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theateared · 4 years

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I Don’t Give a Damn. ❜

Summary: Edgar has always put his family first. Notes: Past-life Edgar, lots of lore and (fictional) political commentary, all dialogue in Hural.

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Scritch, scritch, scritch. Edgar heaved a sigh of relief as he finished the last of his paperwork, signature a welcome scrawl as he stared at the stack on his desk.

Thank Raku. I felt like I was going to go insane at any second.

Huron had always been behind on the technological side of things. While a lot of districts had printers and computers to lessen their workload, huros were stuck writing all of their important documents by hand. Those that were of the utmost importance were laminated or tucked immediately into envelopes in order to protect them from damage, but there wasn’t much in the way of speeding up the process of production. There was even a sizeable job-market for people to write these things in bulk, paid by the hour to produce copy after copy by hand. All in all, Edgar was glad that that wasn’t his job. It would have been a miserable existence.

He stood up, limbs cracking as he stretched, before he proceeded to his boss’ office. After a ginger knock and a steely, “Come in.”, Edgar made his way inside.

“I finished the last of the campaign,” he said, putting the stack down in front of him. He watched as the man leaned forward, flipping through the pages quickly before patting it closed once more. Though he would read it thoroughly later, he had come to trust his employee’s quality of work.

“It would appear you have. Good job.” He watched as Edgar nodded, turning around to leave. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. Would you take a seat?”

Internally, Edgar vented his frustrations. I’m not even supposed to be here today. I’m not even getting overtime pay. Do you really need any more of my time? Nevertheless, he obeyed, sitting down before him. The last thing he wanted to do was piss Laurence off.

“You’ve been making some good headway with the campaign lately. The High Court is particularly impressed. They deem you eloquent.” He shifted Edgar’s work aside, dipping into the drawer beside him before retrieving his own stack of papers. It was stapled together with a large metal clip, though it was nowhere near as thick as what he had just been offered. Laurence steepled his hands, chin leaned on them as he stared at his employee. “They’ve requested your help personally.”

Edgar didn’t know what to make of the words. He was a quiet man, kept to himself and never really caused trouble. There was an emotional distance in him that wouldn’t be described as typical by most. There was no reason he could think of as to why the High Court would have any interest in him at all.

“What with?” he asked. Despite Laurence being his superior, Edgar didn’t seem at all intimidated by him. He’d noticed it from the day that this man had started to work with him. You don’t smile. You don’t laugh. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. But you’re efficient, and smart-- so smart. It’s horrifying. If you weren’t a model employee, I would have gotten rid of you forever ago because you creep me out.

“I’m sure you know about the growing public unrest,” Laurence began, attempting to gauge the other man’s reaction. There was none save for a brief nod. “People are beginning to discuss the possibility of strikes and riots because they’re ‘not being paid fairly’. What is your opinion on that?”

“I have no opinion on that,” Edgar lied. “Really? It concerns you too. You have no sympathy for your fellow workers?”

“I have no sympathies of any description.” He didn’t flinch under his boss’ hardened gaze, though he did feel inclined to elaborate. “With all due respect, sir, it is not in my best interest to discuss political affairs openly with somebody who has the power to take my job away from me.”

Laurence’s frustration was mounting. Why do you never say what you’re truly feeling? Why do you never give me anything? Though, he had to commend the wise nature of what he’d been told. He hummed, shuffling through his papers.

“They’ve asked for you to write them a public notice of desistance,” he continued, trying to move the conversation along. “They only require you to compose the first copy. Then they will have a labour force duplicate as many as is needed. If you agree, they have enclosed a list of points that they wish for you to include. Your pay will come from the High Court directly. It’s an expensive task.”

“How expensive?”

“They’ve offered to waive any future payments on your house,” he replied, observing him keenly. He was desperate to know where Edgar’s hubris laid. Does your sin have to do with material lust? Do you want nice things for nothing? “It would be yours. No need for a mortgage. The only continued payments would be for your essentials. Water. Electricity. But to live there? Free. For life. They consider that a fair payment in exchange for the avoidance of violent protests.”

The gears in the man’s head were beginning to turn. He didn’t find it difficult to stay on top of his bills. He didn’t expect to have a house for nothing. He also didn’t want excess properties tied to his name just because he was able to own them… but owning the house would be good for his family. His wife and son would always have a definitive place in Huron, and without the stress of having to maintain it.

But why would you offer me such a ridiculous liberty in exchange for one letter?

