The next week is a special kind of agony.
How else to characterize the daily occurrence of watching Adam flirt with Betty every chance he gets? And what strikes Jughead as her welcome reciprocation.
He thinks he might be going mad.
Each time he spots the other man approaching, his eyes can't help but start to dart around in agitation. In seconds, his hands are fidgeting.
Typing becomes an impossibility, let alone actually writing anything.
Instead, he sighs and chugs caffeine.
The last time he remembers feeling this out of control was when he was 13. In the months before his mom abandoned him for Toledo, Ohio, taking his younger sister with her.
Jughead winces at the wave of memories that flood through him.
Shouting matches between his parents in the morning before school. One hand over his left ear as he tries to concentrate on double-checking his homework at the kitchen table.
Dinners that culminate in three or four broken glasses. The shards glinting like switchblades on the living room's linoleum floor.
Taking shelter under the covers of his twin bed with a penlight and a book when the steady stream of curses keeps him up late at night.
The trailer's tinny door banging shut after every fight. Nearly falling off its hinges. Jellybean wailing from her toddler bed.
Jughead shakes his head.
These are the pieces of himself he wishes he could forget. That he could dissect from his brain.
But he can't. All he can do is wait for Adam to walk away. Then make a snarky comment about his expensive haircut or shiny Italian loafers and hope it provokes Betty enough to respond.
Her voice resets him. Even when it's filled with anger.
It's the only thing he looks forward to about the other man's transparent advances.
Especially when the inevitable happens as he strolls into work the following Monday morning.
He spies Adam first, standing a few inches from their desk. Betty's grinning shyly up at him and nodding.
Jughead's steps slow. His eyes constrict as Adam squeezes her upper arm.
The schmuck always seems to be finding new ways to put his hands on her.
But there's something particularly foreboding about this gesture.
Jughead's mouth forms into a straight line, the muscle in his jaw flexing.
He waits until Adam's gone before approaching. Throwing his olive-colored messenger bag and coffee thermos down on his desk with a loud thud.
Betty shudders at the sound. But the indent of a smile remains on her face.
"What are you so happy about?" he grumbles as he flops into his seat.
She flushes. He's not certain if it's because of his sardonic demeanor or the fact he's recognized she seems even cheerier than usual.
"Good morning to you, too," she scolds.
Her withering tone is enough to relax him. He lets himself smirk.
"What's so good about it, Cooper?" he volleys back, grabbing the buttered everything bagel he picked up for breakfast. "The ice caps are melting and American democracy is on the verge of death."
Betty rolls her eyes. "Don't you have a 'Pessimists Are Us' support group meeting to get to?"
Jughead barks out a laugh. "And miss out on spending this quality time with you?" he asks. "No."
Betty clicks her tongue in annoyance. "I have work to do," she huffs.
She turns to her computer, pretending to busy herself by scrolling through her emails. But he knows her body language too well. She's waiting for him to shift his gaze.
He does, for a moment, taking a long swig of his remaining coffee. But he keeps the corner of his left eye trained on her screen.
Soon enough, he gets his answer. Although it's not the one he wants.
Betty clicks open her Outlook calendar the second she thinks he's not looking.
His body goes rigid as he watches her add an entry to the Friday, 7 pm slot: "Dinner with Adam."
A date. He asked her on a date. And she agreed.
Jughead feels sick.
He looks down at the poor, innocent bagel and almost retches.
His appetite is gone.
Betty's not sure why she's so reluctant to mention her date with Adam out loud.
She tells herself it's because she doesn't want to give Jughead more material to mock her.
And discussing her love life openly would be serving it to him on a silver platter.
The secrecy is silly, though.
Because if one date leads to another, and then potentially something serious, Jughead is bound to find out.
He sits right there. And makes a habit of watching her like a hawk.
God knows why.
Betty's mind keeps returning to that peculiar slip of banter the previous week.
How heat sizzled through her body at the possibility he really was jealous. How much she liked it.
Or how, over the next few days, when a conversation with Adam starts to wind down, she gets a little breathless imagining what Jughead's latest critique of him will be.
Stop it, she admonishes. It's just a physical reaction to feeling desired by a man who, despite his ill temper, is objectively good-looking. It means nothing. You're interested in Adam.
And she is, for the most part. Even though something about him comes off a smidge too neat.
