Jughead stared down at the unfrosted cake. He had tried. Really tried.
It was Jelly's birthday, and she was out working a day shift. So Jughead had decided to bake her a birthday cake to celebrate when she got home, a birthday cake like the ones their mom used to make when they were little. When they had still lived under the same roof.
He was positive he'd followed the recipe to the letter, but there was the finished product, looking quite sad and sunken in the middle. When he turned it out to cool, it was also dense—too dense. Like high-density construction foam.
Not like cake. Not like cake at all.
Well, fuck. The mess he'd made of the kitchen was a total waste. He looked around at the flour smears and grimaced. He was no good at this.
Domesticity.
Jelly had been spoiling him. She usually managed to cook meals for them both, thereby making sure he was getting his daily vegetable intake—or as close to it as she could get. Living with Archie, it had been the epitome of bachelor pad, and that extended to the contents of their fridge and freezer. Made up largely of microwave dinners, eggos, and one-step shove-in-the-oven type deals, having someone make food from separate ingredients was new and he was thoroughly enjoying it.
If it wasn't a cake for her birthday that he was trying to make, he would have asked her for help.
Funfetti cake wasn't brain surgery. Or rocket science. And yet…
If he was honest though, Jelly'd been stepping up her game. Their collection of herbs and spices was growing, and the fridge was pleasantly full of both fresh and delicious things.
It probably had something to do with the fact that Jellybean was spending even more time talking to Betty, who just so happened to be a talented cook herself. And for that, Jughead was enormously thankful, because good food was good food, and he treasured it. However, Jelly had been working a lot recently and hadn't seen their neighbour in a few weeks.
None of this helped him right now, though. Because the cake was a surprise for Jelly, and he was running out of time to fix it.
He could just run to the store and buy a cake. Except—he was trying to be sweet, after what Archie had said about JB feeling alone in Riverdale, and how she was trying to figure out if her and Jughead could have something a little more stable than they'd had during childhood. He was trying.
Maybe Betty was home…
Jughead glanced down in the hopes he would hear a loud thump from the apartment downstairs, indicating the affirmative. None came, and he remained standing in the kitchen at a loss for another few minutes. Should he go ask her for help?
He'd seen Betty around the apartment building, taking out the trash or carting her laundry down to the basement, or curled up on his couch with his sister, even. But they hadn't had any reason to share more than the casual greetings and polite elevator conversation.
He'd been sitting on Jelly's declaration of 'if that's your way of asking if Betty is single, then yes, she's single' for the better part of September, and he was at a standstill. She was so kind and light and good, and he…
Well, he saw the way she looked at him. He'd seen it in the car, when he'd dropped her off at her work. He'd seen it when he'd tugged her away from Veronica and Archie, giggling incessantly. And he knew he looked at her in just the same way. He could feel the change on his face. He had a mask, and he'd had one for as long as he could remember, one that he'd fashioned specifically to keep people at arm's length.
So he noticed the changes, even the ones he had no control over. Warm cheeks, fluttering stomach, a sudden predisposition for dropping things.
He noticed.
But scarred people like him didn't get the golden blonde slices of perfection like Betty Cooper.
They didn't match. They were incongruous. And yet...
The finish line for the massive stack of invitations on her dining room table was in sight. Betty had been working on assembling the invites, the reception cards, the RSVP cards, the direction cards. Each little package was making its way into the thick, gold-embossed envelopes and having stamps applied. As they made their way into the 'ready-to-be-sealed' box, Betty lined them all up, delicate calligraphy facing her with each new addition.
A glance outside provided a glimpse of sun from between the clouds.
Summer was singing its farewell, the nights becoming cooler and the days much less sweltering. The leaves were still mostly green on the trees, but their vibrancy had started to fade with the changing of the seasons. Betty was looking forward to work slowing down a bit, to being able to breathe, to maybe leaving her house for something other than a work emergency or a food imperative. It had been almost a month since Veronica and Archie's Labour Day party—it was misleading to call it a Barbeque when there had been caterers and champagne—and she'd hardly had time to stop and chat with Jughead or JB in the past weeks. To their credit, they always seemed quite busy themselves, and JB and Betty kept up to date via texts.
Jellybean had taken to helping Jughead around the building and Betty often spotted them hard at work, JB handing stuff up to Jughead on a tall ladder or holding something in place as he fixed it. She always gave them a big smile, and they'd promised to catch up soon. It just hadn't happened yet.
Betty had asked JB if she wanted to help her out with the last crunch for this wedding prep, but the young woman had picked up a block of shifts to cover for someone's vacation at work. Being on her feet constantly throughout the day had proven to be more of a challenge than Jellybean had anticipated, and so Betty could hardly beg her to help when she knew the woman was swollen and puffy with discomfort.
She was just thinking about making some coffee to help her through the last push of packaging when there was a knock at the door. Betty set down the wax seals she was searching through.
A quick glance through the peephole brought a small smile to her face, and she pulled the door open.
There, on her threshold, was Jughead, holding what looked like an unfrosted cake that had seen better days.
"For me? You shouldn't have." Betty grinned widely and watched the recognition flit across his features. He'd said the very same thing to her when she'd brought leftover flowers up for JB last month.