He knew why. He knew it was because they anticipated some backlash. To get an average worker like him to silence an entire struggling demographic would take more than just a lump sum. Despite his previous statements, he did feel some sympathy for these people. He himself was in a similar boat. He detested the fact that his boss had been granted the power to call him in whenever he felt like, and he wasn’t even legally obliged to compensate him for it.

You would laugh at these people - because you’re not part of them. You’re not struggling. You’re not being monopolised. You don’t feel the pay cuts, because you get none.

“Alright,” he said. He didn’t like to say it, but he knew that any outright refusal could result in the loss of everything he had worked so hard to get. “When do they want it?”

“If you agree to it now, you have twenty-four hours to compose a rough draft, then a further twenty-four to properly compose it.”

Edgar went quiet. Then he shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

Laurence stared, a smile threatening to spill onto his face. Are you insane? “Why not?”

“It’s my son’s birthday tomorrow,” he replied. “I’ve told you this. I’ve also told you I’m not working that day because of it.”

“You work when I say you work,” he retorted. He expected malice in return; a fierce declaration of freedom that he didn’t actually possess, but all he received was a dull stare.

“I’m not putting in hours when it’s Gusty’s day.” “He’ll have a lot of birthdays. He won’t have a lot of houses for life.”

“He’s young. It matters now.” Despite his calm approach, Edgar was beginning to get annoyed. This man was so obtuse-- so obsessed with money and maintaining his position as the top dog that he failed to see anything else as important. It wasn’t as if he himself didn’t have any vices, but would he neglect his son in return for some hush money? Absolutely not. “No. I won’t do it.”

“Don’t be foolish, Edgar,” Laurence remarked. His smile had long since faded. The pleasant businessman front melted into something threatening, something bent on his damnation. “The High Court is being extremely generous, and you’re about to throw it all away because you can’t spare a couple of hours to write a single letter? You’re not being a good father because you’re not considering the long-term.”

“Don’t you tell me what kind of father I am.”

They were both surprised. Edgar had not once talked back to him. He wasn’t a suck-up, or a boot-licker, or a pet of any sort-- he was just passive. He wanted nothing to do with the drama that surrounded the office, and he wanted no inclusion in personal endeavours. He didn’t hunger for praise from his superiors, nor did he crave acceptance from his peers. He just was.

“Watch your tone,” Laurence growled with a sneer, leaning over the desk in an attempt to invade his employee’s space. “You’re a runt. Got it? You do what you’re told. That’s what you’re here for. I tell you to write a report, you write a fuckin’ report.”

“I’ve done so much for free already,” he argued.

“I don’t give a damn!” Laurence exclaimed with a laugh. “I don’t care about your kid’s birthday, and I don’t care about your marriage, and I don’t care about your cushy little house in the centre of Huron. I care about money. I care about my employees doing their jobs.” He leaned back in his seat, swaying idly from side to side. Spitefully: “You’re in tomorrow. Whether you accept this job or not. If you don’t, I’ll have you do something else.”

Edgar sat there, somewhat stunned. He couldn’t believe the audacity of this man. He’d been part of a lot of different corporations-- had always worked hard and put his best foot forward, desperate to make a comfortable living for his wife and child. His happiness had always come second because it was a byproduct of spending time with the people he loved. Seeing them happy was his source of happiness.

“Can we… talk about this?” he asked, voice smaller than before. “I j--” “No. I suspect you’d probably want paying for it.”

The words rattled around in his head for a while until they laid motionless in the centre of his subconscious. His boss had made it alarmingly clear that he was nothing but a pair of hands to him. A curious thing happened inside of him then; something was burning. It wasn’t often that his emotions surfaced. He had them, he just didn’t care to let them guide him. However, in that moment, all he could feel was sheer, unadulterated scorn.

He stood up, hands slamming onto the desk. He was satisfied as Laurence jumped. “You’re part of the problem.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re part of the reason that Huron is messed up. You’re a money-hungry, possession-thirsty thief that wrings his employees dry of all their assets and treats them like machines. You may not care about my family, but I do. All of us care about our respective households. You should at least understand that much, but you don’t, because you’re braindead. You’re a fool. And of course you side with the corruption of the High Court - because it benefits you. I get nothing out of this.”

Laurence stared in disbelief before his face twisted into a picture of rage. He stood up from his chair, eager to tower over his inferior. “Who do you think you are, some kind of hero?”

