Chapter 7: what's the good in being good?

A look, a glance, a gesture

Can mean everything and nothing

A sediment adrift in crystal blackness

I won't pursue, I want you, but I can't stop

I'll let the world make its decision

No matter the consequences

What's the good in being good?

So, go ahead, feed me diamonds

Feed Me Diamonds – MNDR (RAC Remix)

"Give me a minute, Kev," she called in response to the knock, the music shutting off.

"Betts," he said, turning the knob and pulling the door half open. "It's me."

He hung awkwardly in the doorway, staring at her. She was sitting at her vanity, fixing her hair back up in a ponytail.

Betty's fingers tightened sharply around the hair tie at the sound of his voice, her knuckles turning white as she pulled.

She turned away from the mirror toward him, glowering.

Despite her blistering glare, he was relieved to see Betty had put on a shirt. She still looked effortlessly stunning in the sleeveless baby blue button-down blouse, but at least he'd be able to hold this discussion without being completely distracted by her tempting body in that bustier.

"What do you want, Jughead?" she asked, visibly annoyed.

But before he could answer her, she steamrolled over him.

"Because if you're looking for a meaningless hook-up, I suggest trying a different bedroom," she seethed, the pain and anger emanating from her eyes outweighing the pointed sarcasm. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

Jughead momentarily deflated. He deserved that.

"I need to talk to you," he said, holding her gaze.

"We don't have anything to talk about," she told him flippantly.

He sighed. She wasn't planning to make this easy for him. But he couldn't let himself be deterred. Not again. He owed her the truth, and more.

"Betty," he warned, his voice sharper than he intended. "Cut the crap. You want to be mad at me, to yell at me? Fine. I deserve it. But I'm not leaving until we talk."

At that, he swept into her room and plopped himself onto the window seat. His blue eyes smoldered as he returned his gaze to her. Maybe his tone was overly harsh, but too many of his buttons had been pushed tonight.

Jughead could see a chill go through her.

He'd intuited enough of her body's needs in their two hook-ups to know that shiver was definitely not simply a product of anger. He smirked in spite of himself, pleased that despite all the tension between them, he still had that erotic effect on her. It calmed him, made him feel slightly more in control.

Betty blushed red, seeing his smirk.

"So, talk," she muttered, looking away from him.

Inhaling, he began. "Firstly, about that remark," he stated. "It was a shitty thing to say, as well as a complete lie." He waited a beat, before adding, "There is nothing about you that could ever be meaningless to me."

He fixed his intense blue-eyed stare on her, willing her to believe him.

Betty's chin trembled, weighing if to take him at his word.

"So why say it then?" she asked.

He grimaced. Leave it to Betty with her superlative deductive reasoning skills to ask the most logical question of all.

"Because I was too scared to tell you the truth," he confessed.

"Which was?" she prodded.

Jughead leaned back, drumming his fingers against the cushion. "Betty, I've had feelings for you for years," he finally admitted. "Probably longer than you have for me."

She folded her arms up and peered at him expectantly.

"The first time we kissed, in high school, was like seeing stars," he continued. "I'm not exaggerating."

A tentative smile played on Betty's lips, but she immediately bit it away when she caught him staring at her, a small frown forming instead.

"I wanted to do something after that—ask you out, or whatever—but I didn't know how," he explained. "It was too frightening."

"I waited weeks hoping you would invite me to homecoming," she murmured, more than a little indignantly, interrupting him. "And when you didn't, I left the dance early and walked all the way to Pop's in my first pair of heels, because I knew you'd be there."

Jughead remembered that night. He could still visualize Betty, adorable and buddingly beautiful at 14, in a bubblegum pink flare dress with cut-out sides. Approaching his booth. Sitting down opposite him with a shy smile and ordering a vanilla milkshake. Regaling him with stories of all the silly things their classmates had done at the dance. He'd laughed and laughed, a warm sensation he couldn't explain then floating through him. But he understood it now.

"I'm sorry," he offered her, the apology encompassing so many things in his mind.

"It doesn't matter now," she replied, her voice sad, resigned.

"No, Betty," he argued. "It does." He waited a moment to collect his thoughts. "Maybe it started then, but it's always been that same fear."

'What do you mean?" she questioned.

"I've always been intimidated by you," Jughead revealed. "By how wonderful your life and your family seemed in comparison to mine. I'm just some fucking trailer park kid with a deadbeat dad and a mom who didn't even think twice about walking out on him. But you, you're so perfect, Betty. I knew you were way too good for me. And on top of that, you're my best friend's little sister. I…I couldn't cross that line."

