Monday morning arrives all too quickly for Betty and not soon enough for Jughead. Where Betty had spent the weekend figuring out how to avoid Jughead for the rest of the year, he had been doing just the opposite, trying to figure out how he would get her to talk to him after he so royally fucked up. Jughead enacts plan A, bright and early, rising with the sun as it shines through his dusty bedroom window. He ignores the frigid early spring air as best he can, the electricity having been shut off sometime in the night, and quickly gets himself dressed, double layering his jean jacket beneath his leather until he can warm up a bit. No electricity means no coffee and so far, this morning isn't giving him much confidence as to how his trying to talk to Betty is going to go. At least he has time to get a coffee from Pop's on the way.
Outside of Riverdale High, Jughead leans back against his bike in the parking lot, coffee warming his chilled fingers, and waits. Cars begin to arrive slowly, a few students entering the school before Betty shows up right on schedule. He's seen her walk to school enough times to know that she's always one of the first to arrive. With a quick stride, he crosses the parking lot to the side of the building that Betty will be walking by in 3, 2...
"Ah," Betty hollers, a hand clapping over her mouth to quickly silence her. Her instincts take over immediately and she promptly bites down on her attacker's hand.
"Ah, Jesus. It's me," he grits, Jughead releasing her to shake out his bitten hand.
"What the hell is wrong with you," she whisper yells.
"You fucking bit me," he almost laughs in bewilderment. "I need to talk to you."
"So you nab me like a psychopath," she huffs, her face conveying all the 'what the fuck' she needs without even saying it.
"Ok, maybe not my brightest idea," he shrugs as he inspects his hand. "That really fucking hurt. It's probably going to get infected."
"Good," she spits, stuffing her nose up as she walks away.
Jughead remains frozen, momentarily stunned in place. Of all the possible ways he'd imagined this could have gone, being bitten was not one of them.
Later that morning, Jughead enacts plan B; get the nerdy kid to give Betty a note for him. With the sound of the bell, signaling the start of second period, he grabs Dilton Doily by the collar of his shirt and slams him up against the nearest locker door. His books drop to the floor, his glasses askew as he holds up his hands in defense.
"You're going to do me a favor," Jughead grits. "And in return, I won't kick your ass."
Dilton nods urgently, his eyes wide as Jughead stuffs a folded up piece of paper into his hand and lowers him to the floor with the instruction to give it to Betty.
Inside the classroom, Betty is just setting her bag down at her desk when she's tapped gently on the shoulder.
"Here," Dilton says shakily, his entire person distressed as he holds out a folded piece of paper in the palm of his hand.
"Uh, thanks," Betty says quizzically, her brow raising as she takes it from his outstretched hand. He hurries off to his own desk and it's by far the most bizarre encounter she's ever had with him. Shaking her head, she unfolds the piece of paper and reads:
Locker room, 5 minutes.
Looking up from the crumpled sheet of paper she glances around the room, her eyes settling on none other than Jughead Jones, leaned back far too coolly against the lockers just outside the door. He gives an expectant raise of his brow, questioning what she thinks of his request. In return, she offers a sweet grin, her eyes narrowing as she crumples the sheet of paper into a ball, drops it into the waste bin, and takes her seat.
Well fuck.
After spending all of second and third period wondering how both his plans had failed to get her to talk to him, Jughead accepts defeat. He takes up his usual seat at lunch, holed up in his English classroom, and pulls out his knife. His stomach growls angrily as he etches into the crown he'd carved on his first day, deepening the lines as the tip of his blade scrapes away layers of cheap press board. As he begins to scrape away the peeling varnish at the edge of the desk, a bag of chips drops down in front of him on the desk. Only his eyes raise, peering from beneath his brow to look up at a highly unimpressed Betty Cooper, her arms folded over her chest and a disgusted twitch at her upper lip.
"Ever been told you're an asshole," she scoffs.
"Once or twice," he shrugs, flipping his blade closed to greedily swipe the bag of chips from the table top.
"Talk," she demands with the tap of her finger against her bicep.
"I-" he straightens up in his seat, clearing his throat for good measure as he brings his gaze to hers. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry," she laughs humorlessly. "After all the dramatics today, all you have to say is you're sorry?"
