It's here ;)
Thank you to my reviewers: Guest and SexyHazel3y3s!
Guest: I agree, this is one of my favorite stories! The best way to make sure more people see it is to review every chapter, because a LOT of people sort by review number!
The Song for this chapter is Waiting for the End of the World by Elvis Costello!
September 22nd, 2018
Betty woke up feeling like her body was not her own. That is, to say, that it felt foreign and aching and full of lead. It was as though someone had come in during the night and replaced everything with a more painful and non-human counterpart.
Her throat felt like sandpaper that someone had rubbed nearly all the way down, and then left outside without water for forty days and forty nights. Her head felt like a brass band in which every member was deaf and trying to play as loud as they could, while also jumping up and down. Her eyes hurt to open. Her entire body tingles like when her leg fell asleep, and when she tried to shift under the blankets, it just felt like she was swimming in thick mud. She tried to speak, but her lips seemed like they had forgotten, and Betty just whined.
Beside her, Sweet Pea shifted.
"Mornin' party girl."
"Why are you yelling?" Betty moaned, curling the pillow over her face.
"I'm speaking normally."
"Lies."
Sweet Pea chuckled, "That better?" He asked in a much more appropriate tone.
Betty tried to make an affirmation sound, but it might have just been wheezing.
"I'm getting you water. This is a hangover. It probably will last all day," Sweet Pea said, as though lecturing in a college class.
Betty opened one eye to see Sweet Pea pulling on a shirt and pair of sports shorts, humming to himself. It was only seeing him so unclothed that Betty realized something else about her body; she was naked.
Not 'naked as the day you were born' naked, but naked in the sense that she only had her bra and underwear on. Betty was the type that couldn't imagine just going to bed without something on, and religiously wore at least a ratty shirt and pair of shorts, if not an entire matching pj set or a nightgown.
Which lead her to one conclusion.
"Sweets, did we...uh...last night?" She began carefully. Sweet Pea was out of the room, in the hallway.
"Have sex? No." His answer was short and simple, and he didn't turn back to answer her as he walked toward the kitchen.
Oh, thank God, Betty thought. When she had sex with Sweet Pea for the first time, she wanted to remember it. She wanted to never forget how he felt inside of her, or how his face looked when he came. She didn't want it to be when they were drunk.
Sweet Pea seemed to take an unusually long time getting water. Or, perhaps she was drunk. When he returned, his whole smile wasn't quite there, but he gave Betty's ruffled expression a warm look, shaking his head.
"You're in for a rough day, Cooper."
"Where are you going?" Betty asked as he turned out of the room.
"Breakfast," He replied without turning back around, "And organizing. You just...come when you feel better, okay?"
Something in his voice was tight, but Betty couldn't figure out what.
"Oh, sure."
XXxxXX
"Sweets? Did we...uh...last night?"
Sweet Pea, halfway out the door, held back a grin. He so much wanted to turn back to see Betty's adorably blushing face, but he feared his own face might give away too much of his own feelings.
"Have sex? No."
He toyed with the idea of adding something else, such as 'you sort of threw up on me', which would give her a why or perhaps make a cheeky comment that if she wasn't blushing, she'd be soon.
He heard Betty exhale, and then stopped dead at her next words;
"Oh, thank God."
It was quiet, just a hair above a whisper. Maybe he wasn't supposed to hear it. Maybe he was.
All Sweet Pea could do was hasten quickly to the kitchen and the bin they kept of sanitized water, but he felt himself gripping the glass too hard, his whole arm shaking.
He just sank down onto the carpeted floor.
He'd been rejected before, this wasn't anything new. He'd just never been so...invested in someone. He'd never wanted someone as ferociously as he did Betty.
He gathered his thoughts.
Last night, Betty was so incredibly drunk. Black-out drunk. Why did he expect anything she did to mean anything today? That was just erroneous thinking on his part. It was also quite presumptuous. Last night they existed in a strange mirror world where Betty drank harder than Sweets and she kissed him like he was Jughead. He couldn't have expected it to last, could he?
And to be honest, he couldn't even find reason to be mad at her. It wasn't some pre-written rule that Betty had to like him. If anything, it was Sweet Pea who's expectations needed to be examined.
