin?!" He asked, feeling a little shell-shocked.
Kevin walked closer to Jughead. "I almost didn't recognise you without the beanie and S shirt. But that broody mysterious vibe was undeniable."
Jughead smiled as he clapped Kevin on the arm. "What are you doing here?"
"Ah, I was about to ask you the same question." He moved to sit in the empty stool beside Jughead, and a smirk came over his face. "You do realise this is a gay bar, right?"
Jughead breathed out a laugh. "Yeah… to be honest, I come in here a lot… it's one of the only bars around town that I haven't…um, got history in." The last time he'd stepped foot in the bar near his apartment, Jess' friend Hayley had seen him, and he'd fled before she could march her stormy demeanour over to chew him out.
"Wow." Kevin said with raised eyebrows. "So no luck with the fairer sex tonight, I take it?"
Jughead grimaced. "Something like that… so, what brings you to New York?"
Kevin rolled his eyes. "I'm meant to be staying with Veronica. We went to see Chicago on Broadway - amazing performance from Amra-Faye Wright, by the way - but Veronica's husband was…" An annoyed look came over Kevin's face. "Well, let's just say, he was less than welcoming."
Jughead's eyes widened in shock. "He kicked you out?"
"Oh, no, no. If anything, I kicked myself out." Kevin said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "I could tell they were heading towards another one of their tragically explosive arguments, so I decided to remove myself from the equation - I couldn't take another second of Elio's snooty opinions and not-so-subtle death glares." He shrugged casually. "I told Veronica I made reservations at The Langham on Fifth Avenue. But honestly, I figured if I'm not going to get to spend the night reliving my high school slumber party days with V, I may as well find a nice upstanding gentleman to slumber party with for the evening."
Jughead smirked and lifted his glass up. "Well, I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure there aren't many 'gentlemen' in this place."
"Thank God." Kevin said with a relieved sigh.
Jughead laughed. "Well, while you're scoping out your options, can I buy you a drink?"
Kevin gave him a wry smile. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. I think the bartender might even stop glaring at me if I actually buy something. I can put in a good word for you, if you want. He looks… hot?" Jughead concluded his statement in a questioning tone.
Kevin followed Jughead's line of sight and gave the bartender a once-over. "No he doesn't. But nice try."
Jughead hadn't spent a lot of alone time with Kevin in high school. By the end of senior year, Kevin was definitely a friend of his, but usually that friendship involved the presence of a particular blonde mutual. He went to Kevin's twenty first birthday at La Bonne Nuit (thanks to the insistence of Fangs and Sweet Pea), but he spent most of that night avoiding anyone without a Serpent jacket, and ignoring Toni's gentle ribbing that he was staring at Betty's ass.
He wasn't - he was staring at her eyes.
So he was a little surprised to enjoy Kevin's company so much. When he smiled and laughed at Kevin's wild college stories, it was genuine. He even listened intently to Kevin's retelling of the time he'd busted four of his Drama students smoking weed in the locker room and had managed to act like he was completely unaware of their bloodshot eyes, shifty body language and the cloud of smoke around their heads; he'd apparently left them with a reminder that herbal body sprays can set off the fire alarms and had never caught them doing it again, so they'd either stopped doing it or gotten better at hiding it.
Kevin sighed dramatically at the close of his soliloquy. "Honestly, I know I should have reported them to the principal, but honestly, I did way worse at their age, and with how Hiram Lodge has been cracking down on teenage misdemeanours I wouldn't want to be responsible for their long-term stay in his Nazi prison camp."
Jughead frowned. He hadn't seen much of the dictator mayor during his most recent visit to Riverdale, but he couldn't blame Kevin for doing anything he could to keep high schoolers out of his clutches.
"Sorry, I've been yammering on about myself. What have you been up to? I heard you've been promoting your books. Congrats, by the way." Kevin said enthusiastically.
"Thanks." Jughead replied simply, feeling a flush coming over his face.
"Seriously, that's great. Must get you a lot of cred with the ladies…" Kevin said knowingly, bringing his beer up to his lips.