“I’m just like them,” he snapped back. “You want my opinion on politics? Fine. I side with the people. People like you are the reason that workers are considering rioting. You don’t pay people fairly. You pull people into the office without any prior notice, and without any extra pay, and you expect them to put their lives on hold for the sake of your desperation for a few extra quers. As if you don’t have enough money in your pocket already. And then what? You stand there like a moron, confused as to why people are so upset, because you yourself don’t know what it’s like to be treated like garbage.” He reached out, snatching the contract from the desk. It was rolled up in his hands like a sacred scroll, then flung into the trash basket beside them. “Why don’t you write it? Just to get you doing some actual fucking work for once?”

I have to get away from this man. I feel an intense need to reach over and choke him with his tie.

He stepped away then, smoothing a hand down his waistcoat. The office was still and silent, jam-packed with bitter fury. After clearing his throat, he said in his usual monotone: “So. I won’t be coming into work tomorrow.”

The door was approached, though an obnoxious clatter had him turning his head. Laurence had swept some of his belongings onto the floor in an outraged fit. A finger was jabbed in his direction, his face growing red with how angry he was.

“You go through that fucking door, you’re not coming back, Edgar.”

He considered it briefly, then retrieved his work ID from his pocket and tossed it into the same bin that the contract sat in. It sailed the distance smoothly, landing in it with a triumphant tink.

“Good day.” “EDGAR--” “Suck a railroad spike.”

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Brielle knew that something was amiss with her husband as soon as he walked through the door. Though he greeted her with his usual kiss on the cheek, going straight to the kitchen to catch Augustus before bed, there was something strange about his face. His usual deadpan was accompanied by a rare glint of frustration, though he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. She waited until he’d had time to cool off ( spending time with their son always seemed to do the trick ) before approaching him in the kitchen long after sundown. He was busying himself with meaningless chores-- drying already dry dishes left on the rack was a favourite of his, as well as wiping down tables that were already clean-- when she leaned against the doorframe, tone patient but playful.

“So. Are you gonna talk or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?”

“Drag what out?” he muttered ruefully, picking up the dishes and beginning to file them into the cupboard. He hadn’t yet decided how he was going to approach the topic with her. He couldn’t keep it a secret forever, and part of him felt guilty for leaving it this long already. After careful consideration, all dishes cast neatly aside, he curled his hands around the lip of counter, leaning against it with his head hung. Quietly: “... I lost my job.”

He could hear her fumbling for words, stopping and starting several times before she finally uttered a small: “What? How…? You were going so far in that place.” She filled the space between them, her hand on his back. The warmth of it seeped through his shirt, had his normally lukewarm innards feeling some semblance of heat. “Eddie, I’m sorry…”

The man inhaled slowly, then released it as a deep sigh before turning around to face her. “My boss was a bastard,” he admitted. “I… accidentally lied to you. I wasn’t getting extra money for those shifts. Of course, I didn’t find out until it was too late. He used me.”

She hugged him tightly, her head on his shoulder. “Don’t take the blame for that. You can’t stop somebody from being a scumbag. You were just doing your job.” In all his years working, her husband had lost a total of two jobs including this one, and one was lost on the basis of the company itself going bankrupt. Everybody was let go of, because there was no site to return to. “... what happened?”

“He asked me to work tomorrow,” he replied. “And the initial job he asked me to do involved writing on behalf of the High Court. I agreed at first--”

“You agreed?” she demanded, pulling her head back. After careful consideration, she smacked his chest. “Why would you agree?! You know they’re doing bad things to workers right now, you were suffering too!”

He sighed. “You can’t afford to have personal feelings about politics in the field, El. Higher-ups look for any excuse at all to fire somebody nowadays. They’re getting paranoid, think their workers are turning on them, and it’s because they are. Of course I didn’t want to do it but I also have a family to feed.” His hands settled on her shoulders. “They said they’d give us the house, El. No more mortgage. No more excess bills. It’d be ours. All in exchange for one letter. I could always join the protests at a later date, drive that anonymous notice into the mud. I wanted to-- I just didn’t want to mess things up for you and Augustus.”