And, truly, this wouldn't change anything. They'd still be partners, still act like they had on before, still care for each other. He didn't think she disliked him, she just didn't feel that way like he did for her.
Oh thank god; maybe she'd been right? If they had gotten around to sex last night, and she'd woken up this morning horrified at it, she might think he pressured her...which Sweet Pea would never do. And that would have changed the dynamic, that would have been worse.
At least her feelings were clear now, he told himself. No room for mistakes.
Still, he couldn't stop the hurt.
He wasn't going to let Betty see. That wasn't fair to her. He didn't blame her. His feelings were his own, hers were hers. He had to respect that.
He dunked the glass in the tub and returned to Betty's and his room. He found it difficult to be in the area with her, after ending last night thinking they had their feelings all figured out.
Things would get easier. They always did.
XXxxXX
September 23rd, 2018
The day after Betty's 'birthday', Betty spent most of it flopping around the bed, moaning and feeling ready to die. Sweet Pea, who didn't seem drunk at all, was scarce, working through their very long list of things to do before winter came.
At first, she chalked it up to a role reversal, one in which he was the responsible one, where Betty was the party animal nursing her late night out.
By the second day, however, it became clear. Well, not clear, but more obvious.
Sweet Pea wasn't ignoring her, which is what made it hard for her to notice at first. He was spending the exact same amount of time with her as usual, but that was it. He was playing their interactions out as though it was business as normal. No, it was more than that, he was being very attentive to do this. Almost methodical, or calculated.
He was treating her with kid gloves. He was treating her with 'just friends' looks and touches to a point where it couldn't be ignored.
This lead Betty to to one conclusion she couldn't shake; he didn't like her.
She knew she'd set out that night to tell Sweet Pea how she felt. Betty couldn't imagine in any world that she wouldn't have done so, not when her goal was so concrete in her mind. There wasn't casual flirting or blushing and unsureness of a new crush, the way Betty recalled it usually went. His careful way he spoke and acted with her told her that he'd likely turned her down the nights previous, and realizing she recalled nothing of that night, was now making his feelings clear. He was doing all he could to not misconstrue their interactions.
It sort of stung.
Betty nearly asked him to confirm it, but she realized she couldn't bear that feeling. It would be like Archie all over again, and that had truly cut at her heart.
She'd been so sure that he…
Well, she'd also been positive that Archie had been in love with her all their lives, and that wasn't true, right? And Jughead liking her had more or less caught her by surprise.
So, in all, with her track record, Betty shouldn't have been so shocked that he didn't feel the same. She should have realized she was going out on a limb.
Well, okay then. They had to just move past it. There wasn't any other option.
A part of Betty was very glad she couldn't remember that night. She didn't think she could handle the full recollection of his rejection. The aftermath was painful enough.
XXxxXX
October 1st, 2018
As the days slipped into October, it became easy to forget about the incident. There was so much to do that it left both of them exhausted and in their own worlds more times than not. And, if they were doing an activity together, they were both so focused on their individual tasks that there wasn't time to talk anyway.
Now that the weather was beginning the cool, there was the real fear that any day now it could snow, and they might not be ready.
Their lists of tasks seemed never ending. If they thought they'd been busy in the summer, they had no idea what they were in for. The most frustrating thing was knowing that once winter hit, they would have so much endless time, time in which none of the things on their 'before winter' list could be done anymore, and they'd just be sitting around twiddling their thumbs.
Most of their things on the 'list' had an end date, but a date that neither could predict.
They had to triage their goals, but the difficult thing was nothing on their list wasn't important for the upcoming season. Food, heat, and health were all equally as needed, and none could be spared. The only thing that could be more or less axed was Betty's efforts to get flowing water again. As nice as it would have been to shower, and as much as they feared the pipes would freeze without this, it wasn't a necessity. They had their bins of water. One day, they might fix it, but this winter they'd go without. The days they began to pull- the long, grueling hours- were just short of driving both to insanity. Perhaps, if they'd been back in Riverdale and the fate of their very lives wasn't weighing upon them, they would have.
It was during these times that Betty thought about how she truly was glad to have Sweet Pea. He was a hard worker, because that's all life had ever expected of him. She imagined being paired with one of the kids from her high school that had never worked a day in their lives. It was horrifying to imagine. She didn't envy whoever they had found, if those people weren't already dead.