"Well it wouldn't have been so dramatic if you hadn't bit me," he argues.
"What kind of psychopath grabs somebody and pulls them behind a building!"
"The kind that gets slapped for kissing you," he bites back, nearly jumping out of his seat to point a stern finger in her face.
"I didn't ask you to kiss me," she retorts.
"And I didn't ask you to like me, but here we fucking are!"
"Fuck you Forsythe," she grits, shoving him hard in the chest.
His footing falters only slightly before he grabs her by the wrist and pulls her towards him. She fights back, trying but failing to hit him anywhere she can as he forces her back against the wall. He's much bigger than her, much stronger, and he pins her there, her hands cuffed in his grasp above her head as they glare angrily into one another's eyes.
"I said, I'm sorry," he grits and without another word his mouth is on hers.
She tries to pull away, weakly at best, but as infuriating as he is, she wants this. She gives in entirely, her lips moving seamlessly with his. His tongue darts out to pry apart her lips and she's like putty in his hands. His grip on her wrists loosens slowly until it falls away, her hands dropping to clasp behind his neck and tug at the hair at his nape as he lifts her off her feet to lock her ankles behind his back. He supports her weight against the wall, her ass squeezed tight in his hands as he grinds hard against her, grunting his appreciation against her lips. She lets the tiniest squeak of a moan before they're startled apart by the sound of the bell.
As Jughead lowers her gently to the floor, their chests heaving as they catch their breath, he can't take his eyes off her. Her bright green eyes are hooded with desire, her hair loosened from its usually tight ponytail and her pouty pink lips now swollen and red. He's never seen a girl so beautiful as her, half disheveled and reeling from a heated kiss in their English classroom. He takes a step back, clearing his throat as she quickly passes by to get to her seat, tugging the elastic out of her hair on the way. People quickly begin to enter the room, the flipping of book pages and paper shuffling ensuing around them and Jughead takes his seat.
Later that afternoon, Betty makes a beeline for the girl's locker room the moment last period is finished. She gets changed quickly for Vixen practice and spends an agonizing five minutes pacing a hole in the floor until Veronica finally shows up.
"Are you ok," Veronica questions, one of her perfectly groomed eyebrows raising as she sets her bag down on the floor.
"No," Betty shakes her head, still pacing. "I don't know, maybe. Not really."
"Ok? You're not making a whole lot of sense B," Veronica worries. She quickly takes Betty's shoulders and sits her down on the bench. "Did something happen? Is it-"
"No," she huffs, "God, do you even remember the last time I freaked out about my dad?"
Veronica shrugs, her expression more than perplexed.
"It's Jughead," Betty groans, dropping her head into her hands.
"What did he do to you," she grits, standing abruptly from her seat. "Ese hijo de puta lo voy a matar!"
"No," Betty sighs. "We sort of… made out."
Veronica lowers herself back down to the bench, her expression once again giving way to her utter confusion.
"Last Friday," she starts, "he kissed me-"
"I'm sorry what," Veronica says, holding up her hand in pause. "He kissed you last Friday and I'm just hearing about this now."
Betty sighs again. "I slapped him."
"Oh, this just keeps getting better," she laughs.
Betty goes on to sum up everything that happened between them leading up to the first time Jughead had kissed her and all of the events of this morning, up to the most incredible make out session she's ever been a part of.
"So, are you guys like gonna bang," Veronica questions, her excitement obvious in her eyes regardless of how hard she's trying to tone it down for Betty's sake.
"What- No," Betty scoffs, followed by an annoyed sigh. "I don't know. Am I totally insane?"
"I mean, it's kind of hot," Veronica shrugs. "The whole bad boy thing. Did he really hold a knife to your throat?"
"So not helpful V."
"It sounds like you need to be talking to him, not me," she suggests with her signature smirk that means she knows she's right.
Betty sighs, accepting defeat with the nod of her head before heading out to the gym with Veronica in tow.
The next morning, Betty arrives to school ready to confront Jughead and ask him what the hell is happening between them. She'd been up nearly all night, tossing and turning, trying to convince herself that she's not completely insane for being attracted to him. When she woke this morning, she accepted defeat, supposing she was bred from crazy and she may as well just keep it coming.
