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The air outside was fresh and cool, a sharp contrast to the stuffy air of the police station, a welcome change that he gulped in greedily. His hand was entwined with Betty’s and the feeling of her hand in his, holding on tight, helped to anchor him to reality.
There were so many things racing through his head: his father walking away, the empty promises, the sheriff’s eyes on his, his past laid out bare and incriminating, the accusation, the fear that he was the scape goat, because he was weird, an outcast, because he was Jughead Jones and that was reason enough. He hadn’t been able to control that narrative, this had become a story he wasn’t constructing himself, he couldn’t write his way into another family, and that terrified him.
It terrified him that Betty knew, knew that he was a mess, without a home or a father and with the law on his back. But she was still here, reassuringly squeezing his hand, willing to fight for his rights, to stay with him when he was falling apart. She had a pregnant sister hiding in her attic, a million problems swirling in her head, but she was here to hold his hand anyway.
They weren’t speaking, he couldn’t speak, for the fear that as soon as he opened his mouth he’d start to cry. And she seemed to understand that he needed this, this silence, and just allowed him to think, occasionally stroking his palm with her thumb.
Archie and his father were following behind them, leaving them with a little privacy, and that too was swirling in his mind. He was embarrassed, and relieved, and afraid all at the same time. Perfect Archie with his perfect life, his best friend who had to rescue him because no one else could. He was a liability, and it was only a matter of time before he imploded fully, his whole family did, and that day had proved it to him.
The walk was short, and it didn’t take long until they reached the sidewalk of the Cooper and Andrews’ residences.
“We’ll go collect your stuff soon Jughead.” Mr Andrews patted him on the back, a gesture meant to be half-comradery, half-comforting. “You can stay with us for however long you need.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. We’ll give you some space.” The older man continued, gesturing for Archie to follow him and leave Betty and Jughead alone.
It was still strange for Archie, to see them together, to leave them alone and walk away. He wasn’t sure what it was, not exactly jealously, but something less clear cut and defined. It was people you thought you knew changing without you noticing. It was believing you were the centre of two people’s relationship, until suddenly you weren’t. But he knew that wasn’t exactly important at the moment, so he wordlessly walked into his house and left them behind.
They finally disentangled their hands and took a seat on the cold, stone steps. They were facing towards each other, close enough that their knees touched.
“Is it true?” He asked to break the silence
“Is what true?” Betty replied, searching his face
“Do girls like bad boys?” He tried to joke, to deploy his trademark sarcasm.
“I don’t know about that.” She was looking at him like she saw right through him and it made him shiver. Then, slowly, she reached up to place a hand tenderly against his face. “But this girl likes you.”
He shut his eyes, like he was releasing something, letting go of all the tension that filled his body. Then he reached up, grabbed her hand, placed a kiss against her palm, and brought them both down so that they were entwined together again.
“Thank you.” He said honestly.
“Jughead-“
“I mean it.” He squeezed his hand to emphasise his point. “Betty- I don’t-“ He was struggling with words, something unusual for him. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“We’re in this together.” She said. “Remember?”
“You believed me.” He said. “People they don’t, they don’t believe in someone like me. Especially people like you.”
“Who are ‘people like me’? Haven’t we both realised that we’re more than what other people think?”
“You’re right. You’re more than all that.” He shifted closer, their knees bumping awkwardly.
“Besides, isn’t this what people who do things like us do?”
He smiled, just slightly. “Not everyone. You’re more than I deserve Bets, more than anyone deserves.”
She looked upwards, then shifted her eyes downwards in a show of embarrassment. “I don’t-“
“Yes.” He interrupted, slipping his hand from hers and grabbing her face, pulling it towards him. They kissed softly, filled with things they could say, gratitude and fear, affection and something else they couldn’t or wouldn’t say. When they pulled apart, they rested their foreheads together, Jughead shut his eyes momentarily and breathed in deeply.
“You remember when we were kids and you always played house with Archie?” He asked after a second.
“Yeah?” She said pulling back, and looking confused but amused.
“Do you remember that one day when you were mad with him, and you declared that we were now married, and you kissed me?”
“Yes.” She laughed.
He wasn’t sure why he was bringing it up, but he suddenly remembered that little girl, blonde hair flying, anger in her eyes, grabbing his hand and leading him away.
“I’m glad you were my first kiss.” He confessed.
“I was?” She seemed surprise, but only a little. And then she smiled, softer than before. “I’m glad.” She reached up to press a kiss against his lips. “Really glad Juggy.” She repeated, kissing him one last time, feeling the beginning of a smile on his lips.
Suddenly she pulled back, a slightly manic look in her eye.
“Afraid you mum saw me defiling you?” Jughead deadpanned.
“No.” She shot him a look. “She’s in work. It’s Polly, I have to sneak her out before they get back, so we can meet later.”
“Pop’s, right?” He asked.
“You’re still coming?” She asked, almost shyly.
“We’re in this together.” He echoed her words. “Of course I’m coming.”
“I’ll see you then.” She promised, giving his knee an affection pat, before flitting into her home, leaving Jughead alone on the steps.