“... ours…?” Her eyes were round with wonder, as much as she hated that fact. To be able to own a house… it was a dream come true. She was a stay-at-home mother by choice. She and Edgar had talked themselves in circles when first deciding to have a child together. Though she’d initially been working in the fields, she’d decided that she didn’t want to do it any longer-- not if she was supposed to be carrying a baby. Edgar had agreed, taking responsibility for the bills while she focused on giving their child the best life possible. She hadn’t had much to give up in the way of work anyway. Edgar’s career had been going somewhere from the start. He went from selling vegetables in markets and writing humble requests to the High Court for a place for a stall to being personally requested by corporations. He was a businessman through and through, and the more closely he worked with people, the more coveted he became. His latest venture had been on the political spectrum. A ghost-writer for speeches. Managing public relations for favourable, change-driven politicians that people were looking to tear down for being different. Material for party campaigns. Now the High Court were the ones writing to him.

“... but I couldn’t do it. Because it had to be written tomorrow. And I wouldn’t sacrifice Gusty’s special day for anything. Nothing is worth that. Not even a free house.” Her face was receptive-- always had been-- and the love she felt for him was plain as day as she stared up at him with a look of mystified adoration. “He gave me an ultimatum in the end. If I walked through that door, I wasn’t coming back. I chose to walk through it. It was damn near the only choice I ever got in that place.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed. Her tiptoes were stood on, arms coiling around his neck as she gave in to the urge to kiss him. He responded warmly, arms tight around her as he brought her body closer. I don’t get to hold you nearly as much as I’d like.

“Screw that place…” she whispered against his lips. He nodded hurriedly in agreement, keen to return to her. They stood in their kitchen like that for a while, gentle but eager. He tasted more free than he had in a long time, a poignant sense of relief staining every shallow breath he took.

They don’t own you any longer. You’ve been allowed to come back home.

With his heart beating faster, Edgar pulled back enough to speak to her. “So. I’ll be home tomorrow. If it wasn’t clear.” Her quiet giggle made him smile, eyes closing as she pressed herself closer once more. When she’d pulled away, he continued: “We’ll have a good day… you, Gusty and me. We’ll be a family. And when the weekend passes, I’ll look for a new job and I’ll get one, a good one, and I won’t let them drag me in all the time like this one did. They have no right.”

A low croon was released as she scratched gently at the base of his horns, her own coiling around the tips lovingly.

“Okay…” she murmured, nuzzling her nose against his before tugging him to her once more. “It’s been too long, Eddie…”

Before he knew it, their positions had switched, her body sandwiched between the kitchen counter and his own, hands heated and hungry. Yes, he thought as he felt her fingers begin to undo the buttons on his shirt, a giddy warmth sparking in his gut. It has.

#🞮 — if i could i'd trade my heart for a second brain. ❜ ( edgar. )#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. )#☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#/ hOH BO Y IM W E AK

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

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Hii! Can you do a fic in the future where jughead already published his first novel and he has like some sort of conference or sth where he gets asked questions and all and somebody asks about the girls next door and he talks so sweetly about her and like Betty is in there too and all. Idk if you get it but English isn't my first language. Oh and I love your writing btw you are really talented

#GirlNextDoor

*insert here Titanic’s “It’s been 84 years” gif* Yes, it’s a prompt!! I finally uploaded one! Easter holidays are totally messing my writing scedule and I’m so terribly sorry for that. But I’m back in the game and I promise I’ll be my usual bughead obsessed self from now on! So, I’ve finished this just before the episode aired yesterday (I was just so tired to go over it and post it after the episode ended, I’m sorry) and I’m very pleased a lot of things that I wrote became canon. I had so much fun writing this because I’m a sucker for future fics and because that’s pure fluff and a huge, much needed dose of happiness to Jughead’s life! Also I changed the request a little, I wrote this as a TV interview just to make it more grande for Juggie, I hope you don’t mind, nonnie! Thank you for requesting and for your lovely words!!!

Betty could literally feelherself bouncing on her heels with nervous excitement, the velvet material ofher blush colored pumps getting scratchy as they rubbed up against each otherbut, truly, right now, she didn’t give a damn about her potentially ruined shoes.She could only focus on the red digital numbers changing sequentially over the silverdoors of the semi-packed elevator she was in, biting her lip nervously andcounting mentally in her mind as if that way, somehow, the numbers would runfaster and the silver cage would miraculously arrive on her floor in ananosecond.

