Chapter 4: under a sky no one sees, waiting, watching it happening

Betty woke groggily from a restless sleep, looking at her old alarm clock radio from childhood, the bright red numbers letting her know it was barely 10 am. She yawned. She'd been so overcome at meeting and bonding with Jughead the night before, she'd hardly slept even four hours. Her brain felt sleep-deprived and annoyed, but her body hummed in nervous expectation. She checked her phone anxiously, but she knew he was likely not as neurotic as her and was probably still sleeping. Sure enough, the only new message she had was from Archie asking if she wanted to get lunch at Pop's at 12. She wrote back in the affirmative and stood up, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She rubbed cold water in her eyes as she stood at the sink, trying both to feel more awake but also clean away the dark eyeliner stains she hadn't washed off when she'd gotten home. Her head pounded from the wine and lack of sleep and she grabbed two Advils from the cabinet, downing them with a slurp of water caught in her hands.

She sat on her bed for a few minutes, her eyes closed, waiting for the pain pills to hit. Her mind raced with thoughts of the night before and of Polly. She felt outside of her body, as if while it had been some version of her who had been intrigued and attracted to Jughead, it wasn't really her, since the only Betty she believed was reachable now was too subsumed with grief to even consider the possibility of letting herself experience the flutter of excitement at meeting someone she liked. But yet it had happened. Her brain retched thinking about it, and she knew she needed to get some coffee in her system and to try to distract herself before she started spiraling further. Feeling the headache start to subside a little, she stood up to throw on black leggings, a black tank top, a light gray zip-up sweatshirt, and sneakers. She pulled her long hair back with a small clip and grabbed some bills out of the jacket she'd worn the night before and folded them into the pocket of the sweatshirt.

The house was unusually quiet for a Sunday, she thought as she descended the stairs. Her mom was sitting in front of her laptop at the dining room table and the classical music wafting up from the basement let her know her dad was working downstairs. The kids, however, were nowhere to be found.

"Good morning, Mom," she said, as she approached the kitchen.

"Ah, Betty, you slept late," her mother said, and Betty tried to hide the grimace at the fact that this was not really true, since she hadn't actually fallen asleep until maybe 6 am.

"Where are Junie and Woodie?" she asked, as she scooped a spoonful of ground coffee and then brown sugar into a mug. She placed a kettle on the stove to heat up water and took out the milk from the fridge as she waited for it to boil.

"You don't remember? Aunts Zelda and Hilda offered to take them for the day," her mother said, looking over at her.

"Oh…that's nice," Betty said absentmindedly, pouring the hot water into her mug and watching the crystals dissolve. Zelda and Hilda were really her mom's eccentric cousins from Greendale, but she and her sister had always referred to them as aunts.

"Yes, it is," Alice agreed. "Do you have plans for the day?"

Betty stirred in the milk and threw her used spoon in the sink, before turning back toward her mother and joining her to sit at the table. "I'm having lunch with Archie at Pop's and then we'll see from there. I'll probably be out most of the day." This was just an estimation, half wishful thinking. It seemed the nerves Jughead had exhibited the night before about getting her number had now seeped over to her and she worried he wouldn't actually write and they wouldn't see each other again. Still, she hoped she was wrong and he would ask to meet her today. She took a long sip of her coffee, relaxing slightly at the feel of her bloodstream soaking up the warm liquid.

"Hm," Alice said, looking faraway. "It's a lovely day to be outside. The weather seems nice."

Betty nodded and took another sip, unsure of what to say. Their conversation felt so impersonal, as if everything important was being left unsaid. But Betty didn't know how to bridge the distance between them. She didn't even know if she wanted to. It was too hard to talk about Polly. Her mother tended to over-dramatize and make everything about her and her suffering. It left no room for anyone else to express anything. And still, Alice would then get mad that you weren't feeling enough, grieving enough. So Betty preferred to keep quiet, even though her parents were the two closest people to understanding what she was experiencing. It was moments like this she wished she had another sibling, someone to share the burden of loss with. But it was just her.

"Maybe I'll walk to Pop's," was the best she could think to offer.

"That's a good idea, sweetie," Alice said, smiling tiredly at her, before looking back over at her laptop.

