Since the busy New York City streets invalidated any desire Jughead may have had of owning a car, he relied on Archie for rides to and from Riverdale. He didn't feel too bad about it, since New York City was right in between Boston and Riverdale, and he figured making Archie drive both ways just about made up for the failed road trip all those years ago.
He was happy to see Archie again, and they spent most of the long drive to Riverdale catching each other up on their lives. They easily fell back into their usual friendship, and the drive passed quickly in a blur of favorite music and jokes.
Jughead was grateful to have a normal Thanksgiving in Riverdale, no drama or mysteries disturbing the time he had with his dad and the Andrews. He made sure to text Betty frequently, wishing her a happy Thanksgiving and sending her the latest funny stories from the Andrews household. Her responses were few and far between, and Jughead did his best to not worry too much.
Neither of them had brought up the kiss. Though Jughead wanted nothing more than to kiss her soft lips again and again, to hold her in his arms and keep her from ever being hurt again, he was afraid to overstep his boundaries. And then the time came for him to leave for Riverdale, and the opportunity to talk about it had passed.
Eventually, he and Archie were packing up his car to return to New York City and Boston, laden down with so many leftovers Jughead wondered if Archie's car could handle it all. Jughead was anxious to return to New York and check in on Betty. He wanted to hold himself to not sitting on his ass and letting the abuse continue, but her recent messages had carried a tone of confidence and happiness that was unusual for her. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but maybe things were getting better for her.
Archie dropped him off late on Sunday night after a busy day with their families, and he was so exhausted that it took all his strength to shoot Betty a message letting her know he was home and would stop by tomorrow before he collapsed into bed, finally letting sleep overtake him.
He didn't see Betty for another few days, the return to work and real life taking up most of his time. She had been rather silent on her end as well, and Jughead hadn't heard any disturbances from the other side of the wall, so he assumed things were going alright.
They finally saw each other after Jughead returned from work on Friday. They had made plans to spend the evening together, as Lucas was off on some business trip for the weekend. Jughead knew that both he and Betty were aware it was not a business trip, but neither said a word about it. Instead, he put it out of his mind, assumed she did as well, and picked up Thai food on his way home. He and Betty proceeded to burrow into a nest of blankets on her couch, queuing up a list of truly terrible horror movies to make fun of ("Come on, that blood is so obviously ketchup." "No, you idiots, why would you split up in the middle of the woods? Rookie mistake!").
Somewhere on the other side of one of the Final Destination movies, Betty fell asleep, head coming to rest comfortable on Jughead's shoulder. He took a moment to observe her sleeping – all the worry drained from her face, and he couldn't help but think she looked extremely cute, hair in a messy bun instead of the usual strict ponytail, and full lips parted slightly. He slowly took her container of Thai food out of her lax hands, one still encased in the cast, and placed it on the coffee table in front of them, being careful not to jostle her head.
He muted the movie, the screams of the murderer's next victim evaporating into the silence, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her gently against him and rearranging the blankets to comfortable cover them both.
He relaxed into the back of the couch, watching the silenced movie until he was lulled into a restful sleep.
He woke up late the next morning, confused momentarily at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was lying on the couch, buried under mountains of blankets. He could smell the alluring scent of coffee and pancakes, and blearily sat up, blindly searching for his beanie.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Betty said from the kitchen, grinning as he jammed his beanie over his ruffled hair.
"Hmm, mornin'," he replied, stifling a yawn as he went to join her in the kitchen. "What's the time?"
"Almost noon," Betty said, piling pancakes onto a plate and handing it to him. "Butter and syrup are on the counter."
"Betty Cooper, have I ever told you that you're a goddess?" Jughead said, tone and expression completely serious.
Betty laughed and shook her head.
"The goddess of pancakes, huh?" She teased. Jughead grinned back and began drowning his pancakes in butter and syrup.
"Th' beth goddeth imy ohinien." Jughead mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.
Betty giggled. "I have absolutely no idea what you just said."
Jughead rolled his eyes at her and dramatically swallowed the buttery goodness.
"I said, 'The best goddess in my opinion.'" He grinned at her, and a light pink tinge spread across her cheeks.
"So, what do you want to do today?" She asked, busying herself with washing dishes.
Jughead shrugged, shoveling more pancakes into his mouth.
"I'm a pretty laidback kind of guy." He said. "Suggest something, and I'll approve or veto it."
Betty chuckled. "Well, I've always wanted to go ice skating at Rockefeller. I haven't been ice skating in so long."