Yes, he ticks all the right boxes. Handsome, educated, well mannered. And he's clearly not shy about his interest in her.
But their interactions feel stuck at surface-level.
As if he sees only the polished, agreeable jewel she's forcefully molded herself into. And not the fractures underneath.
It reminds her a little of Glen. How he treated her like a pretty trophy to parade around on his arm, until getting bored and bursting the bubble on their two-and-a-half-year relationship.
The shame of that failure sits with her. Her mother, of course, had blamed her.
"Why?" she'd hissed over the phone when Betty broke the news. "What did you do?"
Impossible expectations have been her cross to bear her whole life. Stellar grades. Pleasant disposition. No mischief or trouble-making. Excelling in her career. Finding the right husband.
Sometimes she just wants to throw all that perfection to pieces and fall flat on her face. To do the unexpected. To choose the unexpected.
She glances over at Jughead.
He looks distracted. Skimming a page from his copy of the book on Sturges' films. Not really reading it. His hand tugging at his hair.
She's getting a weird vibe from him this morning. Not to mention, his bagel is sitting untouched on his desk.
Normally, he demolishes his breakfast within minutes of arriving at work. Gobbling it down as if he's been trapped in a cave for a week without food.
Not today.
He's more laconic than usual, too.
But Betty doesn't have time to dwell on it.
She regroups and resumes outlining the structure of her latest television review. The hours pass.
It's almost 3 in the afternoon when she realizes that aside from the pitch meeting Jughead hasn't left his desk once. Not even to pick up lunch. And the uneaten bagel is in the wastebasket between their feet.
She shoots him a strange look.
His face is glum as he absently underlines a passage from the book.
Her stare grows more inquisitive, and Jughead's expression suddenly goes neutral. Almost blank. As if he can sense her gaze on him.
"Did you forget to bring lunch?" she hears herself asking. When he barely shrugs in response, she says, quietly, "I have an apple."
The offer feels awkward on her tongue. As if there's something disingenuous in her being nice to him for even a brief moment.
He just looks so miserable when he thinks she isn't noticing. It's unnerving.
"Not so hungry," he mumbles, not taking his eyes off his screen. He waits a beat before adding, in a boyish whisper she almost doesn't hear, "But thanks."
She has an odd feeling it's more than that.
The tingling across her skin returns.
After a few days, Jughead is sick of wallowing.
Cynicism and dry humor, fine. But brooding like a punk is pointless.
So what if his crush is mostly unrequited? He's always assumed that was the case, anyway.
Betty going out with another man shouldn't make a difference.
The best thing to do is pretend this latest development hasn't affected him.
Lean heavily into his acerbic persona and continue needling her at every opportunity. Even if it's an obvious crutch.
On the morning of her date, Jughead marches into work, determined to get her attention.
He utilizes one of his go-to moves and drops the hardcover book he's carrying onto their conjoined desk.
The ensuing bang never fails to startle Betty, who glares up at him in annoyance.
"Happy Friday," he greets her with sarcastic cheer.
Her green eyes flicker for a moment, before she bites back, "Are you serious?"
Jughead simply smirks, scooping a large blueberry muffin wrapped in wax paper from out of his messenger bag. He scarfs down a large chunk, swallowing with a satisfied sigh.
"Problem, Cooper?" he asks, as she continues to eye him with distaste.
His tongue peeks out to lick off the crumb stuck to his upper lip. He enjoys the spontaneous shiver that runs through her when he takes the morsel between his teeth.
The things he would do to her with that tongue if she'd let him.
Betty's chin trembles under his suggestive gaze.
"Just eat your breakfast, Jones," she spits out.
"I'm trying to," he ribs her. "But someone's being very loud and demanding."
Betty's face crimsons.
"I—you—" she sputters, before gritting her teeth and muttering, "I don't have time for this."
Jughead almost grins. He stuffs the rest of the muffin into his mouth and chews it loudly.
It earns him another well deserved glower.
He decides to let her be for the next few hours. He actually has work to do, too. Make-up for his non-existent attention span the past few days.
When he does look up from his computer, Kevin is standing above Betty's desk. His hazel eyes as excitable as a puppy dog's.
"You didn't come for coffee," he accuses her with a pout.
Betty bites her lip when she realizes it's already almost 11, long past their usual break time.