Betty drained her coffee and stood up to wash the used mug and spoon. She sat in the living room, distractedly skimming through the New York Times weekend edition as she waited until it wouldn't be too early to leave her house. When 11:30 finally hit, she grabbed her headphones and keys and called goodbye to her mother. She walked slowly to the diner, the nostalgic early 2010s indie rock playlist in her ears and the familiar neighborhoods she passed reminding her of Polly and filling her with a disbelieving melancholy. It still didn't seem real that she was gone. It also didn't seem real that the back of her mind was simultaneously absorbed with nervous butterflies about a man. She hoped seeing her best friend and getting his opinion would manage to calm her down, or at least make her feel less down. She arrived at the diner a few minutes early, no sign yet of Archie. The Sunday breakfast rush had ended and Pop's was half-empty. Betty claimed their old favorite booth and sat down to wait.

Archie showed up a few minutes later, squinting as he glanced around the diner's interior before spotting her. He smiled and ambled over.

"Hey Betty," he said, slipping into the booth to sit opposite her.

"Hi Arch," she said, attempting a smile back.

A waitress came over and without even looking at the menus, they both ordered their usuals—a medium cheeseburger with fries for Archie and a grilled chicken sandwich with a side salad for Betty. As much as she had missed Pop's while she was away from home, she knew with the knots in her stomach, at best, she'd manage to eat only half of it.

"How are you?" he asked, looking her over and noticing the fatigue on her face and the way her body was fidgeting in its seat. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I didn't get much sleep," she admitted with a sigh.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yes…and no. I…I was up really late," she explained. "I went out with Kevin to the Whyte Wyrm last night."

The redhead looked at her with concern. "I hope you didn't drink too much Betty. I know you're going through a lot, but…"

"No, only a few glasses," she said, interrupting him. "But I…I was up late, because I met someone," she revealed, feeling slightly better just to be unburdening herself of the deliciously scary news she'd been bursting with. She looked at Archie, waiting apprehensively for what he would say.

Archie's expression changed, his eyebrows lifting. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, Betty figured, it wasn't this. His eyes seemed to soften as he saw the tentative anticipation in her mien, both the excitement at meeting this person and the nerves of what her best friend would say about it, and he smiled slightly. "You met someone," he repeated, before asking for certainty, "Like a man?"

"Yes." She paused, before adding, the hint of a question mark in her words, "Jughead. I think you know him. He works at Riverdale High, too."

Archie nodded, processing the information she was giving him. "Yeah, I know him. English teacher." Betty lifted her eyes at him expectantly, and he continued, answering her unasked question. "He's a good guy. You met at the Whyte Wyrm?"

"Kevin introduced us," she explained. "It was so weird, Archie. Kev had a date so he left, but we just kept talking and talking. All night. I told him about Polly even. It was as if I immediately felt drawn to him. Comfortable with him. It was completely unexpected, but nice too. Really nice. I can't even begin to explain it."

"Wow," he replied.

"I mean, maybe it's too soon to even contemplate this?" she continued, her anxieties banishing the numbing quiet she'd been swimming in for weeks and prompting a stream of babbling. "After Adam. And everything in the wake of Polly's death. I know I shouldn't be this nervous. It's too soon to feel this intensely, right? I just really liked him, Arch. More than liked. God, I sound like a pathetic high school girl with a crush."

"You don't sound pathetic," he told her, holding back a smile.

"What do you think?" she asked him, desperate for some sort of reassurance.

"I just want you to be careful, Betty." She deflated slightly and he tried to assure her. "I'm not questioning how you feel or what happened between you two. I trust you. I just don't want to see you get hurt. You know?"

He wouldn't say the words aloud, for fear of upsetting her, but Betty could still read him like a book. Archie was afraid she was too fragile now to open herself up to someone or something new. Too easily breakable. And he didn't want her heart to fragment further after everything else she'd been through. She trusted his intentions and also that he'd support her no matter what. She just knew he felt he had to make his concerns known in his own way.

"I know," she replied quietly.

"But I understand, Betty," he said, his lips turning up into a grin. "I felt something similar when I met Veronica. It was just as overwhelming."

She nodded, relaxing slightly, glad he wasn't questioning the ferocity of their connection, only what it might hold for the future. She could understand. She felt the same niggling sensation.

Their food promptly arrived and they started eating, shifting the conversation to talk about the construction business and how Veronica had adjusted to living in Riverdale. An hour passed quickly and with the diner becoming more crowded, they stood up to go.