Jughead audibly swallowed. "Say no more, Betty. Ice skating we shall go. Fair warning, though. I've never been ice skating, so you are not allowed to make fun of me if I suck."
"Deal!" Betty said, grin breaking across her face. "Hurry up and finish, I wanna beat the crowds."
Jughead was beginning to think that there was nothing Betty did not excel in. He watched in awe as she gracefully glided across the ice while he stuck to the edge, clinging onto the barrier for dear life as he inched along.
Betty slid to a stop beside him, cheeks flushed with excitement and from the cold weather, eyes glittering with happiness.
"Told you," Jughead griped. "I'm pretty terrible."
Betty laughed.
"Well, at least you recognize that you're bad. Come on."
She offered him a gloved hand, and he slid his fingers between hers, allowing her to pull him away from the safety of the barrier. She turned to grasp his other hand in hers and began slowly skating backwards in front of him, keeping him steady as he clumsily tried to make his feet move.
"There, see! You're doing just fine!" Betty smiled widely at him, and Jughead couldn't help but share her joy. He thought that this was how Betty should look all the time – skin clear of bruises, face full and healthy, and happiness on her features.
He was almost moving on autopilot when they reached the enormous Christmas tree at the end of the rink. He managed to pull them to a stop without sending them both painfully to the ice, and he gently brought his gloved hands up to her face. A gentle snow had begun to fall, thick flakes coming to rest on Betty's face before quickly melting away. He moved without thinking, leaning down to kiss first the tip of her nose, where a snowflake had just landed. He gave her time to pull away, to stop him, but instead she tilted her face up to allow him to kiss her slightly chapped lips.
A few people whistled and whooped as they skated past, and Jughead could feel Betty smiling against his lips. He broke away after a moment and grinned down at her.
"Come on," She said, blush spreading across her cheeks. "Your skating is still not up to par, Jones."
Jughead laughed and allowed her to resume pulling him across the ice, wishing that the day would never end.
Looking back, Jughead supposed that he should have listened to that tiny part of him that was telling him everything was too good to be true.
His life fell apart on a Wednesday, just four days after their magical day ice skating around the Christmas tree. Lucas had returned from his trip on Sunday night, and Jughead didn't see Betty until Tuesday, when Lucas had gone out to who knows where (except they did know where, they knew he was spending his time at bars, getting drunk on cheap liquor and spending his nights with other women).
Betty came to his apartment, looking tired but acting unnervingly calm. She held herself carefully, moving slowly and minimally, and Jughead was sure her old hoodie from high school was hiding fresh bruises.
They had a typical night in – takeout food, movies, and good conversations. As the night wound down and Betty stood in his doorway on her way out, she paused for a moment, looking at Jughead with something he couldn't quite recognize.
"Jughead," She started, smiling softly at him. "Thank you."
She reached out with her uninjured hand and intertwined their fingers. She leaned forward and placed a single, chaste kiss on his lips, then turned away, fingers slipping through his own.
He wished he had told her he loved her.
The next day, she didn't respond to any of his texts, and his calls went unanswered. He worried all day long, trying to distract himself by working on his laptop, but the stony silence from the apartment next door began to get to him.
At 9:06pm, he left his apartment and knocked on Betty's door. He knew Lucas wouldn't be home – he was rarely home these days, and only for short spans of time. Betty didn't answer the door, but when he tried the handle he found it unlocked.
"Betty?" He called, poking his head through the door. "Are you here?"
Of course she was here, she never risked leaving the apartment when Lucas was still in town. But why wasn't she answering?
Jughead slowly moved his way through the apartment, noting that there were no signs of recent use in the kitchen, and the entire place felt uncomfortably clean, as though no one really lived there.
He moved down the hallway, where the bedrooms and bathroom were located.
"Betty?" He called one more time, knocking on the door to the master bedroom, which was hanging slightly ajar. "Hope you're decent, or just sleeping."
He pushed the door open, and suddenly his blood froze in his veins.
"Oh God," He choked out, stumbling over to the bed. "Fuck, Betty, no no no no no!"
She was lying peacefully on her back, dressed in her usual jeans and pastel sweater. Her arms were spread out to her sides, and on the floor next to her was a bright orange pill bottle, completely empty. Jughead immediately recognized the label as the pain pills she'd been prescribed for her broken arm, the ones she apparently hadn't once taken because she was saving them up for this night.
He clumsily pulled out his phone, fingers stumbling over the numbers as he punched in 911 and explained to the operator that there was an attempted suicide and God she needs an ambulance, please she took so many fucking pills, she's not breathing.