Jughead let out a breathy laugh, and diverted the conversation. "So… how are you and Fangs doing? I'm not trying to pry, but since you're… well, here…"
Kevin nodded, and a guarded expression came over him. "Oh, we're still together. Going on seven years."
"Oh. That's awesome." Jughead said, surprised.
"It is, honestly. He really gets me, you know?" Kevin took another swig of his beer, then set it down on the bar. "We're actually in an open relationship now."
Jughead's eyebrows raised involuntarily. "I see."
"It gets lonely sometimes, you know? He's off on the road a lot, driving trucks out of state…" A defensive expression entered Kevin's features. "I know it's not exactly orthodox, but it works for us."
"No judgement here, Kev." Jughead said seriously. "Trust me, I'm the last person who should be lecturing people on what they should be doing with their love life."
Kevin smirked. "Yours is that bad, is it?"
"Oh, you know, I'm just - oh, shit." Jughead caught sight of a familiar face, and abruptly ducked his head down. "Quick, hide me."
Kevin spun around on the bar stool and tried to seek out who Jughead had spotted. "From who?"
"Brown hair, red scarf. Just walked in."
"Ah… who is he?" Kevin asked, rolling his eyes as Jughead leaned behind his back.
"Johno. Friend of my ex. He's… opinionated."
"I see." Kevin could hardly contain his amusement. "Is he also a drug dealer? Because I'm pretty sure he just met with a client."
"That'd be him." Jughead said, a hint of anxiety rearing its head.
"Okay, well you can relax, he's leaving."
Jughead waited a few more seconds before he sat up and sighed.
Kevin was still smirking as he faced Jughead again. "I so need the backstory. Spill."
Jughead exhaled. "My ex-girlfriend Jessica… I brought her home for Christmas a couple years back. Had to get her to meet the family, you know."
"Of course." Kevin nodded, hanging on every word.
"Well, we got into a huge fight and she broke up with me and left." Jughead frowned at the memory. "I tried to make things right with her when I got back to New York… but long story short, she accused me of cheating on her with Betty and things just blew up between us even worse." Jughead shook his head and brushed his fingers along his glass. "Her friends are very protective of her. Any time I've crossed paths with them since then, I've had to deal with a lot of unnecessary public drama."
Kevin bit his lip. "And?"
Jughead's eyebrows furrowed. "And what?"
"Were you cheating on her with Betty?"
"No!" Jughead scoffed. "I loved Jess. I never would have cheated on her."
Kevin smiled sadly. "A fact that is unfortunately not true of everyone."
"You're telling me." Jughead grumbled.
There was a long pause of silence between them, but eventually Kevin sighed and placed a hand on Jughead's shoulder. "I'm sorry things didn't work out with your girlfriend, Jug."
Jughead looked down at Kevin's hand briefly, then smiled sadly up at him. "It's okay. Maybe it was for the best… we really did bring the worst out in each other."
Kevin removed his hand, and Jughead noted that his shoulder felt oddly cold at the loss. "So, has there been another girlfriend since then?"
Jughead looked back down at his glass. "Nah… but there's been a few girls." He looked up at the incredulous look on Kevin's face then backtracked. "Okay, there's been a lot of girls."
Kevin raised his eyebrows. "And none of them stuck around?"
Jughead shook his head. "I didn't stick around." He took a sip of his Hennessy then continued. "Honestly… it's been sort of… hard to connect with women these days. After Jess I really thought I was on the rebound, and maybe that was why I kept having meaningless hookups. But maybe… maybe there's something wrong with me." He admitted. It was an odd feeling to be opening up to Kevin of all people, but saying it out loud felt… relieving.
"Jug, there's nothing wrong with you." Kevin said sympathetically. "You're a great guy. The right girl is going to come into your life at the right time." As Kevin spoke, Jughead reached into his pocket and pulled out Cora's business card. He handed it to Kevin, who took it between his fingers with a confused look on his face. "What's this meant to be?"
"This girl gave me her number today." Jughead said, his voice wavering. "She was the whole package. Beautiful, intelligent, funny, easy to talk to, interested in me… but I felt nothing when I looked at her."