As they walked to Archie's truck in the parking lot, she allowed herself to lean again on her friend. "Do you mind if I come over?" she asked. "I won't bother you. I'm just really keyed up after last night. He said he'd text me today and I don't want to be alone."

Archie chuckled. "You're always welcome. I just need to go over my lesson plans for this week."

She nodded and stepped into the car, riding the short drive back to their shared street in companionable silence. Upon entering the Andrews' house, Betty stretched out on the living room couch, closing her eyes and trying her best to nap. She drifted off into a restive half-sleep to the sound of Archie's pen scratching against a notebook at his dining room table. She figured she must have been like that for at least a half hour until she heard her phone beep. She turned on her side, grabbing it out of her pocket, most of the nerves draining out of her body upon seeing it was him. She smiled as she read the message.

Unknown number: Hey, it's Jughead. I know it's spur of the moment, but do you want to meet today? I can come pick you up at 3?

She saved him as a new contact and then wrote back, hoping she didn't sound too eager, but also knowing she wouldn't be able to hide that zeal upon seeing him in person anyway.

Betty: Sure :)

His response was immediate.

Jughead: Great. See you soon :)

She stretched her arms, moving to an upright position. "Hey Arch," she called, and the redhead turned to look over at her. "Jughead wrote. I think I'm gonna go shower and change before he picks me up."

Archie smiled at her and nodded. "Have fun, Betty."

She smiled back and headed out, closing his front door behind her and walking the few paces to reach her house next door. She unlocked the door and entered. The downstairs was empty. Her mother had probably gone to her room to lie down and Betty felt grateful she wouldn't have to explain to either of her parents where she was going now. Betty crept up the stairs, entering her bedroom and locking the door behind her. She peeled off her clothes and headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She wrapped her hair up into a messy bun, so it wouldn't get wet, and washed her skin with the vanilla scented body wash probably left over from her last time visiting. After turning off the faucet and drying herself, she wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe and went to search her suitcase for a casual outfit that was still pretty. She didn't want to wear something that screamed she was trying too hard, but she still wanted to impress him. Betty sighed. These inclinations were alien to her—wanting to impress a guy? She hadn't had or wanted to make an effort like that in years. She knew she was being absurd but she couldn't help it. Something about seeing Jughead again made her feel like a lovesick teenager. She finally decided on high-waisted skinny jeans and a cropped black and white striped sweater. She finished herself off with the same light makeup as yesterday, exchanging only the peach chapstick for strawberry. She'd probably nibble it all off out of nervousness in any case.

At five minutes to 3, she headed downstairs, shrugging into the same faux leather jacket from the night before in case she'd be out until the evening and it got chilly. She shut the front door softly behind her, spotting Jughead leaning against his bike, scrolling through his phone. She sighed in relief, seeing he was early, signaling maybe he was just as jittery as her. He looked up as she approached and smiled widely at her. Betty gaped at him from afar, taking in the dark jeans, gray t-shirt, and unbuttoned flannel shirt he was wearing. It felt strange seeing him now in the daylight and for a second it was almost as if she didn't recognize him, as if he were still a stranger, and she was doubting her attraction to him. The moment passed, however, as she got closer and he sauntered a few steps toward her, his eyes widening as he drank her in.

"Hey," he said, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. It was both chaste and sexy at the same time and Betty immediately felt the same potency from the night before surging through her body.

"Hi," she said, smiling back at him.

"You look nice," he told her, lazily grazing his hand against her arm, and she felt herself blushing.

"Thanks," she murmured, looking down momentarily before letting her eyes meet his.

"So I thought we could walk to Sweetwater River. Maybe sit there a while and talk. Does that sound okay?" he proposed.

"Yes," she said. "Better than okay." She had loved sitting by the river and reading as a teen. It was always calming and peaceful there, and she liked that it was apparently a favorite place of his in Riverdale as well. He smiled and grabbed a small canvas bag to sling over his shoulder. "What's in the bag?" she asked, as they began to stroll casually.

"It's a surprise," he said, smirking over at her, and she felt herself going weak in the knees at that flirtatious look of his.

"It's not too soon for surprises?" she queried. Her tone was mannered, but she knew there was a weighted tension to her question.

"Depends," he said, his blue eyes sparkling against the bright sunlight as he appraised her. "Do you like surprises?"

"If they're good ones."

"I think you'll like this one," he promised.

"And you know me so well already?" she teased, somewhat astonished at the lack of self-consciousness she already felt around him.