Time passed in a flurry of confusion. Jughead refused to accept the fact that Betty's skin was ice cold when he touched his fingers to her neck, trying to find a pulse. He barely realized what was going on until the paramedics showed up and one of them asked if he wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance.
He didn't remember responding, but he assumed he had nodded numbly, because the next thing he knew he was in a hospital waiting room, staring at his shaking hands as he waited for news on Betty.
It took less time than he thought it would for the doctor to come out and tell him that Betty was dead. That she was So sorry, but it was too late. She just took too many pills. There was nothing more we could have done.
Jughead wanted to scream that yes, yes there was something more they could have done. There was something more that he could have done. He could have gotten her help, he could have noticed that there was something off about her he could have he could have he could have…
But he didn't.
He was frozen in his seat. The doctor kept talking, but he couldn't make out any words she was saying. He was completely unaware of everything until an envelope was placed in his hands.
His name was on the front, written in Betty's neat script.
He stuffed it into his jacket pocket and walked out of the hospital. He kept walking until it felt like the letter was burning a hole through the fabric and into his skin. Then, he stopped, bought a pack of cigarettes, sat himself down on a bench where he smoked through three of them, and opened the envelope. Inside was a single piece of paper with only a few lines written. It read:
Juggie,
I'm so sorry. I know I'm hurting you. I hope someday you can forgive me – it is hard to make other people understand the reasons I've done the things I've done in my life, and this isn't any easier. I need you to know that I loved you very much. You made these last few months the best of my life, and I wanted to thank you for that.
You will forever have my love,
Betty
He sat for a long while, staring at the note, until tears blurred his vision so the words danced tauntingly in front of his eyes.
He swallowed the tears down and called Archie.
It wasn't like all those movies he watched or those stories he read.
When he woke up the next day and Betty was still dead, the world didn't stop.
He wanted it to. Oh God, he wanted it to. He wanted time to freeze so he could catch up, so he could figure out what the fuck he was supposed to do with his life now that she wasn't a part of it.
He wanted to scream at everyone and everything that kept moving afterwards. He wanted to tell them that they were fools for continuing on, that they were lying to themselves. Couldn't they see that the very air had shattered to pieces, leaving nothing for them to breathe? Couldn't they see that all meaning had evaporated, that their work in this life was worth nothing if she wasn't in it?
They may as well all go blind, sight was worth nothing if they would never again see her wide smile and glittering eyes. They should all be deaf, because hearing was useless if not for the sound of her laughing or crying or singing or speaking.
Archie took a few days off from work and came to stay with Jughead the day before her funeral. When Jughead opened the door to his best friend, the numbness he had been feeling in response to her death finally wore off, and all that was left to feel was pure, unadulterated pain. Archie took one look at him before he smothered Jughead in a bear hug, leading him to the couch and dropping his backpack on the floor.
Jughead didn't know how long he cried, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up on the morning of the day Betty would be buried in the ground, face swollen and blotchy with tears, head resting on Archie's shoulder.
"Are you gonna be okay to go today?" Archie asked while they sat in his kitchen pretending to eat breakfast.
Jughead nodded numbly, stirring his cereal, wishing he could dissolve into nothingness like the soggy cornflakes.
Lucas wasn't at the funeral. Jughead didn't know where he was now, or if he even knew that Betty had taken her own life. He was too tired to care.
He finished his novel six months after she died. He could have completed it in one, but her death had cause everything else to pale in comparison. Nothing mattered to him anymore, and the prospect of getting out of bed to sit in front of a screen and type thousands of words that she would never read felt too monumental a task to complete.
When he finally completed the manuscript, he printed all the pages out and bound them together. He shoved the thick stack in his messenger bag, jammed his beanie on his head despite the warmer spring weather, and took the bus to the cemetery.
"Hi Betty," he said, sitting down heavily in front of her gravestone. "I'm sorry I haven't been around much. It's been hard. No shit, huh? But. I finished my novel. And as promised, you are the first person to hear it. Not only that, but I did you one better and dedicated it to you."
He paused for a moment, staring at the engraved letters spelling out Elizabeth Cooper.
"I miss you a lot." He said, voice cracking. "I miss you so much I can't breathe sometimes. But it's getting better. It still hurts, but it's getting better."
He swiped at his eyes, brushing away the gathering tears. God, he was so tired of crying. He took a deep breath and opened to the first page of his manuscript.
"Our story is about a town, a small town, and the people who live in the town…"