"I'm not perfect," she snapped.

"I know, Betts, but I…"

"No, you don't," she cut him off angrily, surprising them both at the intensity of her outburst.

He watched her carefully as she shook her head and balled her hands into fists, attempting to cast off the rage he'd sparked.

When she spoke again, her voice had softened significantly. "Can I show you something?"

"Of course," he told her appeasingly, still somewhat taken-aback. "Anything."

She stood up and walked toward him, gingerly perching next to him on the window seat. She unfurled her hands, exhibiting them before him.

Jughead glanced down at the ivory skin. Her palms were decorated with faded blemishes in the shape of half-moon crescents. They looked like scars.

His eyes darted between her nervously shifting pupils and her tremoring hands.

"Did…did you make those?"

Betty nodded, her irises hesitantly meeting his.

"I sometimes feel this darkness, this anxiety inside me," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's so overwhelming. And the only way I can control the pressure is by doing this."

"Oh, Betts…" he murmured in understanding. If anyone could recognize a self-destructive coping mechanism, it was him.

Betty looked off into the distance. He could tell she was trying to keep herself from tearing up.

"I know everyone in Riverdale, you included, thinks I have this amazing life and wonderful blended family," Betty confided to him. "And I am grateful. But that doesn't mean I don't miss my father, Jug, or have moments when I feel so angry and helpless over what I lost."

She paused, turning back to look at him, willing him to see her fully. "I love Fred," she continued. "But he's not my dad. Can you understand that?"

His face flamed listening to her. He's always considered himself to be above those who made assumptions about what someone else was going through, and here he was guilty of the same. With one of his best friends. And on a subject he should theoretically have been more sympathetic about considering his own checkered parental history. He'd shied away for years from really asking her about her father's passing, figuring that was what she wanted. Now, he was ashamed to realize how wrong that had been. How much of Betty he hadn't perceived.

In lieu of answering directly, Jughead falteringly reached out to trace the marks on her still uncurled hand. He knew he didn't deserve to touch her yet, but he was incapable of stopping himself. He needed her to know her revelation didn't make him think less of her in any way.

"How come you never told me, baby?" he asked softly, the pet name falling unwittingly from his lips.

"Because," Betty sighed, "As much as it sucks on some level, it's also flattering how highly you think of me, Jug. And I didn't want you to pity me."

He lifted her hand and curled it back into a fist, tenderly kissing her fingers. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as his lips pressed against her knuckles.

"I could never pity you," he vowed when her eyes opened to meet his.

"I could never pity you, Jughead," she returned, emphasizing each syllable. She squeezed his hand gently before extracting it from his grasp and letting it fall against the cushion.

As she said those words, he realized the extent of his hypocrisy. He'd been so troubled by his own background, so afraid of her looking down on him or feeling sorry for him, that he'd neglected to see her own pain, her own inhibitedness. He'd simply idolized her, convincing himself he would never be good enough for her. That she'd immediately regret being with him. It was his insecurity that crippled him, more than anything Archie had ever said about his step-sister being off limits or his natural protectiveness over Betty. Jughead's own fear had been what was holding him back all along. And he'd never stopped to ask Betty what she wanted.

"I'm so sorry, Betty," Jughead found himself saying. "For putting you on a pedestal for so long and acting like a giant asshole in the process. I should have told you how I felt a long time ago."

She sniffled but was otherwise silent, as his eyes begged hers to accept his apology.

"Can you forgive me, Betts?"

"You know I can't stay mad at you, Jug," she muttered.

She tried to smile as she murmured the words, but he could see she was still upset. She fidgeted on the window seat, her eyes blinking away the teardrops that had formed despite her best efforts. Something wasn't right.

"Talk to me, please," he requested.

Jughead knew how paradoxical, and selfish, it was to plead with her to open up to him when he'd been so closed off and dishonest about his own motivations with regard to her until tonight. But he still felt an inexplicable urge to know what she was thinking now.

"I just…why do you think I'm so perfect anyway?" she half-shouted, frustrated.

He sensed it was a rhetorical question and kept quiet, waiting for her to let it out.

"Do you know I used to steal Polly's shirts and then lie about it whenever she acted like a wild child, because I was so resentful that she could get away with crap and I always had to be the good, dependable sister?" she ranted, stepping up restlessly and starting to pace the carpet. "Or that I gave Dilton a week's worth of incorrect notes last year so he wouldn't do well on a physics exam and I'd have a higher GPA than him? And that I talk shit with Kevin all the time about how nauseating and obnoxious Midge and Moose are as a couple?"