"I'd like to," he told her.

They turned the corner to the clearing opening up to Fox Forest and the path that led to Sweetwater River. Away from residential houses and pesky neighbors, Jughead reached out his hand so his pinky just grazed hers. When she didn't pull away from his touch, he more confidently opened his palm and encircled her hand with his. She really felt like a teenager holding a boy's hand as they walked between the overarching leafy trees, but the gesture was so sweet, so simple and uncalculated, she tried to let herself just enjoy it. It didn't hurt either that his hands felt like silk. She didn't understand how he kept them so soft.

"What do you want to know?" she asked, looking up slightly to take in the glints of blue sky peeking through the crowns of the parade of trees they passed.

"Hmm," he said, grinning goofily and making a show of actually thinking about it, before settling on, "What were you like in high school?"

She giggled at the randomness of the question, but answered him honestly. "Just like I am now. Sensitive and anxious. Only more so. Dramatic and angsty on the inside but outwardly wearing pastels and getting straight As."

He chuckled and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "I can picture that."

"What about you?"

"Rebellious, to be honest. Not hot-headed but impatient. Always arguing with my teachers."

"So it's ironic you're a teacher now, you're saying?" she ribbed him.

"I'd like to think I'm the kind of teacher I wanted for myself in high school," he said, just a smidge of cockiness in his voice. "Willing to listen and be challenged."

"Oh yeah, but what kind of grader are you?"

He laughed. "Guess."

Betty tilted her head to the side, considering. "Fair," she ultimately told him. "You appreciate effort, but you also don't suffer BS."

Jughead smiled. "I think you summed it up well."

"Yes, do I get an A?" she mocked with a coy smile.

"I wouldn't dream of ruining your perfect GPA," he teased back.

They rounded the edge of the path, coming upon the shimmering blue waves of Sweetwater. Betty shivered slightly, a flood of memories rushing back to her at being in this spot again for the first time in years. Jughead squeezed her hand as if to center her back in the present and led her to one of the benches overlooking the river. He released her hand and they sat down beside each other, a slight space between them. He slid the canvas bag toward her as she shrugged off her jacket, and she could see the outline of a book inside it now that the cotton fabric was more exposed to the sun.

"Oh, and one other thing I forgot," he said. "In high school, I also tended to forget to return books from public libraries."

Betty gingerly pulled the book out of the bag, turning it over in her hands and gasping when she read the title in red lettering over the slim white hardcover volume. "For Love" by Robert Creeley. Jughead smiled as he watched her.

"This book is so hard to find. It's basically out of print," she said slightly in awe. She turned to face him. "You actually stole it from a library?"

"Open it," he said, and she did, seeing the stamp from Toledo-Lucas County Public Library in blue lettering on the inside of the flap.

"That's so delinquent," she said, yet unable to stop the fit of giggles that followed.

"We didn't have much money growing up, and my house was not literary by any means, but I always loved to read," he explained to her. "I would spend hours in the library if I could. And I discovered this one day when I was 15 or something. I had no idea what any of the words meant, but I just knew it was beautiful and it spoke to me. So I kept it."

She smiled widely at him, melting at the thought of a teenage Jughead coming across a book of poems for the first time and being so overcome by it, he felt compelled to steal it for safekeeping. "I used to come here to read a lot actually, when I was younger," she told him.

He smiled back at her. "I knew I had a good feeling about you, Betty Cooper." She looked up at him in surprise at his use of her full name. Not that she was so hard to find considering how small a town Riverdale was, but she hadn't told him her last name the night before. "I may have searched for you in Kevin's socials," he admitted with a shy smile, seeing her confusion.

"Okay, J. Jones," she teased.

He reddened slightly. "Good to know you weren't just being polite when you said you'd heard of my novel," he joked.

Betty laughed and turned the pages of the book in front of her, thumbing through it until she found one of her favorites. "This one absolutely floored me the first time I read it in a high school English class," she murmured to him, tilting the book so he could see.

"Read it to me," he requested, his voice as soft as the April breeze tickling against her neck.

"Just friends," she began, slowly enunciating the poem's title, before reading the rest of the text aloud:

"Out of the table endlessly rocking,

sea shells and firm,

I saw a face appear

which called me dear.

To be loved is half the battle,

I thought.

To be

is to be better than is not.

Now when you are old what will you say?