"I'm really sorry, Kev," she apologizes. "I totally spaced."
"Too busy thinking about tonight?" he teases, his voice leading.
Jughead can feel the familiar jealousy creeping up his throat at the allusion to her dinner plans, but he tries to swallow it down.
Betty, for her part, looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"Kevin," she hisses, her eyes widening in embarrassment.
Jughead is used to Betty acting skittish around him, but this feels different.
A thought occurs to him: she's afraid of him finding out about her date. He wonders why.
The obvious reason is she doesn't want Jughead privy to her personal life.
But a small part of him thinks she might suspect the truth.
And that hunch is giving her second thoughts.
It fills him with a glimmer of hope.
Maybe there is a universe in which he has a chance.
"What?" Kevin whines, interrupting Jughead's inner monologue. "Is it a secret or something?"
Betty tries to shoot a subtle side glance in his direction, but Jughead catches it. The whiff of a smirk crosses over his face.
"Who cares?" Kevin stage-whispers to her. "It's not like he thinks you're a nun."
He snickers. If only you knew, Keller.
"Something you want to share, Cooper?" Jughead cuts in, cocking up an eyebrow.
Their eyes meet. Betty's breath hitches. Her mouth opens but nothing comes out. She knows he knows. Or has already guessed.
Her shoulders sag in resignation.
"Whatever," she mutters, turning back to Kevin. "It's fine."
"Great, now that that's out of the way," Kevin rambles on. "Where's Adam taking you?"
"La Cucina Sacasa," she replies, naming an upscale Italian eatery on Second Avenue, a couple of blocks from her apartment.
"Ooh, fancy," Kevin says, his eyes lighting up in approval.
Jughead snorts, audibly. On the subject of restaurants, he has thoughts he refuses to contain.
Betty sends an impatient glance his way. "What?" she demands.
"Overpriced," he pronounces. "Too small portions."
She rolls her eyes in response.
"You know you're really wasted as a book reviewer and not a food critic," she tuts.
Jughead shoots her a look of faux bafflement. "I don't understand. Is that meant to be an insult?"
Betty sighs and turns back to Kevin.
"I like it there. V and I have been for brunch a few times."
"I've heard it's great," Kevin reassures her.
Betty nods, gnawing at her pinky nail.
"Do you think I look alright?" she asks, staring down at her outfit. "I wasn't sure I'd have time to go home and change..."
Kevin appraises her. Jughead, too, more covertly.
She's dressed just a tad fancier than usual, in a sunflower yellow dress with long flowy sleeves and a hemline that falls a few inches above her knee. Her hair is down, tied back in a half ponytail.
She looks beautiful, he thinks. His stomach twinges.
"You're perfect," Kevin declares. "Beyond reproach."
Betty offers a somewhat shaky smile. "Positive?"
"It beats your pastel cardigans," Jughead quips, feeling a need to interject.
Betty's face flushes, a mix of indignation and something else he can't quite put his finger on.
"Do you mind?" she huffs.
"Not at all," he responds with a smirk.
But when the corners of her lips fall into a nervous frown, Jughead decides to take pity on her.
Their girl talk is giving him a headache anyway.
He reaches for his bag. A long lunch of reading at Madison Square Park seems in order. Followed by a trip to his trusty hot dog vendor. November weather be damned.
If he can't have Betty, at least there's cold comfort in knowing no one else riles her up quite like he does.
Betty spends the day more anxious than she wants to admit.
There's a confluence of factors.
The little misgivings she can't seem to shake about Adam. The many moons it's been since she's gone on a date. Jughead's edgier than normal attitude this past week. Her own high-strung responses to his zingers.
No, she reproaches herself. Scratch that. She should not be including him on this list.
Betty shakes her head, rubbing her eyes.
It's nearly 5:30. The sky outside The Easterner's windows is painted a dark shade of blue. Aside from a few other stragglers, the office is deserted.
She needs a break.
A warm cup of coffee to clear her head before she heads to the restaurant uptown.
She stretches her arms and makes her way to the office kitchenette.
Upon entering, she comes face-to-face with the devil himself.
He's sitting at the room's small table, sipping black coffee and reading from his book.
She groans aloud.
When he'd disappeared earlier in the morning, she'd thought that was it. He was out of her hair for the rest of the day. She hadn't realized he'd come back to the office.