If there was any free time to be found between Sweet Pea tilling the land and Betty canning food or preparing it for long-term storage, they took turns chopping firewood to store in bulk. No, not even in bulk. In excess.
As much as they (or, really, Betty) was trying to double check the few solar energy panels, they couldn't be too careful when it came to storing ways to make the house warm. They also came to the executive decision to only utilize the most important rooms and no more. They'd seal off the rest of the house, since two people didn't need too much space.
Sweet Pea chopped wood faster than Betty, but it was a good breather. Like killing walkers, there was a sense of calming to be able to viciously split wood. Anytime either were feeling frustrated, this chore kept both with an outlet and exhausted afterwards.
Speaking of walkers, they also needed to consider realistically how they would guess the winter would play out. Did they need to up the walls? Was it something neither had to worry about? How aggressive would their enemies be?
And human enemies! They ran the risk of others seeking their warmth, their food, once things got difficult. It caused both to have to consider some unsavory choices they'd have to make later to keep their home safe. Like killing humans. Which, in the apocalypse, seemed counter-productive. But they both agreed they weren't going to sit around and wait for someone else to kill them first.
It was something they put a pin in.
Yes, with all the business they had about with preparing for cold and snow, forgetting about the whole birthday affair was easy enough to do.
XXxxXX
October 2nd, 2018
By the time that Jughead's birthday had hit, the weather had dropped from balmy 80s to mid 50s, foretelling the incoming season. It became cool enough for Betty to don her Serpent Jacket most days, and a necessity in the cool air of the night.
It made her ruminate a lot upon how things could have been very different had her mother never married her father. Maybe, in a slightly alternative life, she would have been wearing this jacket since childhood, like Sweet Pea.
She also thought a lot about the owner of the jacket, a stringy boy named Lann. She recalled seeing him at a few events. She thought about how he was dead and that was sad. She thought about how a lot of people she loved were dead.
Putting on the Serpent Jacket also made her feel detached from Jughead, who had tried to hard to keep her out of this life. Then again, he had asked her to be his Serpent Queen days before this whole madness happened, so maybe he'd be pleased.
It was impossible to guess anything about Jughead. He'd never been one to be predictable, but that's what she'd loved about him.
She was mid-way through his birthday before she realized it.
Sweet Pea undoubtedly knew. He had a way of keeping the calendar straight inside of his head in a way that Betty never could. In summers, if given enough free time, Betty would become confused about what date they were on within a couple days. She had the feeling Swee Pea would have been on top of that, since he was now. It showed her an intelligence that was hard to quantify in traditional schooling. She mused that with the right teachers and right lessons, what sort of greatness could Sweet Pea have reaped?
Either way, she was sure that Sweet Pea was very much aware of the date before him. In fact, it was his stumbling around her that caused Betty to check the date on the paper calendar they kept.
And, oh.
It seemed rude to not mark it's passing in some way. At least, now that she knew it was occurring. If she hadn't looked and realized days later, she wouldn't have felt quite as compelled to make a motion to it.
Not to say she was going to throw herself on her bed sobbing, or write sad things in her diary.
But Jughead deserved something. And, god willing, his spirit out there would see it.
Sweet Pea didn't question when she vanished mid-day. In fact, he probably knew.
Sweet Pea might take the cake with keeping track of dates, but Betty recalled more birthdays than she ever wanted to know. Somehow, once you told her your birthday, Betty's memory would commit it to her mind practically forever. It was for sure weird that she still remembered Moose's or Dilton's birthday, even if they had gone to school together since kindergarten.
Jughead's was the first birthday that had come up she wanted to recognize. Her mother's, father's, niece and nephew's, sister,'s, Archie's, Kevin's, and Veronica's all fell past the date of when they'd started really making something good here at the house. Not that they had a breather, but they were not going anywhere soon.
She was sure that Sweet Pea remembered the birthdays of those he'd cared about. He seemed like the type.
On the edge of their chicken-wire property, there was a tree Betty had decided was beautiful. It was old and regal looking, the bark a pleasing brownish-red tone. The leaves were full. It looked like the sort of tree Impressionist painters would have sat for the day and painted in different light. Maybe, next summer, Betty would too.
It seemed a good place as any to make a place to honor the dead.
Everyone, body present or not, deserved a burial.