You don't say,

she said.

That was on a Thursday.

Friday night I left

and haven't been back since.

Everything is water

if you look long enough."

She quieted at the last words, her lilting voice twinkling and fading away like the final musical notes at the end of a song. He opened his eyes, which she now realized he had shut as he listened to her, and lifted his lips in a smile. He leaned slowly in toward her and she felt herself instinctively inching closer as well. He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers tangling in the long blonde locks before softly tugging the back of her head forward so her lips met his. The decisiveness of the kiss surprised her. It wasn't forceful, rather honeyed and delicate, but ardent. She brought her hand up to cup his cheek, her fingers caressing the hint of stubble along his jaw, as she kissed him back. She opened her mouth slightly, allowing his tongue to slither gently against the insides of her plump lips before meeting her tongue. They tasted each other for several blissful seconds before each slowing the kiss, their lips grudgingly separating.

"You sounded beautiful," he told her, his face still mere inches from hers, his fingers entwined in her hair. Unsaid, but she could see it in his darkened eyes, was his thought that she was beautiful.

She leaned back slightly, feeling the pink flush spread over her skin. "Thank you," she said, just above a whisper. "It's one of my favorites."

"Those last lines are incredible. 'Everything is water if you look long enough,' he repeated, shaking his head in wonderment.

Betty smiled at him. "I love them, too. That's what first captured me when I read it." She was quiet for a moment, staring out at the river flowing before them. She felt the melancholy creeping over her all of a sudden, the disembodied lack of her sister coming to sit side-by-side with his palpable presence beside her. "You can feel the fluidity in his images," she said after a few beats. "He describes an evolving situation, but when he eventually stops to look at it, that moment, that situation, it's still constantly moving."

"It's this perfect metaphor for time in a way," he agreed. "Life is in flux, constantly in motion. You can't control it, can't stop it. In the end, you can only see it for what it is—ever-changing."

"Do you think that's true?" she asked. "That everything is in constant motion. That nothing stays the same?"

"Are you thinking of something in particular?" he questioned.

"Grief," she told him seriously, his welcome inquisitiveness uninhibiting her. "Do you think it changes or lessens?" He turned to look at her, his hand finding hers again, running small circles over the back of her palm. "Sometimes I feel like I'll never not feel this weight and I can't breathe from how much I want to run from it, and other times all I want is to feel it, because it's the only way to be close to her."

"I think grief creates a hole inside you," he reflected, his hand moving to rest beside hers, their fingers intermingling. "I suppose it can change forms. Over time it starts to get smaller. But the hole's always there. Sometimes, on particularly rough days, even years after someone's death, you have a memory, something, and it widens again. Then retreats. Eventually, though, you accept it. You start to understand the tangibility of absence, but you accept the absence."

She nodded, absorbing his words. "Do you think about your dad a lot?" she asked softly. "If it's alright for me to ask."

His lips turned upward at her fear of intrusiveness. "You can ask me whatever you want. And yes. Nearly every day."

"Was he sick…before?" Betty asked.

Jughead sighed. "Hard question to answer." Betty looked at him expectantly, his eyes telling her he wanted to explain, but he was searching for the right words. "He was a functioning alcoholic for most of my childhood. That's primarily why my parents divorced, although that's a story for another time." He paused, looking out over the river, watching its ripples for a few seconds before continuing. "In any case, he'd managed to stay sober for a year and then one morning, suddenly, he had a stroke. That was it. Gone."

Betty momentarily locked her eyes shut and involuntarily winced. "That's awful," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Jug."

He nodded, his eyes clouding over in thought, before looking back over at her, recognizing something familiar in Betty's distressed and grief-stricken expression. "Your sister, too? It was sudden?" he asked.

Betty shook her head, tears reflexively forming in her eyes as she thought back to those despairing winter months of her sister's hospitalization. "No, Polly was in the hospital for a few months." She felt the wet, hot tears slowly traveling down her cheek. She swallowed the drops of saltwater that landed on her tongue and added, in a near whisper, "She was an alcoholic, too. But far gone. Acute liver failure. They had to do a transplant. But it didn't take. There was nothing else they could do."

"I'm sorry, Betts," he said. "It must have been horrible to see her so ill."

She looked up at him, her green eyes glistening wet. "You know what the worst thing is? None of us even knew about her drinking. We had to find out from the doctors. How shameful is that? My parents were just blind and I wasn't here and…" her voice cracked and she felt more tears start to spill out of her.