Jughead looks up at the sound of her entering, smirking when he sees it's her.
"Can't get away from me, huh?" he jokes.
Betty grimaces, inching past him toward the refrigerator to take out a carton of milk.
"Is that your way of admitting you're insufferable?" she retorts.
"Oh, Cooper, as if."
Betty rolls her eyes, pulling a mug out of the cabinet. She takes a teaspoon and measures a scoop of instant coffee from the metallic canister.
She twists open the container of brown sugar next only to discover it's empty.
Sighing, she re-opens the cabinet and searches for a fresh bag.
There's one on the top shelf. Out of her reach.
"Damn it," she grumbles. She strains on her tiptoes and extends her arm as far as she can. But it's no use.
Jughead's ears perk up at the sound of her soft grunts.
"Need some help there?" he teases.
"No," she growls, aggravated, swatting pathetically at the plastic package.
The last thing she wants is his help. Even with something miniscule. She'll never hear the end of it.
But the legs of his chair are already scraping against the floor.
"I've got it," he says, his voice edging closer.
"It's fine," she protests.
"Don't be silly," he says from behind her.
She can feel his body heat surrounding her as his flannel-clad arm reaches up next to hers to pull the sugar down. His proximity is disorienting. A fire she can't escape.
His fingers accidentally brush against hers as he grabs the bag. Goosebumps rise on her skin.
"Here you go," he murmurs into her hair, his breath hot against her ear.
Betty is trembling as her heels retouch the ground. She turns slowly to face him, the backs of her thighs pressing against the countertop's rounded edge.
Her heart races when their eyes meet. Her mind a sweet, sticky haze.
He's standing so close to her. His forearm resting inches away from her hip, clutching the bag of sugar tight in his hand.
It dawns on her that he's boxed her into the counter. But she makes no attempt to move. Or to move him.
She bites her lip, gazing up at him as if in a trance.
Jughead is staring at her mouth. Like he wants to kiss her.
Her chest rises and falls in anticipation, her breath catching. She feels lightheaded.
Jughead's eyes flutter shut. He inhales deeply. As if he wants to drown in her fragrance. The still-lingering scent of her coconut shampoo.
Please, her body thinks. Touch me.
Just as she leans forward, Jughead takes a swift step back.
His sudden movement makes Betty dizzier. Dark splotches erupt behind her eyes. She sinks back against the cabinets, placing one hand to her forehead.
"Shit," she moans, the room spinning.
"Are you okay?"
She can detect the worry in his voice, but the words sound very far away.
"I can't—"
A wave of nausea hits her and she trails off. She grips the counter harder, afraid she's about to faint.
"Take my hand," he commands, and she gropes for his arm before managing to latch on. His long fingers curl around hers. They're warm, reassuring.
"Breathe," he tells her.
She struggles to exhale as he guides her to the table, limp as a ragdoll. He places her down in one of the plastic office chairs.
Her head lolls forward atop her folded arms, the blood rushing back to it. Her breathing starts to even.
Moments later, Jughead touches her gingerly between her shoulder blades. She opens her eyes to see he's set a glass of water down on the table.
"Drink this," he says.
She sits up as best she can. "Thanks," she croaks out.
Betty swallows a few small sips. Then a few more. Jughead watches her the entire time. It's disconcerting. The whole thing is.
She's regained enough of her equilibrium by now to be acutely aware of the absurdity of the situation.
Experiencing an inexplicable pull to kiss the bane of her existence, followed by him taking care of her after she nearly passed out.
It's a lot to process.
Betty looks awkwardly up at Jughead.
"I'm okay now," she says. "You can go back to reading or whatever."
His eyes narrow, but he otherwise ignores her suggestion.
"Did you eat today?" he asks.
Betty's stomach promptly grumbles. Loudly. Jughead's eyebrows raise in disapproval.
"I was nervous about the date," she finds herself admitting. "I forgot."
She's prepared for Jughead to laugh at her. But he doesn't.
He smiles, eyes crinkling with what she believes may actually be kindness. And a tiny speck of bitterness that just as quickly disappears.
"You'll be fine," he tells her. "But you should eat something."
Jughead returns to the cabinet and scrounges around for the stash of leftover energy bars. He rips one open and hands it to her.