7,8, 9, 10…Ding! Betty had never felt before a bigger wave of euphoria at the sight ofthe wooden door with the silver 10B at the end of the corridor and shemaneuvered herself around a happy family of four and a middle-aged businessmanbefore pumping shoulders with Mrs. Pomphrey from the twelfth floor, causing thealways preppy and posh looking older woman to raise an exasperated eyebrow ather unusual unmannered behavior. Betty managed to send her most sweet and goodgirl smile over her shoulder, wanting to maintain her pure, naïve façadetowards their landlord, and she saw the woman shaking her head disapprovinglybut finally turning a tad lenient, regarding the young of Betty’s age, justseconds before her wrinkly and full of make-up face disappeared behind the doorsof the elevator. “The mammoth DaisyBuchanan”, Jughead’s nickname for the woman in his usual snarky tone ofvoice came to her mind and Betty burst into silent laughter as she ran down thecorridor and jiggled her keys, unlocking the apartment door in a swift motionbefore closing it with force behind her, quick fingers already tugging at thelapels of her beige, ruched sleeved, loose fit blazer.

Her Cambridge blue bag droppedto the hardware floor with a loud thud, the cotton tote bag on her shoulder filledwith documents and paperwork followed after and her bare knees under her darkgreen skirt collided with the corner of a big carton box that laid there nextto a minimal set of drawers, making her hiss in pain as she twirledungraciously to throw her blazer in the coat closet by the door in a hurry. Ithad been nearly two months now that they had moved from New York to Boston,Betty scoring an amazing opportunity for an internship at The Boston Globe a year after they hadgraduated NYU that left her ecstatic and Jughead the proudest man alive, butstill they weren’t quite settled in, similar beige boxes filled with books orutensils or other random household necessities, laying around in pretty muchevery room of their new and cozy apartment, a wonderful change of pace fromtheir old and smelly hole that it was their first apartment in New York.

Hugging her laptop bag againsther chest, Betty literally slid down the small hallway until she reached thejoined spacious living room and kitchen, unhooking the ankle strap of her leftheel and groaning in despair as she simultaneously jumped on her other foottowards the grey couch, dropping her laptop carelessly and snatching violentlythe remote control from between the fluffy pillows, pressing some keys untilshe reached the channel she wanted. Seeing that commercials were still on, theblonde girl let a loud sigh of relief.

Today was a big day for them;today her long-time boyfriend and lifetime soulmate, Jughead Jones, or mostly commonlyknown to the public, J. Jones, was going to give his very first big interviewon TV.

Perfectly timed with his highschool graduation, Jughead had drew an end to the chapter of their lives thatwere titled Riverdale and Jason’s Blossom murder, effectively putting the lastfull stop of his first novel right before taking off to college. Despite thefact that he and Betty had reached the end of the labyrinth by the end ofsophomore year – their dedication and sharp minds coordinated with theirpassion about finding the truth and wicked love about the detective film noiressence of the subject brought them first face to face with the real killer –there was still a veil of chained mysteries and ploys that surrounded theirsmall town and needed to be solved first before the day the vicious murderwould be held accustomed for his crimes, shocking the small community ofRiverdale and changing it forever.

Jughead had printed it out, asingle copy only and with no title, bound it and gave it to Betty to read thenight of graduation, after the loud and carefree party of their graduated classat Sweetwater river and after their personal after party in his room at thesmall house he and his, back on track, dad were renting at the time. Betty hadbeen ecstatic, glowing even more as she lay next to him wrapped in the greysheets of his twin-sized bed, finally able to get her hands on what she was surewas marvelous work. “It’s yours” he had said in a whisper against her temple,crashing her inside his embrace, bare back against bare chest and coaxed inpassion blamed sweat “I’m not gonna publish it; I just want you to have it.”

Betty had turned to send himan incredulous look over her shoulder, the thick stash of papers that held hisyears-long work slipping from her fingers to rest on the small spot on the bedtheir tangled up bodies didn’t occupy. She had been utterly confused, he believedin that novel and always considered it his breakthrough work, his one-wayticket out of the impurity that stained their hometown and his free pass to prosperity.Jughead, though, had a good reason to contradict.

This was their story. Yes, thecontent of the book was mainly a mystery, a Hitchcock-like narrative of abrutal murder, of a kid’s murder, that shook a small town with every secretthat was being unraveled like a domino effect after that dreadful night on July11th. But under the misery and the lies and the deceit and thehorror, the story at its core was a love story. At first glance, an expressionof appreciation and devotion towards beauty and purity at the form of a longforgotten Riverdale, underneath which the true subject of the author’sinfatuation laid; the aerie presence of the girl next door, the one and only, BettyCooper.