Betty stopped talking for a moment, and he could see she was weighing whether to filter the next thing on her mind.

"And when your ex-girlfriend came to visit for a few days during winter break, you can't imagine how jealous I felt, Jughead," she ultimately barreled forward, her voice, however, starting to turn more abashed and less agitated. "She was so skinny and pretty and I thought that was the kind of girl you were into. I felt fat and ugly, and I wanted to shave off her eyebrows."

Jughead smirked inadvertently as he listened to her rant, finding something weirdly sexy and authentic in the way she was listing her flaws and petty jealousies. Maybe that wasn't Betty's intended effect or what a typical guy's reaction would be. But he couldn't help it. He finally got it. His dream girl was flesh and blood, not an angel with a halo. And it only made her that much more appealing.

She stopped pacing long enough to face him, and he quickly wiped the smirk off his face, a little afraid the humor he found in her tirade might set her off further.

"I acted like an absolute bitch, too," Betty groaned. "When we were alone for a few minutes, I ripped into her about her terrible taste in movies. I was so harsh, I think I called her insipid and sentimental." Her anger seemed to rev up again and she snarled, "Also, sidenote, but how could you of all people date someone whose favorite film is 'Titanic'? Jesus, Jug!"

Jughead couldn't hold back this time, tilting his head and letting out an amused snicker. Betty quieted at the sound, continuing to pace wordlessly, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Sensing she might have finally talked herself out, he tentatively spoke up. "Betty," he murmured softly.

She looked toward him, her face flushing.

"You don't have to worry," he teased gently. "I am now very aware you're not perfect. Although, kudos, that was an A+ rant."

The blonde blushed darkly as she took stock of everything she'd just confessed aloud.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I kind of went off the rails."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I kind of enjoyed it."

"Yeah right," Betty muttered, dropping down on her bed and folding her arms and legs around herself in a protective pose.

He smirked. "I did. Especially the part about you being jealous of Tabitha," he declared, his voice taking on a flirtatious lilt, "Definitely an ego boost."

Betty rolled her eyes. "If that's the case," she sassed back, "Then I'm sure you'll be happy to hear how I was so jealous of her I drank too much champagne at Veronica's New Year's party and made out with Adam Chisholm."

Jughead grimaced, digesting her latest gut punch. He vaguely remembered seeing them disappear together that night, but he would have preferred not to know any details about Betty hooking up with another guy, especially a preppy tool like Veronica's friend Adam. Nevertheless, the irony Betty had reacted to him dating someone with his own classic modus operandi was too glaring to ignore. He let out a bitter laugh.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"It's starting to hit me just how similar we are," he chuckled, his lips curling up in the semblance of a smile. "I kind of did the exact same thing when I heard about your date with Trevor last year."

"Oh," she said, smiling back half-heartedly, until a pained look came over her face.

"What's up?" he questioned.

"I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for two whole weeks, Jughead," she apologized. "Maybe I went overboard. But what you said that night in my room really hurt me."

"I know," he said, hanging his head, his turn to feel ashamed. "I know it did, Betts."

"With Adam, we had flirted before a couple of times," Betty mumbled, looking down into her lap as she began to relay the whole story. "I was tipsy and sad over you having a girlfriend and I stupidly thought he might actually like me. But when I slowed him down as we were kissing, he said I was 'pretty enough' that it was okay I didn't put out this time. And when we left the bedroom, his friends started clapping. It was really humiliating."

Jughead frowned deeply, immediately disgusted with all the idiots, unfortunately himself included, for ever making Betty believe she was anything less than incredible.

"I know it's not fair to put that experience on you," she sighed. "But I just thought being with you would be different. That I wouldn't feel used after. But I did. Worse than that because I thought we meant something to each other."

"It was different, Betty," he swore, determined to convince her. "I am so sorry for making you feel anywhere close to insignificant. I know I acted like a dick in the aftermath, but being with you was like a dream come true for me. It was way more than just physical. Please believe that."

Betty bit her lip and appraised him. "I want to," she whispered.

His eyes continued to plead with her as she exhaled, her voice inching closer to its normal register. "Maybe Kevin was right. He said you were into me but just trying to push me away for whatever reason."

"So, you told him about us?" Jughead asked quietly. He already figured she had, but he wanted confirmation of what the boy knew.

She was immediately defensive again. "Why? Are you going to give me shit for not keeping it quiet like you wanted?"

"Betty, no," he said emphatically. "I'm not going to give you any shit. I may have acted like an idiotic kid, but I'm man enough now to admit this was my screw-up. You didn't do anything wrong."