It doesn't take long for Betty to realize that Jughead isn't planning on showing up to school today and she could kill him for it. After all the effort he'd put in yesterday? After she had finally given in? After they'd done what they did, he has the audacity to just not show up? With the final bell of the day, Betty skips out on Vixen practice, go to hell Cheryl, and takes off on foot for Sunnyside.
While icing his swollen eye with a half melted bag of freezer burnt peas, a rapid knock sounds at the door. He gets up from the couch slowly, groaning with the ache in his side and the sharp pinch in his knee as he limps to the door.
"Jesus Christ," Betty huffs. "How come every time I show up here you've had the piss beaten out of you?"
"Nice to see you too," he grumbles as she pushes her way inside.
She watches intently, her arms folded over her chest as he limps back away from the door.
"Come here," she demands with a roll of her eyes.
The moment he's close enough, she grips his face in her hand, turning it this way and that to examine his black eye and split lip, and all the flaking, dried blood to go with it.
"Ow! Jesus," he hisses shoving his shirt back down as she pokes at the deep purple bruise on his abdomen.
"What the fuck Jug," she questions, "and why is it so cold in here?"
Jughead hisses as he lowers himself into a kitchen chair, needing to take the weight off his aching knee. "Don't worry about it."
"Jug, you look like you got hit by a bus-"
Jughead laughs, wincing with the pull in his side.
Betty sighs, and goes to the freezer to check for ice.
"Do you not have power?"
Jughead shakes his head, "They shut it off."
"When," she questions in outrage.
"Yesterday," he shrugs.
"Why?" Her brow raises, suggesting that he best elaborate.
"Cuz I'm fucking poor," he clips, hissing once again in pain. "Why the fuck else would they turn it off?"
"Jug-"
"Why are you even here," he grits.
"Because I actually give a shit," she bites back, using his words from the night he'd taken her to Greendale in hopes that it might knock some sense into his stubborn ass.
"Well don't."
Betty's eyes widen in sheer disbelief for a split second before her brow settles into a hardened glare. "Get up."
"What?"
"Get up and go pack a bag."
"What, no," he argues shaking her off as she pulls him to his feet.
"You're not going to stay here in a freezing trailer in the middle of March, all beat to shit and alone."
"Betty-"
"You know what, I'll pack it for you," she huffs, throwing her hands up as she storms off to his bedroom down the hall.
Jughead follows as quickly as he can manage.
"Would you get out of there," he grits as she digs through his dresser drawers.
"What, are you afraid I might see your underwear," she laughs.
"Betty come on," he pleads. "Just stop."
"No," she says firmly. "You're not staying here Jug."
"Betty, it's fine. I'll be fine," he argues, but she continues to pack.
He knows a losing battle when he sees one, so with a sigh, he steps aside and allows her to finish filling a bag with his things. When she's finally satisfied she carries the bag out to the kitchen, her focus on her phone as her fingers fly over screen as she takes a seat on the couch.
"Now what," Jughead asks curiously as he comes into the room.
"Now, we wait for Smithers to come pick us up and you stay at my house," she answers simply.
"Who the hell is Smithers," he almost laughs.
"Veronica's driver."
"Of course she has a driver." He rolls his eyes. "I can't stay with you Betty."
"You can and you will," she replies, leaving no room for argument.
"Now who's being dramatic," he says under his breath as he takes a seat beside her. "Ow," he grits with Betty's flick to his ear.
Smithers arrives quickly in the Lodge family's luxury SUV, glossy black and horribly out of place in the dust of Sunnyside. Betty ignores Jughead as he tries again to convince her he's fine, and shoves him into the back of the car with a pained groan. It's a short ride to Betty's house and Jughead doesn't know if he feels sick because of the possible internal bleeding he may or may not have or if he's just horribly nervous looking at the immaculate two story house before them. Betty pulls him along by the elbow and leads him inside.
"Elizabeth," Alice calls from the kitchen.
Jughead smirks, wincing silently as Betty smacks him upside the head, muttering a snarky, "Forsythe," under her breath.
"Yea," she calls back as she leads Jughead into the Kitchen. "Mom-"
Alice gasps, her eyes darting between Betty and the battered boy beside her.
"This is Jughead," she starts, "the student Principal Weatherbee had me keeping an eye on."