She didn't have a nice headstone for him. She wished she was able to carve a flat stone beautifully, or even scratch it semi-legibly, but writing on stone was way harder than she thought. She suddenly had a greater appreciation for the Greeks and Romans or grave-stone artisans.
In the end, what she was able to do, was dig out an area and plant a largish stone into the gap. There was some old house paint in one of the garages, and she was able to carefully pen his name and his birth date. It might wash off after the winter, but keeping up this stone- the first of many- would be a good enough gesture, she figured.
Then, she just sat there for a little bit, wishing she had more to say to Jughead's grave.
"Don't be mad, Juggie," She said, speaking to 'him' for the first time in what felt like eons, "But I'm sort of over you. That's wrong, I can't be over you. You gotta know I'll always love you, you were my first and that...it means something real to me. But you're not here, and Sweet Pea is. I didn't plan for this to happen, trust me but I…" She exhaled unevenly, "I might be sorta falling in love with him too. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't feel that way for me."
She looked to her left, to the place mentally she thought she might put Archie's stone, "I guess I should be asking him about that. Get some perspective."
She bit the inside of her cheek, patting Jughead's rock, like it was him. The sun warmed it, which helped her do this, say this.
"I just wanted you to know. So that it's fair. You're dead, so maybe it doesn't matter, but I think it does." She finished quietly.
She sat out there another hour, just talking about what they'd done so far. Nothing important. Nothing that she wouldn't talk to Veronica or her mother about. She wrote in her journal daily still, because it was even more important than ever to chart occurrences, but this felt more casual. Like she was discussing things with a friend. It felt nice to just chat it out sometimes.
By the time she returned, the sky was starting to darken.
"You ok?"
"That tree," Betty began, having held it together perfectly fine until she heard Sweet Pea's tone, "The one to the left, you know? That's where we'll, uh," She wiped her nose on her sleeve, pointing backwards, "That's our memorial. You'll see what I did. Do it for others, on their birthday. It's how we'll remember."
"Like a graveyard?"
"No, there's no bodies." Saying facts helped Betty calm down, "Just a memorial."
"Oh. Okay, sure." Sweet Pea twiddled his thumbs, "It's nice."
Betty bit her lip hard.
"You didn't answer my question," Sweet Pea murmured, voice low.
"I'm fine. I've been fine," Betty insisted, "But thank you."
Sweet Pea looked at her hard for a second, before shrugging. His reply's words were casual, but his tone was soft.
"Anytime, Coop."
XXxxXX
October 9th, 2018
One week later, on Sweet Pea's birthday, Betty woke up early. She slipped into the kitchen and heated some water for her tea. They were triple, and even quadruple re-using tea bags, since it was now a finite number. It meant her morning English Breakfast tea today was more water than flavor, sort of like an unfizzy and hot La Croix, but it had become a pattern that she enjoyed.
Betty padded out to their porch, long sleeves of her cardigan wrapped around the mug, peering outside. The day was practically foggy. It looked like someone had draped a veil over the landscape, casting gothic shadows over the fields and forests. It felt like the inside of a scary horror movie, like that if someone was filming their journey and wanted to set the tone, today's weather would be perfect.
She doubted they'd get much work done today outside. No way was she letting Sweet Pea work the fields, since she could hardly see a foot in front of her. If a walker came upon him, he'd never see it.
No matter, they had things to do inside. And, since it was Sweet Pea's birthday, it seemed fair they took it easy.
She sipped her tea until it was gone before setting to work.
She was going to make breakfast today, as a gesture of good will. They had things to make pancakes, and little chocolate chips. Besides, some of the materials would go bad if they didn't use these within the month, thus it became a logical choice to splurge on breakfast today.
She sneaked the plates onto the table right as Sweet Pea stumbled into the main room, yawning.
"Happy birthday," She said quietly, waiting for a response as he just blinked at the spread. She remembered how against he'd been telling her his birthday, about the man comments that had followed. She was all ready to explain to him why this wasn't going too far out of the way, or give a bullet point list of the reasons-
Then, his face split into a grin.
"Awe, Coop. You didn't have to."
"You're 18," Betty said, "You're an adult, Sweets. Plus, you gave me a birthday."
Sweet Pea sat down, licking his lip, "Sorta. I peer-pressured you into drinking a vat of champagne that would have gone bad otherwise."