It's her favorite flavor, she notes. Chocolate mint. Does he know that?
Betty takes a few nibbles. He sits down across from her and watches her carefully, only seeming to relax when she chews several bigger pieces and the color returns to her cheeks.
The room is quiet for a few minutes but for her delicate bites.
She breaks the silence first.
"You're pretty good at this," she mumbles, half to herself.
"At what?"
"Calming a girl down from her pre-date panic attack."
The words slip out before she can stop them. She immediately blushes.
But he just chuckles.
"I have a little sister," he explains. "Comes with the territory."
Betty's brow furrows.
He never talks about his personal life or his family. It's weird he's shared this. With her of all people.
"I didn't know," she murmurs.
Jughead smiles fondly. "She's 21. In her junior year at Ohio State. Full scholarship."
She can see he's proud. More than the average brother. This counts for something to him.
"That's incredible," she says sincerely.
He nods. He waits a beat.
"Why are you so nervous?" he asks softly.
Betty considers lying. But he's just told her something personal. For some reason, she feels she owes it to him to return the favor.
"It's been a while," she admits.
"I find that extremely hard to believe."
Despite the dryness in his tone, he's being genuine. She can tell. It disarms her. He's basically calling her a catch.
It's flattering.
A shiver runs down her spine.
Betty knows she's probably just giving him ammunition by telling him something embarrassing, but she's deep in her feelings. Still dazed after the near fainting spell. And he's there.
"My last boyfriend dumped me on a bench in Central Park," she discloses. "On my birthday."
She shudders remembering Glen's breakup spiel. A lot of cheap I love yous followed by but I need some breathing room and you're not really much fun, babe.
Jughead frowns.
"Sounds like a dick."
He says it was such rancor that Betty giggles. "He was."
Jughead's face twists into a half-grin. He's quiet for a moment.
"Five months isn't so long," he muses.
She looks at him sharply. "How did you know?"
He shrugs nonchalantly, but his gaze doesn't quite meet hers. "End of May, right? You seemed sad that week."
She had been. Hiding her red-rimmed eyes as best she could. She hadn't realized he'd noticed.
"You didn't comment on it then," she notes. There's a question in her voice. An accusation, even.
His throat bobs, like he's not sure if he should say what he's thinking aloud. But he does anyway.
"I wouldn't really try to hurt you, Betty," he murmurs.
She thinks it's the first time he's ever called her by her first name. It sounds like honey.
Betty glances up at him, her mind working a mile a minute.
Maybe all these months of antagonism have been a test. To determine if she was worth getting to know or opening up to. Jughead Jones's very own version of hazing the newbie.
Or maybe he's always viewed their bickering as a game. And she's been taking it too seriously.
Maybe he's even secretly amused by her. Attracted to her.
The thoughts jumble together, confusing her.
She attempts to shake them off.
"What about you?" she asks, curious.
She's not sure why, but she's eager to squeeze whatever information she can out of him, too. If he's in a sharing mood.
"What about me?"
"When's the last time you went on a date?" she questions.
"A while," he teases.
She rolls her eyes, but plays along. "Bad breakup?"
He leans in closer over the table. "My ex sucks."
"Did she dump you on your birthday, too?"
"Worse," he deadpans. "She cheated on me. With my dad."
Betty gasps until she realizes Jughead is badly stifling back a laugh.
"You're not serious."
"No." He smirks, although his expression soon turns pensive. "But, for what it's worth, she did get high on maple mushrooms at my book release party and try to flirt with my agent, so…."
Betty looks horrified. "Why would she do that?"
Jughead wrinkles his nose. "Envy, I suppose? You know writers."
"I'm a writer and I would never belittle my boyfriend like that on the night of one of his biggest accomplishments," she declares, a little too fiercely.
A sad smile appears on his face.
"I know," he says, gentle as a whisper.
Betty feels a chill go through her. There's something about the way he murmurs those two words. The tenderness in his gaze. As if he can really see her. As if he already has.
She needs to squash the subject now. Divert it. Before either of them ends up revealing something they can't take back.
"It's a nice change," she blurts out. "You being like this."
The tips of Jughead's ears tinge red.
"Don't get used to it," he says. But he's smiling.
She thinks he's joking. She hopes he is. Because this sensitive, considerate version of Jughead is actually—dare she say it—kind of charming.