"That doesn't mean—"
"It's not just her." Jughead said solemnly. "It's any girl who shows even the slightest inkling of interest in me."
A sad look came over Kevin. "Jug…"
"I've tried dating." Jughead said, the words pouring out of him before he could stop them. "I've asked out people I know, people I don't know. But it just never works out. I don't feel anything for them. They don't, you know, turn me on."
Kevin waved over the bartender. "I'm gonna need another drink if we're having this conversation." He said meekly.
Jughead continued. "It's not that I haven't had sex with anyone." He clarified after the bartender had given Kevin his fresh beer. "I've had plenty of sex, more than I'd care to say."
"Well, you just did say." Kevin said quietly.
"But to even get to that point, I have to get completely wasted." Jughead said, sitting up straighter and feeling stress building inside him at the vocalised revelation he'd made about himself years ago. "And I don't mean regular drunk, I mean so wasted that I can't even remember who the girl is, how we met, or what part of New York I'm in. I am saying if I'm not black out drunk, I can't have sex. And the worst part is, these girls call me afterwards and act like I gave them this amazing night, but I don't even remember it. And I feel nothing. No attraction, no interest. Just… disgust."
Kevin stayed quiet for a long moment and stared down at his bottle as he collected his thoughts. When he looked up at Jughead he had an unreadable expression on his face. "Jug, have you ever considered that maybe you're not… straight?"
Jughead was about to instinctively respond with the standard 'no' to that question… but instead he took a swig from his glass and decided to answer honestly. "I… have thought about it." He admitted. "Back in high school, before I started dating Betty… there were a few guys in the grades above us who used to push me around pretty bad because they thought I was a creepy weirdo. To be fair, I sort of was."
"Your words, not mine." Kevin smirked before his face morphed into an empathetic look. "Jason Blossom and the rest of the football team, right?"
"Mainly just the football team. Jason usually wasn't actively involved. But…" Jughead's mouth turned dry. He'd never spoken about this period of his life to anyone, but Kevin was such an open person and talking to him felt… safe. "Once in freshman year, Chuck Clayton caught me in one of my failed attempts at writing poetry. He got all riled up about this ode I wrote about a tall red haired man who dominated the school hallways… he assumed it was about Jason, and so some of the other boys ripped it up and then they stuffed me inside my locker."
Kevin's eyes were wide but he didn't interrupt.
"Jason was the one who found me…" Jughead recalled. "He didn't make a big deal out of it. He was actually kind of nice to me. Just told me I'm a good writer and asked me if I was okay. He even made the football team leave me alone for a while." Jughead felt himself getting emotional. "Honestly, when he died, part of me was so obsessed with figuring out what happened to him because even though he was this macho athlete that had a reputation for being kind of an asshole… I didn't think he deserved it. I guess I saw him in a new light that day. He humanised the Blossom family in a town that had them all pegged as cold, heartless psychopaths."
Kevin was quiet for a moment. "So… if your poem wasn't about Jason, then…"
Jughead sighed. "It was about Archie."
Kevin nodded, his expression awed. "Damn."
"Yeah."
Jughead shrugged. "At the risk of sounding like a thirteen year old schoolgirl, I think I might have had a… crush on him. It didn't last long, but he was my best friend, one of the only people who stood up for me and always seemed interested in what I had to say, even when he didn't understand what I was talking about. But then I started hanging out with Betty more and all thoughts of my potential budding homosexuality went out the window."
Kevin pursed his lips. "Is Archie the only guy you've ever had feelings for?"
"One hundred percent." Jughead said honestly. "I don't even know if they were really feelings, or it was just part of the pubescent curiosity and discovery one goes through at that age."
Kevin shuffled closer on his stool. "Jug, sexuality isn't alway about… liking men or women. Sometimes it's tied up in emotions and romance. You can be attracted to someone's personality or their actions, or just something inside them that draws you closer."
Jughead made a noise of acknowledgment, but wasn't sure what he could say.
Kevin exhaled. "Okay, I can't leave you in this confusing state. You're on the cusp of an identity crisis, and I think I can help you out here."
Jughead's eyebrows furrowed. "How?"