"Ha-ha," he started. "It's not for you—it's for JB."
"Has she done something wrong?" Betty chuckled at her own joke, stepping aside to let Jughead in.
"You're on a roll this morning, aren't you?" he copped back before striding past her into her apartment beyond.
"I feel like I haven't seen you guys in forever," she voiced, drifting after him, and when he came to a stop in the middle of her living room, she caught up to him. "And not that you aren't welcome, but why are you here to see me with a very sad-looking cake as your plus one?"
"Ha," Jughead remarked, shifting his feet. Betty gazed up at him expectantly. "It's Jelly's birthday and I was trying to make her a cake."
"Oh," Betty breathed. "I didn't know! Jug, that's so nice of you."
"Except for the fact that I can't bake, apparently."
To her credit, Betty tried to keep a straight face, but her brief glance back at the pan he had balanced on one palm prompted her need to raise a hand to her face in order to shield her grin from his view. When she removed it a moment later, she made sure her lips were clamped together with the help of her teeth, and he shook his head at the grin she knew was threatening to break her face.
"I know, I know. But I tried?" he offered, features desperate and pleading.
"You want my help."
It was a statement, a very accurate one, and he knew she knew it.
"I really do." Jughead nodded. "But it's more of a cautiously optimistic hope, really, because I didn't know if you'd even be home."
"Lucky for you, I am." She reached for the pan he was still holding, plucking it from his hand and bringing it up to her face for a closer examination. "What exactly was the end goal?"
"Funfetti with vanilla frosting," he laughed out, and trailed after Betty when she turned in the direction of her kitchen.
"It looks like you either didn't preheat the oven, or over-mixed the batter." She looked up from her counter where she had set the pan, eyes skimming over his features. Jughead's cheeks warmed under her gaze, pink tinge creeping along his skin until it disappeared into his hairline. "Or both," she spoke again, her lips quirking to the side.
"Both. Probably both. Definitely both," he assured her.
"Okay," Betty started, taking a slow breath. They would need to make a new one, and she probably had everything for a vanilla cake and frosting. She mentally ticked off the ingredients she remembered from her grandmother's recipe.
"Okay?" Jughead prompted after an extended bout of silence. Betty looked up at him again, standing on the other side of her kitchen with his hands tucked into his pockets, before she reached over to turn on the oven.
"Go get your sprinkles, Jones. We have a cake to bake."
"Okay, stir. But slowly this time," Betty instructed.
The batter Jughead was mixing smelled amazing, the extra vanilla that Betty had added remaining fragrant even after she had added the flour in batches. The last cupful, combined with his enthusiasm, had resulted in a big puff of flour all over them and the counter. Betty had laughed off his profuse apologies, dusting the white coating from his shirt with her dishtowel.
"It's really thick," Jughead commented, stirring in the last of the dry ingredients and scraping down the sides of the bowl like Betty had shown him approximately 6 minutes before. She didn't respond and so he looked up.
Betty's lips were pursed tightly, her eyes sparkling, and he realized—
"Just say it." Jughead sighed, feeling the constant blush from today darken along the tips of his ears.
"That's what she said!" burst from her lips, and she chuckled about it for a solid minute as she tidied the counter up and prepped the freshly-cleaned pan. "Here." Betty held out the container of multicoloured sprinkles he'd brought down from his apartment. "It's ready for these. Don't overmix!"
Jughead dumped the remainder of the container into the bowl of cake batter. The little bits of colour gathered in all the nooks and crannies before he grabbed the spatula again to give it one last stir. Jelly was going to be so happy, and Betty had seriously saved his ass.
"Okay, stop, or the colour will run," Betty piped up a few moments later. Jughead immediately dropped the spatula, deferring to her clear expertise. "Hold the bowl for me?"
"Like this?" he said, holding and tipping it a little.
"Like this." Betty guided his hold by putting her hands over his for a brief moment, encouraging him to tip more, the batter sliding closer to the edge of the bowl. In a flash, her fingers were gone from his, but the heat remained.
Betty slid the pan into place and scraped all the batter into it while Jughead held his position. He could feel the heat from her body, so close to his, their arms in a loose sort of tangle as they worked over the same patch of counter. Before he knew it, all of the batter was in the pan and she was sliding over on the worktop with it, putting a reasonable gap between them again. He watched as she smoothed it around evenly with an elegant sort of deftness.
Just as Betty bent down to slide the whole thing into the hot oven—and Jughead was trying to avoid letting his gaze linger on the view—his stomach growled loudly, protesting the number of hours it had gone without being fed.
"Are you hungry?" Betty asked, brushing wisps of hair back from her face and closing the door of the oven with a soft hand.
"It seems silly to deny it, at this point. Hey," he said and paused, surveying Betty's dining table, eyes flickering over the bits of ribbon and stacks of card with loopy writing on it, "how about I get us pizza or something. Chinese? It's the least I can do considering you've single-handedly saved me from embarrassment today. And you look like I definitely interrupted what Jelly likes to call 'A Betty Whirlwind'."