"It wasn't nothing. Thought that counts?"
"This is way better," Sweet Pea said, mouth full of pancake.
After, and convincing Sweet Pea it was foolish to venture outside, they began their work for the day at a casual pace.
Mid-morning was spent setting up the mouse-traps all around the house in preparation for furry and unwelcome visitors when the weather dropped. They argued whether it was worth it to eat the animals they caught.
"Does the Bubonic Plague mean anything to you?" Betty argued.
"They got it from bites and shit, not from eating mice and rats," Sweet Pea snorted.
"I'm just saying, we shouldn't spend long amounts with that sort of vermin." Betty huffed.
When the perimeter was properly dotted with traps, they went around and sprayed bug-away and insect killer around the entrances too, since Betty had begun to stumble upon one too many spiders inside for her comfort.
The last part of the day was spent charting their hunting supplies. They had plans starting in the next few days to begin to hunt their meat for winter. Sweet Pea was overly excited for this, in Betty's opinion.
"My family hadn't really been hunters," Betty had said, turning up her nose.
"Uhm, your dad was a serial killer."
"Okay, animal hunters." Betty felt a tinge of annoyment to be reminded, "I'm sure as hell not a serial killer."
"We'll never know," Sweet Pea said, carefully counting arrows, "The world ended. You could kill me, but that wouldn't get you very far."
XXxxXX
By the time the sky darkened, they were prepared to hunt; arrows and knives laid out and sharpened, bows checked for faults, bags prepared to store the meat, and rope to drag big game back. They also had their traps cleaned of walker guts to lay out, since now they'd be trying to catch food over walkers. They discussed strategically putting their spear pits in places where there was animal traffic, and started talking about carving daily time out to check it.
With their list completed, they decided it was only fair to play a board game as the end to a quiet birthday.
"Risk and Monopoly are more fun with at least three," Sweet Pea said, arms crossed in front of the cabinet with 'fun things'. Betty mimicked his stance, head tilted.
"Card game?"
"My favorite, BS, is better with a group," Sweet Pea said. They quietly scanned the array of board games.
"Here's one that just needs two," Betty pulled out a box, "Pandemic. Appropriate."
"Maybe a little too much so," Sweet Pea winced, "Hell, let's try it. Maybe we'll have a leg up because we're living through one."
As they sat cross-legged on the floor, board in front of them, munching on a handful each of the mini chocolate kisses, it reminded Betty of a former family night with her mother, father, and Polly.
She said as much to Sweet Pea.
"My 'family' board games always ending in screaming and fighting," He said.
"Oh, one of those families."
"The Peabody's were very passionate about Settlers of Catan," Sweet Pea said, and she didn't think he was joking, "And later, with the Serpents...I mean, no one was more ready to throw a punch over a Sorry betrayal."
"This brining back traumatic memories?" Betty teased.
"I stopped offering to play early on," Sweet Pea waved a hand away, "I didn't have that time for the drama. Toni loved it. Cheryl too, later. I think they would purposely pick fights in the games. Stupid, in my opinion."
"What would the Serpents have done for your birthday?" Betty asked, laying down a card.
"Get me drunk, probably. Maybe pull together money for some hand-me-down gift. I'd probably get another tattoo, now that it was 'legal'."
Betty spied his two visible tattoos; the one on his neck and the one on his finger, "Yeah, clearly someone didn't care much about that."
"It would have been expected, not surprising. I like this." Sweet Pea said honestly, "Feels real. Maybe Toni n' Fangs woulda done something more personable, like maybe we woulda gone to batting cages or seen a movie, but that would have been asking a lot."
"Oh!" Betty sat up, "One second."
She went into her room, coming out with a carefully wrapped package. She'd used plastic bags for her wrapping paper.
"It's not much, but I mean, you're 18." She said.
Sweet Pea opened it with care and chuckled.
"Really?"
He held up a folded sheet of lottery cards.
"Might have snagged it from a rest stop. It's what we did at Riverdale High. Drove people it on their 18th to try for a couple bucks. I tried to find a voting sticker, since you can- could-vote too, but no dice."
"If I scratch this off and find like I won $200, I'mma be so upset, Cooper," Sweet Pea said.
"We could try to go back and rob a gas station, if it will make it more real," Betty offered.