Kevin thought about it for a moment. "Alright, let's start with Betty. She was your first, right?"
Jughead nodded.
"So, what made you ask her out?"
Jughead cocked his head to the side. "I… didn't, actually. She was always a friend, but when we were working together on the Blue and Gold I started noticing how pretty she was, how I felt around her, and I guess…" Jughead felt it difficult to explain his complicated feelings towards his ex. "I dunno, I realised eventually that I liked her as more than a friend and I just kind of went for it while I still had the chance."
Kevin picked up on Jughead's obvious discomfort and went for a new approach. "Fair enough. So, alcohol aside, how many other girls have you liked? Or at least, been sexually attracted to."
"Ugh. This feels like we really are at a slumber party. Do you want to braid my hair while I paint your nails?"
"Focus, Jughead."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is just… weird for me to talk about." Jughead ran a hand through his hair an exhaled in a long sigh. "Aside from Betty… there's been two other girls."
"Okay, the floor is yours. Tell me about them."
Jughead steeled himself. "Well, while me and Betty were broken up in sophomore year I had kind of a thing for Toni."
"Topaz?!" Kevin exclaimed, then cleared his throat. "No judgement, go on…"
Jughead did explain himself. He told Kevin about how lonely and rejected he felt, and how Toni was funny, and accepting of him. Even though he missed Betty and was definitely still in love with her, Toni was a good friend, and their clumsy and inexperienced make out session at sixteen wasn't awkward or weird, and at the time he didn't feel bad about it. His relationship with Jess was more complicated - they'd started as classmates, had multiple drunken hookups, but once they'd started becoming better friends, spent more time together and he became comfortable hanging out with her in a casual setting - he started to get attached. When he finally realised he had feelings for her, dating her felt natural. Fun, even.
As Jughead spoke, Kevin seemed to become more confident in his opinions. "I think I know what it is that you need."
Jughead lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm all ears, Kev. Give me your professional diagnosis."
"God, you're dramatic. And that's coming from me." Kevin shook his head as Jughead grinned. "Well, for starters, I think you're caught up in trying to live with the assumption that you're a regular straight man who should be feeling a certain way about women. You're forcing yourself into situations with women that will prove you're a normal guy with normal urges, but the truth is, normal doesn't exist. Your sexuality is more complicated than: I've only slept with girls, therefore I'm straight."
"Huh." Jughead said, a picked up his glass to twirl it within his hands. "Okay then, Dr Freud. Are you trying to say I'm actually bisexual? Because really, apart from that one time when I was fifteen, I've never looked at a man and thought: I need to get on that."
"You're misunderstanding me." Kevin said. "What I'm trying to get at, is that you're too focused right now on the gender of your sexual partners. But really, what matters isn't your sexual attraction to them, it's your romantic, emotional attraction. The sexual attraction for you comes later, after you've developed a friendship or an emotional attachment." Kevin's eyes were kind and soft, and he placed a hand on Jughead's arm. "Jug, you're not gay. You're not straight. You're not even bisexual. What I believe - and keep in mind, this is only my opinion, you might disagree - is that you're actually demisexual."
Jughead stared at him. "What… the hell does that mean? I've never even heard of it."
"Of course you haven't." Kevin groaned. "Because our high school's sex education didn't go into any more depth than putting a condom on a banana."
Jughead rolled his eyes. "So… you're saying I'm actually not straight at all, I'm… what was it?"
"Demisexual." Kevin repeated. "It's on the asexuality spectrum."
"There's a spectrum for that?"
"God it kills me that there isn't more education on this." Kevin sighed. "Yes. Being demisexual just means that you aren't going to feel a sexual attraction to someone until you've developed an emotional connection with them. It's why you've only ever had a relationship with someone that you're friends with first." He looked down at his hand for a moment, then discreetly pulled it away from Jughead. "It's completely normal. There's nothing wrong with you, you're just wired differently than the hormonal masses around you."
Jughead took a moment to process this. "Wow. I… I think… that makes sense." He tried the word on for size, and mulled over the meaning for a while. "It just explains so much."