The sound of Betty's laugh rang out, and when he turned back to her, she had her head thrown back with mirth.
"A 'Betty Whirlwind'?" she prompted, eyes sparkling.
"Yeah." Jughead felt the corners of his mouth tugging up in the direction of his cheeks. "You know, when you just"—he flapped his hands around vaguely—"finish all the things."
"I wish I was done all the things," she said with a sigh, throwing a glance at the dining room table before grabbing a cloth and wiping the flour he'd spilled into her sink.
"Do you need help with something? I am willing and able. Well," Jughead paused, hedging his words and leaning a hip against her counter again, "able is maybe overstating it a bit. But I can and will try to help."
"Oh, no, I have plenty of time to finish this round of stuff. Jelly might like the opportunity to sit and make money next week instead of standing on her feet all day. But!" Betty exclaimed, index finger flying up at her thought, and disappeared around the corner of the kitchen with no further explanation. Jughead could hear her shuffling down the hallway, and the small squeak of her pulling open what he thought was probably her linen closet.
When she appeared again, she had a box of lightbulbs in her grip.
"Care to lend me your height advantage? And then I will take you up on your offer of takeout."
Jughead watched her sidle slow as she neared him again, and he held out his hand with a knowing look.
"Taking advantage of me, Cooper?"
The tip of her tongue caught between her teeth before she answered.
"Maybe, but your face says you like it."
"Maybe, but your face says you like it."
Jughead dragged a hand down over his cheek, pulling at the skin of his face. He'd gone his whole life being able to keep a shroud of mystery cloaked around himself. People had often said that he was hard to read, that his face didn't often betray his thoughts or feelings, and that had been something that had acted somewhat like a security blanket for him through the years.
He didn't want to have deep discussions on a first date in a coffee shop. He didn't want to bring up old wounds during one of Archie's jamfest lulls. He didn't want to rehash his childhood traumas the morning after—however few of those he'd had. He didn't want to explain to people—other parents, teachers, classmates, even friends—how fucked up his family was, and how miserable he'd been growing up after his mom had left. Granted, life before that milestone had been no walk in the park, but at least all the Jones' had been under one roof. At least Dad leaving with a slam of the door had meant he'd be back in less than 12 hours, apology quick and heavy on his tongue. At least that had meant being able to curl up with Jelly in her very small 'big girl' bed, and reading to her, drowning out the noises of arguing parents. At least that had meant together.
The last of the summer sun warmth was bathing the sidewalk in a warm glow, and Jughead's brain tried to take him off on a journey of finding the exact right description for it, before he brought himself to a halt.
Escapism wasn't going to help him right now. He was avoiding thinking about how all of this—all of Betty—was affecting him. It had been a realization he hadn't delved into yet, one he'd been avoiding for the sake of his sanity. It made his chest swell, but also made his stomach drop.
Because here was thing—
He wanted Betty. He wanted to see more of her in his days. He wanted to see more of her skin. He wanted to put his mouth all over her. He wanted to take her out and make her smile and maybe even fall asleep next to her eventually.
But where Jughead wanted Betty, Jellybean needed her.
Not in the same way, of course, because they were good friends, and not trying to date one
But Jellybean needed Betty. Betty was her only friend outside ones he himself had provided for her, and any acquaintances she may have made through work. Betty held a lot of Jellybean real estate, in a sense. She was a friend. She knew more practical knowledge about being pregnant, because her sister had a pair of twins. She provided idle company, and also additional income for Jelly. She was a friendly face. One that Jellybean sincerely needed, if what Archie had relayed at the bar had been true, which Jughead didn't doubt for a moment.
Jellybean needed Betty more than Jughead wanted her. Or—maybe it just meant more, for Jellybean, because Jughead really did want Betty.
There were many times through their childhoods where they had drawn the short end of the stick, metaphorically. But Jughead would not be the cause of Jellybean losing a good friend at a time when she desperately needed one, just because Jughead decided to put himself before her.
If Jughead started dating Betty, and things somehow didn't work out… Jughead wouldn't be able to live with himself if JB and Betty's friendship suffered because of something he did to mess everything up.
So this round had to go to JB.
Betty scrubbed at the counter furiously, cheeks still hot and pink.
Why would she have said that?
"Maybe, but your face says you like it."
Jughead had blushed and stammered through a half-formed thought about going to get them Chinese takeout—did she want any? What was her favourite dish?—before he'd dashed out of her apartment, leaving her to wallow in the awkwardness of her unintended advance.
She should have known from his closed-off nature that Jughead wouldn't respond well to a direct advance.
Well, in reality, she had sort of stumbled into it herself. It had just popped out before she'd had time to stop it.
Betty's fingers tapped out an anxious pattern on the countertop when she came to a standstill.
She would have to let him set the tone when he got back. If he wanted to ignore it completely, she would too.
A/N: It's been awhile! If you follow me on tumblr, you probably know that real life threw me a few curveballs, and that's why I haven't been able to post much. But I'm trying to find that new balance of real life to creative pursuits, so bear with me. Once I finish this, I have more on the way, so by no means am I peacing out of the fandom just yet.
Be lovely, leave a review. Is anyone still reading?