"I might hold you to that. I'll want my pennies," Sweet Pea chortled, using his thumb to start scratching. When that provided unsatisfactory and slow, he fished out a lone quarter from the old tenant's junk drawer.
"You know," Sweet Pea said, "It's ironic that people use money to scratch off sheets to see if they win more money. It's an instrument and a prize."
"Have you always been this philosophical?"
Sweet Pea flopped onto his back, scratching the sheets above his face.
"Dunno if you heard, but the world sort of ended. I have a lot of free time on my hands," He replied back, sending a wry grin her way.
In the end, out of the six sheets Betty managed to snag (and, she theorized most people had looted these early on, thinking for some reason that they'd be able to cash these in if the world went right again) Sweet Pea only managed to make about twenty-eight dollars.
"Well, that will cover the cost of the sheets-theoretically- and you might have some money left over for a McFlurry," Betty winced, "Damn. When Polly turned 18, we got her just one and she won $150."
"You're joking," Sweet Pea moaned, letting the sheets flutter onto his face.
"No! I guess you're just unlucky or something."
Sweet Pea sat up slowly, an unreadable expression on his face. He swallowed hard for a moment. Before Betty could ask why the long face, he put on a warm smile.
"Yeah, guess so. It was a fun idea. I bet it you scratched 'em off, it would have been more."
"The monetary value wouldn't have changed," Betty argued logically, "I would have been just as broke."
"I think that magically it would have been different."
"Oh yes," Betty gave a obvious roll of her eyes, "You believe in magic and superstitions and fate and all," She gave a wiggle of her fingers, "Your probably believe ever ghost story out there."
"That's what makes them scary and makes them fun. Don't ask to hear any because it will terrify you for weeks afterward." He warned.
Betty sat back on her haunches, "Sure. I'll keep that in mind."
She paused, looking over her cards.
"Sweets?"
"Hmm," He said, using the lotto cards to make paper airplanes.
"Was this a good birthday for you?"
She didn't say it, but after the disaster with Jughead and their whole fight about it months ago, she sort of really needed this confirmation. There was a long pause and she feared the worst, that he was going to get mad at even the small work she'd done to try to make it seem like it wasn't at the end of society.
"Yeah, Betts. It was a good one. One of the best I can remember. Top five, easily."
Whether he truly meant that or was just saying it to be kind, he said it anyway. Betty liked to believe he meant it.
XXxxXX
October 12th, 2018
Betty missed the warm nights of summer, where it was almost enjoyable to leave the window open to catch a breeze coming across the moon, when she would lay on the thick comforter and sleep comfortably in just a tank and a pair of sports shorts.
It was easier then, she decided, easier to keep their space. While they didn't have an actual pillow barrier, somehow being on top of the sheets felt less like their bed as more like a place to sleep. And there was, she wanted to make clear, a difference.
Plus, in the summer, they'd each claimed throw blankets to pull over their bodies if they felt chilly. Betty had brought her favorite blanket from home all the way here, and wasn't about to give it up, even if someone offered her a million dollars for it.
Not sure why someone would want a million dollars for her blanket, but she digressed.
It had been bought at Hot Topic or Target way back when, and it featured a full-size still of her favorite childhood movie, Ponyo from Miyazaki. When she'd gotten it as a present, it had been fluffier than a puppy's fur. Now, years past, it was matted and a little grimey looking, but it still smelled like home. Even after all these months, it smelled familiar.
Sweet Pea had just found one of the many throw blankets in the house. It was woolen and apparently all the way from Mount Rushmore, woven with Native American patterns and little buffalos.
Point being, they had their own blankets, they stayed on their side.
As of late, however, the cool weather had sent them under the covers. They had come to the agreement it was foolish to burn wood so early, when only the nights were chilly and all it took was a trip under the covers to fix it. Plus, some warmer PJs. So, as intimate as it felt sleeping under the covers with Sweet Pea was, it was the smart choice.
This is what Betty continued to tell herself. This is what she told herself all the times she thought about how domestic this felt, and how badly she wanted this domesticity with Sweet Pea. This is what she told herself when she had the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek or curl into his arms that looked so very welcoming.