He didn’t want for the wholeworld to know, he didn’t care. He was more than content with him and herknowing, with them keeping his first work of words their sacred secret andtheir personal relationship chronicle. It didn’t feel right by him to put outin the world something so personal, to strip bare for just five-minutes of fameand a probably small paycheck. His desire had been to keep it away fromjudgement, scrutiny or misinterpretation, adamant to put on sale a part of hissoul and knowing that the true meaning behind his eloquent words would betwisted and ultimately lost. The whole book was his adolescence, hers, theirfriends’, and, on top of that, his own coming of age story as a writer and as aman, and the thing he dreaded the most was for his blonde muse to be desecratedor lessened into something filthy and sexualized for the sake of publication.

Betty had felt flattered andmore in love with him than ever. They had made love again that night over andover again, slow and tender this time, and with hushed words of devotiontrembling against their gasping lips. The next day they had taken off to NewYork, Betty riding shotgun on an old black Buick Riviera – FP’s graduation giftto his son – packed to the hilt with carton boxes and suitcases, and having hernose buried in the book of the love of her life, drinking the words hungrilyand reliving every little step along the way that had brought them there, roadtripping their way to college with rolled down windows and his hand layingaffectionately on her bare thigh, petal pink skirt brushing his knuckles withevery blow of the morning wind. She had reached the end of the magniloquentbook by the same night, with tears in her eyes and a swelling heart, declaringhow beautiful it was and how terribly in love she was with him over and overagain as they made love under the stars.

Years kept passing, collegewas keeping them busy and Jughead’s mind had been working overdrive,brainstorming new ideas and getting excited and engulfed in his desire to writethem on paper. Two more small novels had been written by his miraculous mind duringtheir college years and with Betty’s encouragement to finally let other peopleenjoy his outstanding work - her words not his - Jughead had taken the big stepand sent his work to publishers. However, it seemed that their opinion didn’tquite align with Betty’s. No phones had ever rung, no one had come knocking ontheir door searching for the mysterious and impeccably talented J. Jones. Jugheadhad felt sixteen and not enough once again.

One particular night, whenBetty had woken up and found him for the fifth night in a row awake and at thesmall worn-out desk that they called their office area, head buried inside hishands in despair and what seemed like his fourth cigarette for the nightbetween his fingers, its smoke escaping in a peaceful line from the open rustywindow and getting mingled with the Chinese food smell from the restaurant nextto their cheap but anachronistic apartment building, she patted back insidetheir tiny bedroom and unburied the solemn copy of his beloved first novel fromher nightstand drawer, where she kept it as something as important as her ownheart. Coming back to him, she rubbed his back affectionately, Jughead’s chestreleasing a big sigh as on reflex to her soothing touch and offering her a sad,tired smile upon tilting his head slightly to face her, Betty pecking lovinglyhis temple and then the prominent bag under his left eye. She had laid thenovel in front of him, Jughead looking intensely at his first page as she spoke,plain and white, with just his and her name in dedication. “This is your voice,Juggie.” She had whispered sweetly through the darkness “Don’t worry. Peoplewill love it for the right reasons; you and your words make sure of that.” Andwith a nudge of her cheek to the side of his forehead she was gone, leaving himagain alone with his thoughts.

Jughead had stayed up allnight, contemplating and huffing. And near the crack of dawn he did it; he typedthe first title that came to mind, TheScarlet River, and spent the next hours changing each and every name,putting familiar sounding ones for authenticity but keeping their trueidentities hidden. He had mailed his finished work to only two publishinghouses, the ones he thought were more respectful to the author’s work in hisopinion, and went to bed, enveloping a sleeping Betty in his arms and prayingthat he had made the right choice. A week later, both companies had showedtheir interest in publishing his work.

It was a rollercoaster afterthat. Jughead wanted to choose the deal that would offer him the most creativefreedom, both companies practically bending backwards and promising him thestars and the moon to have such a brilliant and intelligent young artist intheir publishing family, but he wasn’t really interested in the paycheck. Hisonly condition before giving his consent had been no third party editing hiswork whatsoever and he got it. So he shook hands with a smiley middle aged man andthe printing began, the book with the minimalistic black cover illuminated by arunning red river at the center and his name at the very top of the glossy hardpaper hitting the bookstores just a few days after his and Betty’s collegegraduation. And to his amazement and Betty’s delight that she was right allalong, people actually had gone crazy for the first novel of the mysterious J.Jones.