The blonde arched an eyebrow at him. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was impressed at him for having the guts to acknowledge he was fully to blame for their current situation.

"I get it if you needed to talk to a friend," he continued. "I spoke to Veronica a little. I mean I didn't tell her much of anything. She guessed, but…"

Betty nodded, biting her lip. "I didn't give him all the intimate details because I wanted to keep those between us," she revealed after a beat. "But I told him at graduation something happened. And that you freaked out after. He said you were probably flipping out about the whole Archie angle, but to give it time. Act normal in the meantime. That you would come around eventually. Since it was clear you liked me."

Jughead crimsoned. Apparently the crush he thought he was successfully suppressing had been obvious to almost everyone. God, he really was a moron.

"But then it happened a second time…" she trailed off. He knew the rest.

Jughead winced, his body inadvertently tensing. "I fucked up, Betts. So badly. I would do anything to take the end of that night back."

She met his eyes, and before he could attempt yet another full-throated apology, Betty mouthed "I know," to him, smiling softly. He sank back into the window seat, relief streaming through him. At least she understood, and maybe even accepted, how sorry he was for hurting her.

"It's your turn to tell me something," she demanded. "What happened earlier with Chuck? It upset me to see you so mad."

He gulped. After what she'd divulged to him about her insecurities tonight, the last thing he wanted was to tell her what that slimeball had said about her.

"Chuck's a jackass," he deflected. "He said some really fucked up sexist bullshit and it set me off. That's all."

She bit her lip, clearly not believing that was the whole story. "I thought we were being honest with each other," she murmured, her green eyes wide and pleading.

God, they had him cornered every time.

"You're right," Jughead sighed. He knew he needed to learn to get better at sharing things with her, even when those things weren't very pretty. It was now or never.

She eyed him patiently, waiting.

"He was talking about you," Jughead finally disclosed, his voice low and on edge. "He called you a slut and said you were looking to get laid and he'd be happy to oblige, because you were the type of girl who'd let a guy pull her hair and hit her."

"Wow," Betty said, her eyebrows lifting, taking in the disturbing description.

"I'm sorry," Jughead muttered. "I probably shouldn't have punched him. I could see how disappointed in me you were. But it's just…it's you, Betts."

"No, it's okay," Betty said, her voice hushed. "I might have punched him, too, if I'd heard that."

He barked out a laugh. "I'd have liked to see that."

"Although, if it makes you feel better," Betty confessed, her eyes now glowing like embers into his, "I probably would have let you tug my ponytail when I went down on you. I mean, if you were into that."

Jughead lost his ability to breathe as the deliciously filthy image entered his brain. "Jesus Christ, Betts, you can't say shit like that right now," he sputtered.

"Why not?" she challenged.

"Because you're going to make me think about actually doing it," he admitted hotly.

She blushed rosily. "Do you do that often?" she asked.

"What?"

"Think about sexual things you want to try with me," she teased, very clearly parroting his language from that first afternoon.

Jughead shook his head but allowed her a playful grin. She'd gotten him there.

"You're a little minx, you know that," he ribbed back, feeling a profuse desire to tickle her in punishment for her sassiness.

Betty mimicked his trademark smirk before breaking into a fit of giggles. Soon enough he was chuckling too.

Their laughter mingled, rising together in unison. The air in the room suddenly felt lighter, almost weightless. Jughead could feel the last vestiges of tension between them breaking, dissipating into the ether. He desperately wanted to feel her now, to touch her, to kiss her. Could he? His heart hammered at the thought, his feet itching to approach her.

"Betty," he finally said when they'd both begun to quiet.

"Yeah?"

"Can we start over?" he asked, his voice impossibly soft, his eyes tender and hopeful.

"As more than friends?" she asked back, her voice just as delicate.

"Please," he requested openly. "I know I'm a few years too late for homecoming, but we can go on a date now. Like milkshakes at Pop's or a double feature at the Bijou or the next midnight showing at the Twilight. I know we do that kind of stuff all the time, but it could still be fun. Or we could do something fancier. Like a nice dinner. Whatever you want, Betts."

He was aware he was starting to ramble awkwardly, but there was so much he knew he had to make up for. Taking her on a real date even if it was just an activity they always did would be a good start.

She smiled broadly at his rare display of self-conscious sweetness, reserved only for her.

"I just want you, Jughead," she declared.

"You have me, Betts," he promised, standing up to walk toward her.

"No, Jug," she whispered, biting her lip unsteadily, suddenly shy again, and stopping him in his tracks. "I mean, I want you. All of you. Tonight."