Often, Betty fell asleep right away. She was usually so tired from the day's events that she slipped into dreamland without any worry. It was something she was unused to, since in Riverdale, she usually had to go through a long destress regimen to relax herself enough to close her eyes without the thousand of things she had to do running through her brain.
Ever since they started regularly pulling back the covers to sleep, though, she'd run into the same troubles. Although, of late, her thoughts swirling around her head were not about what needed to be done, but of the tall, dark, and handsome Serpent sleeping inches away from her.
She was going through their food cellar in her mind to keep herself occupied until she fell asleep. It was sort of like counting sheep, just as dry and dull.
She decided that the utter darkness and silence of summer nights was more acceptable than winter nights. The heavy cover of just ebony in front of her, coupled with only the noises of their breathing to interrupt the space, felt sort of unreal. Sort of like a movie, or a good memory.
This same conditions but with a coldness that made her toes itch and her nose slightly runny? Not quite as easily romanticized.
She screwed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep, when she heard it.
A high-pitched moaning sound that she was sure would haunt her dreams for the rest of her days.
The eerie sound echoed around the empty house, lingering and wavering out, leaving Betty's heart thumping hard.
Without thinking about it, Betty slapped her hand out, grabbing Sweet Pea's fingers under the covers. The sudden contact made him jump, and he swiped his knife off the bedside table, eyes wide and panting.
"What, what is it?"
"I…" Betty whispered, "There's a sound. It just…" She suddenly felt very stupid for grabbing his hand.
"Oh, hey, no worries," He said.
There was a moment of stillness in which Betty nearly unweaved her fingers from his, but then the sound came again.
Betty stiffened completely, pressing herself against the mattress.
It was haunting, as she just lay silent, not even breathing. Sort of melancholy, like the sound of a wailing woman who had just learned her lover had died. It was the sound of someone in deep mourning. Maybe what simultaneously terrified and saddened Betty was this realization that maybe why it sent her white as a sheet, other than the surprise of noise piercing the air, was that she felt it on such a deep, emotional level. She didn't know if she was choking back tears because it scared her or because she felt the song of whatever this was at her core.
"It's a loon," Sweet Pea whispered quietly, "I'm surprised you've never heard one before."
"It's so...chilling," Betty murmured back, as though any sound above a whisper would make it stop. A part of her didn't want it to end.
"Yeah."
Betty rolled over next to Sweet Pea, her fingers locked in his.
"Go to sleep," Sweet Pea said, pulling her a little closer. Not close enough to cradle her against him, but close enough so that it was extremely comfortable for their hands to remain in one another's. Whether he knew he was doing it or not, his thumb started to rub soft circles over the back of her hand.
They pretty much never slept face to face. It was always backs to each other, or one person looking at the other's back. And, under the covers, it felt almost naughty. If Betty just reached her socked foot out an inch to the left, she might tickle against his shin.
He didn't seem like he was going to let go of her hand any time soon. Betty, starved for not only contact in general, but his, wasn't going to be the one to withdraw first.
She inched her pillow a little closer, only tensing as the loon wailed again, but otherwise less freaked out. Sweet Pea offered a smile that was so tender it hurt. He squeezed her hand.
"Sleep," He commanded quieter, "I got you."
Betty had no trouble drifting off with his promise lingering in the recess of her mind.
*Ok, ok, so usually I'm the first to HATE stupid miscommunications between couples, but here, it was just too perfect. Because, in my original storyplot, they aren't supposed to kiss for a little bit still. And, because certain things hinge on that, I had to make a reason to 'push it back'. Plus, this story loves some good angst, right? Besides, now the story moves into something even better...Unresolved Sexual Tension!
*If you want to read more about the Serpent, Lann, check out my other Riverdale story Blood of My Blood, Flesh of My Flesh!
*So, if you guys have never heard a loon sound before, they are straight up terrifying! I mean, I've come to also like them because I grew up around lakes, but for sure if you had no idea, you'd think someone was being murdered or something... If you look up 'Voices: Common Loon' by Cornell Lab of Orinthology on Youtube, you'll get what I mean
*Finally, I hate doing this truly, but last chapter I only got two reviews. I always get people telling me that they love this story so much, review once, and then are never seen again. Really, if you like this story, I cannot tell you how much it means to get a review, even a short one! It doesn't need to be a lot. So please, make my day, and drop a review.
Until next time!