Hordes of people from all ageswere queueing in bookstores and shopping malls to gain a copy, bloggers weretalking about it on the internet, magazines were featuring this newbreakthrough mystery novel in their must-read lists. Betty had startedcollecting every newspaper snippet that mentioned her boyfriend’s name orquality work, bookmarking every site and every online article that praised hiscaptivating writing skills and sharing the results of her daily research withJughead, loving seeing his boyish wide smile being reborn again on his lips andlighting his whole face after months of him being in a dead end author andcharacter wise. There were Instagram posts from people reading all over the country, the cover of the book being photographed on kitchen countertops nextto someone’s breakfast or amongst bedsheets before midnight, inside travelbags, next to business calendars, on floral teenage bedrooms or emo lookingones, even being featured in plenty variations of the most common millennialpicture, the one depicting the view of a beautiful beach and a book against theslender legs of a sunbathing girl, that book being J. Jones’ spectacular novel.That made even Archie admit that his best friend was starting to get famousafter all. People were starting to reach out on him, following him on his upuntil then low-key Twitter and Instagram accounts, asking questions about hiswork, demanding more, wanting to know if the story was real or a well-mapped fictionidea out of a very talented writer’s head. Betty and Jughead would go on withtheir everyday lives normally, go to work every morning on their part-timejobs, run errands, go out on dates but now they would come across people beingengrossed in Jughead’s book everywhere, on the subway or the grocery store, atcoffee shops, at restaurants, on a park bench, both of them feeling a swell ofpride each and every time.

Jughead had refused to do anybook tours or press conferences, even though the publishers and his manager –yeah he had one of those now – had all been a huge pain in the ass and wereconsistently insisting in him doing so for the sake of his income. He wasadamant again; he was perfectly content with how things had turned out to be.People was loving his work, he was being recognized for his talent and he hadnow more than enough money in his pockets and his bank account to offer thewoman of his dreams the best life she deserved; he wasn’t interested in anyempty popularity façade. To keep his deal with the publishing house though hehad to agree to some terms of marketing, even though he completely despised theidea. Betty and her overall brilliant mind had been once again his savior, her comingup with an innovational concept that had the publishers rubbing their hands indelight and Jughead loving her even more, and that was humanly impossible. Aninteractive site had been launched where the author in question started postingthoughts and information about his work, answering questions to readers fromall over the world, discussing theories with them – something that made himsmile like a five year old and type way in excitement – and even doing somelive shows once in a while to interact with his fans more. Sales had skyrocketedafter that, the book was being printed over and over again, people were talkingabout it amongst friendly gatherings, over drinks after work, even dedicatingthought and time on the internet to interpret each and every of his words,discuss either bizarre or well-thought theories and just go ballistic over andover again about the edgy and vague ending, intrigued to extremes to find outmore.

By the end of the year, The Scarlet River had ranked first onthe New York Times’ annual list of bestselling novels. It had been the firsttime that Betty saw Jughead cry from joy, fingers and voice trembling whilereading to her the small paragraph of criticism under the bold title of hisbook, words like “innovational” or “outstanding” or “deliciouslynerve-wracking” standing out amongst other praising compliments. She had jumpedon him with utter excitement and joy, legs wrapped around his waist and armscradling his neck in a tight embrace to show him even more how proud she wasfor him, his face buried in the crook of her neck, thanking her over and overagain for being patient with him and, most importantly, believing in him.

And now they were here; himready to take on the world with his gorgeous, tortured artist looks and hissharp mind and her biting anxiously on her lower lip as she waited in front ofher screen in nervous excitement, feeling her heart beating rapidly just likehis was beating too, many miles away from her. Betty hated herself and stillkept beating herself up for not being able to accompany him to one of the mostimportant moments of his career. She had been there getting hyped and excitedwhen the first copies of his book were delivered, she had been therecelebrating with him every time it got picked for another round of printing,she had been there smiling encouragingly at his first conference with bookcritics and she had been there when his phone rang and a polite assistant fromLarry King Now asked when his hectic schedule would allow him to give them thepleasure of an interview, both hers and Jughead’s jaw dropping to the floor. Butthis time she couldn’t be there. Her internship was demanding and with herbeing a newbie the chances of taking a day off were zero to none, even thoughshe begged and pleaded for an exception just for this particular case. Jugheadwas bummed too but totally understanding as always, although Betty knew hedreaded the fact that he would have to face the unknown alone. So that morningBetty woke him up with breakfast in bed and kisses, styled his hair perfectlyand drove him to the airport despite his objections, dragging him to a bathroomstall just minutes before he needed to be at the check-out line and giving himan intense and full on sultry blowjob, a well-thought plan of hers to ease hismind and offer him the male ego and confidence boost he needed. A pleased anddisbelieving at his luck, awestruck smile never left Jughead’s lips up until helanded in New York.