Jughead didn't say anything. He simply placed his arm around her and drew her into him. She leaned closer, her head resting against his clavicle, as his thumb carefully brushed the tears from her face, bringing his finger up to his mouth to gently suck down the liquid. She knew there was no real solace for loss in the world, but being wrapped in his warm, caring embrace was the closest she'd felt to not completely fractured since Polly had gotten sick. She snuggled deeper into his arm for a few moments, letting the sense of comfort he projected wash over her, until residual embarrassment at breaking down in front of him started to bloom.

"I'm sorry. I know crying isn't sexy," she said, trying to conjure some levity through her sniffles.

He chuckled, before turning serious. He released his strong hold on her and turned her shoulder slightly so she was looking directly into his eyes. "Betty. I can tell you feel guilty. Trust me, I know that feeling. I know it so well. But there's nothing you could have done. Even if you were living here then. If your sister was hiding her addiction, then she was hiding it. That was her decision. I'm sure if you'd even had an inkling, you would have tried to help her, but she didn't want you to know." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "There's nothing you could have done," he repeated.

Betty squirmed under his microscopic gaze, his blue eyes penetrating immeasurably into her core. She hadn't realized how much guilt and shame she'd been holding onto. How much she needed to hear words absolving her from some semblance of fault. She clutched his hand tighter and, without thinking, leaned into him, initiating a deep, needy kiss. He kissed her back, just as eagerly, his arms encircling her waist as she angled her body closer into his, her knees bending up slightly to intermingle her legs with his. Her arms wrapped around him and her hands dug into the nape of his neck, running her fingers through the strands of his silky black hair. She opened her mouth to him, their tongues dancing together as their lips moved more urgently in synchronicity. He nibbled her lower lip and she whimpered, their hot breath mingling, before he moved his mouth to trail kisses down her neck. She felt herself moaning, her body giving into his ministrations, as he found and sucked on her pulse point, flicking his tongue against the skin, before once again claiming her lips. Her legs instinctively began to surround him, her thighs squeezed taut just above one of his knees. Sensing her need for more, his hands came to rest on the back of her hips, his fingers grazing the skin of her lower back exposed by her sweater starting to ride up. He pulled her in even closer, his lips gently prying hers open, exploring and tasting. She didn't know if it was his demanding hands or her own body's instinct, but she found herself straddling him over the bench, her knees digging into the hard stone. The discomfort was no match, however, for the wetness pooling in her jeans begging for the small amount of friction she garnered by swaying her hips against his lower abdomen. He hissed in her mouth, the tightness in his jeans becoming painfully obvious, before forcing himself to break away.

"We should stop before we get carried away," he said, reluctantly, but with a smile on his face. "We're technically in a public place."

She nodded, knowing he was right, and knowing this wasn't how or where she wanted to take things further physically. Still neither made any move to get her off his lap. He wrapped his arms securely around her waist and held her against him. "Thank you, Juggie," she murmured, alluding to his previous words, the intimate nickname unconsciously slipping out. "And thank you for bringing the poems."

"So it was a good surprise?" he teased.

"Yes," she answered with a small laugh.

"You're welcome, Betts," he said, smiling softly, running one of his thumbs in little circles over the small of her back. She knew he meant for more than just the book. They stared at each other intensely for several moments before he captured her lips again, this time leisurely, sensuously. These kisses were emotional, not heated or leading anywhere, but imbued with meaning.

Her heart pounded as they kissed. The depth of her feelings for him, still so soon after meeting, overwhelmed her. It set her body on fire. She thought she'd loved Adam, that she'd understood what it meant to fully open yourself up to another human being. But that relationship had never taken her remotely close to how utterly consumed she felt by Jughead. As if being with him was exactly where she was fated to be. As if each moment together opened new depths every fiber of her being craved to descend into. Even the reflexive guilt she was still unable to shake at feeling this alive so soon after her sister's death couldn't begin to overtake the rapture he'd stirred in her.

"I've never felt like this," she whispered, between their slow, romantic kisses, unsure if he could even hear her or if she really wanted to reveal the extent of her feelings for him so soon.

But he'd heard. He pulled away just slightly, his strong arms holding onto her body as he admired her face, his deep, probing eyes taking in her hooded emeralds and swollen lips. "Neither have I."