"Uh-" he offers a tight lipped smile and a very quick wave, only adding to the awkwardness of it all.
"Excuse us a moment Jug-head," Alice says as kindly as she can manage with the sheer anxiety in her voice.
With her eyes, Betty instructs Jughead to go up the stairs and he does so with great hesitation. He can already hear them bickering before he's even halfway up, but the moment he turns around to make a mad dash for the door Betty cuts him off with a sharp, "Jughead. Upstairs."
At the top of the stairs, Jughead enters a hallway with three doors on the left and one on the right. He tunes out the muffled bickering as best he can and peers into each room finding the one on the right to be a bathroom and the three on the left to be bedrooms. The one closest to the stairs looks to be the master so he avoids it entirely, cracking the door as it had been before. The door in the middle is locked so that leaves the one furthest from the stairs to be what he assumes is Betty's room. He pushes his way inside, stifling a laugh at all the frilly pink decor, and sits down carefully at the edge of the bed. Not long after he's taken a seat does Betty come up to her room with a triumphant grin plastered on her face.
"You can stay here until you can get your power turned back on," she tells him proudly.
"Pretty sure your mom's not too happy about all this," he says as he rubs at the back of his neck.
"She's not happy about anything ever, so," she shrugs. "You're staying in my room by the way. Mom wanted to stick you in the basement but-"
"Betty," he scolds. "I can't stay in your room."
"You can and-"
"I will. I get it," he finishes with a roll of his eyes. "When did you get so bossy?"
"Says the guy who threatened the poor nerdy kid to pass a stupid note."
Jughead only chuckles, nodding because she's all too right.
A strange silence falls over them, both of them uncertain as to what they should do now that they have nothing to argue about.
Betty is the first to break the silence.
"You gonna tell me what happened to you?"
"Got beat up," he shrugs.
"No? Really?"
Jughead rolls his eyes at her sarcastic tone. "I was trying to make a quick buck to get the power turned back on, but shit's complicated on the Southside."
"Make a quick buck," she questions. "What are you a drug dealer or something?"
Jughead doesn't reply, his eyes downcast to the floor.
Betty laughs humorlessly. "Oh this is great."
"It's not like I have many other choices," he argues, sticking her with a scowl.
"How about get a job," she suggests as if it were obvious.
"Oh sure, I'll get right on that," he huffs. "Know any places that'll hire a juvenile delinquent gang member."
"Gang member," she says in shock.
"What, you think I wear this jacket for shits and giggles?"
"No, I just- I guess I never really thought about it," she shrugs.
"I'm gonna go," he tells her, sucking up what little pride he has left as he gets up from the bed.
"No you're not," she clips, tugging him back to the bed by the wrist. "So you're in a gang," she dismisses. "At least I have an explanation as to why you're such a dick now."
With her smirk, Jughead almost laughs. Almost.
"Go take a shower," she instructs. "I'll bring up something to eat and then it's bed mister."
"What are you my mother," he laughs, rolling his eyes as she leaves the room.
Maybe this won't be so bad.
After a long, hot shower, Jughead returns to Betty's room in nothing more than a pair of grey sweatpants, hung low on his hips. His face doesn't look so bad now with the blood cleaned up, just a shiner beneath his eye and a clean split that's barely noticeable, aside from the swelling, on his lower lip. His abdomen on the other hand has a nice purple bruise stretching from just beside his belly button to fade out along his bottom rib.
"Does that hurt much," Betty questions from where she's already seated against her pillows in bed.
"Eh," he shrugs. "I've had worse."
Betty only nods, a sad smile stretching the corner of her lips as he nears the bed beside her. She scoots over, drawing back the blankets and he hesitates, only briefly, before lying down with a groan towards the ache in his side. Betty worries her lip as she eyes the large bruise on his abdomen before reaching out to touch it. His stomach retracts, flinching under her hand before he relaxes with the gentle brush of her fingertips. Her feather light touch sends a shiver coursing through him, his eyes meeting hers with caution as he swallows down the lump in his throat.
"Night Juggy," she says, a near whisper before rolling over quickly to turn out the light.
Jughead smirks to himself in the darkness, her new nickname for him bringing him far more warmth than the shared body heat between them in her comfortably heated bedroom.
"Night Betts."