Kevin nodded. "I know this is probably a lot to process."
"Yeah." Jughead let out a humorous laugh.
"What you need, Jughead, is a friend." He reached out and slowly took the glass out of Jughead's grasp. "You don't need this."
Jughead felt a lump forming in his throat as he watched Kevin place the glass on the bar. "Thanks." He said gruffly.
Kevin smiled. "It's fine."
"No, really." Jughead said in earnest. "The last couple of years I've been… spiralling. It's been a confusing mess for me… maybe now I can actually start sorting my head out."
"Well, what are friends for, right?" Kevin chuckled and leaned his back against the bar. One of the mason jar chandeliers above him bathed him in a golden glow, and Jughead noted that it brought out the subtle flecks of brown in his hazel eyes.
"Yeah." Jughead said simply. "It's getting kind of late." He started, and realised with surprise that he was beginning to feel a rush of nerves building up. "If you haven't already scoped out a girlfriend to join your slumber party, you could crash at my place?"
Kevin looked up at Jughead with an unreadable anticipation. "I mean, only if I'm not 'imposing on your personal space'."
Jughead snorted and leaned closer. "Is that what the formidable Mr Grande accused you of earlier?"
"Essentially. Mainly he was mad at V's lack of consideration for his sleeping schedule." He laughed and sat upright.
As he did so, Jughead noted that Kevin's wallet started to slide out of his back pocket. He quickly moved closer and reached out to catch it before it fell out completely, but he was stopped in his tracks as Kevin leaned in closer and—
—kissed him.
Jughead's eyes widened in surprise and he quickly leaned back and away from Kevin. The wallet clanged against the side of the wooden bar and Kevin flushed as he realised it had fallen. He leaned down to pick it up and stood abruptly, his face holding an embarrassed look of horror.
"Oh God, I'm sorry." Kevin stuttered out, and Jughead stood up as Kevin started to back away. "I completely misread that. Definitely thought you were giving me some kind of signal, but I was so out of line. I'm so sorry, I'll-"
But Jughead cut him off with his lips.
Because kissing Kevin hadn't activated any kind of feeling of anxiety in him. In fact, Kevin's lips were soft, yet at the same time forceful and appreciative. Jughead snaked one of his hands up through Kevin's hair and pulled him closer towards him. His other landed at Kevin's waist as he gripped the fabric of his fancy button down.
When they finally came up for air, both were breathless, their chests heaving in tandem.
"Well," Kevin said, his cheeks blushing, "I'm, ahh…"
Jughead kept his eyes on Kevin's as he whispered. "So… wanna go back to mine?"
Everything after that happened in a rush.
They made out again while waiting for the Uber, and then Jughead's hand gripped Kevin's thigh in the back seat until the other man wound his fingers through his messy black hair and their lips crashed together in a desperate dance of domination. Jughead's heart was pounding the entire ride home - not in fear or disgust, but in excitement.
He tripped over his own feet in the kitchen, and Kevin laughed at him when his shirt got caught on a door handle. They almost didn't make it to the bedroom when Kevin dropped to his knees and undid Jughead's belt buckle.
The next morning, Jughead woke up completely sober, feeling no trace of a hangover and with a complete memory of the night before. Kevin was still asleep as Jughead inspected the toned lines of his shoulder blades, and allowed himself a small smile as Kevin yawned and opened his eyes.
"Hi there." Kevin said as he rubbed his eyes. "I won't lie, a small part of me thought last night might have been a dream."
"I'm not sure my dreams are ever that creative." Jughead joked, and tried not to feel self conscious as he adjusted the blanket around his waist.
"You don't say." Kevin snickered as he rolled over and sat up. There was a slightly awkward pause as he eyed Jughead over. "This doesn't need to be weird, right? I mean… we're both adults. I've always known I was destined to hook up with someone from high school that I'd run into at a gay bar."
Jughead smirked. "You're good. I mean, I'm no stranger to the one-night stand thing."
"Well that's good. Because…" Kevin's eyes glimmered with heat. "I was thinking maybe… we could turn this into a two- night stand-"
Jughead silenced him with his mouth.