The business-like chime of herphone cut her reverie short and she rushed to answer with flushed cheeksand a wide grin, seeing the lovely picture of Jughead bare-chested on their bedand smiling sleepily popping on her rose gold iPhone screen.

“My hands are trembling.” Thesardonic voice of her boyfriend came right through when she swiped left toanswer, apathetic as always but with anxiety creeping behind his well-builtarmor, not bothering with a sweet greeting but jumping straight to the point.“My throat feels dry and I keep chugging bottle of water after bottle water andI really think that I’ll get the urge to pee exactly when the interview starts.And I’m sweating, all the way through my jacket. I didn’t even know I couldsweat this much. Plus, what’s with those lights, why are there so many? And I’mhooked with microphones and—” he rambled in a nervous rampage before hersoothing voice interfered.

“Juggie, breathe.” Bettyoffered with a faint giggle, pouting at how cute he was against her phone.

An audible deep exhale filledthe silence before he continued a tad calmer this time. “I’m gonna screw thisup. Please say you’ll still love me when I screw this up and go back to being yourdaily dose of sarcasm in the form of a boyfriend.” He pleaded in asemi-teasing, semi-serious voice drawing another giggle from her lips.

“Um, I don’t know, Jay Jonespushes some of my right buttons. He is such a turn on.” She teased him, fakinginnocence, getting a small amused scoffed in return. She smiled at her littleachievement.

“Great. Even my alter ego ismore suave than me.” He retorted like the definition of a drama queen.

Betty shook her head to no onebut herself. “You’re such a dork and I love you for that.” She let him knowcheerfully, envisioning his rolling eyes and the sideways smirk she was sure hewas definitely sporting right now at her loving teasing. “You are going to dogreat! We’ve done so much prepping!” Once the day of the interview wasapproaching and Jughead was starting to become a mess of nerves and sweatypalms, Betty had had enough. So she conducted a list of possible questions, gavethem to him to answer in the best way he could express himself, bywriting, and then urged him to memorize those answers. They would spend everynight after that going over the questions again and again, Betty sitting ontheir mahogany dinner table pretending to be the interviewer and him acrossher, pacing up and down while he tried to remember the words that best expressed his mind.

“Well, Betts, it’s a tad moreintimidating when you have Larry King in flesh asking the questions.” Heblurted his clever response hearing her sharp intake of breath from the otherend of the line.

“Thank you, Juggie, forranking my sex appeal oozing intimidation under the one of an eighty three year old man.” She grimaced in amusement and shock, Jughead flinching to himself toobecause, who was he kidding, Betty Cooper intimidated and intrigued him to noends and that’s why he always ended up chocking or pushing her on the nearestsurface with mad desire every night she sat across him, playing the part of theinterviewer and challenging him with those piercing green eyes.

“So you talked to him? How ishe in person?” Betty’s whole tone changed as curiosity kicked in, wanting to know more about the well-known TV and radio host.

“Old.” Jughead threw hissardonic one-liner, the blonde huffing a tad in exasperation but smirkingnonetheless. “We just met and talked for a bit. He seems cool, interested andinteresting enough for us to have a discussion of shorts. And apparently hethinks I’m a real deal? Betts, can you believe?” he gasped like a five year old in a candy store.

“That’s huge, babe!” Betty urged his excitement on. “See?There’s no need for you to worry, just go in there and kill us all with youreloquence and your charm.” She encouraged him in her usual sweet and soothingtone of voice.

Jughead exhaled again with agroan, fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket in an attempt to fix it over hisshoulders. “I just hope that question number twenty six will not be asked.” Hemused, arm dropping to his side in frustration that even his attire was givinghim a hard time today.

“What’s your inspirationbehind the conception of the girl next door and why do you think people rootfor her this much?” Betty recited the question under that number in aheartbeat, even herself having memorized the list and his possible answers. “OhI hope question number twenty six willbe asked.” She colored her sentence with enough girly delight, biting her lowerlip at the image of him getting all flushed and terribly cute while worshipingher in front of the world.

“So you and the whole countrycan watch me drown in my own spit and die of embarrassment on live television?”Jughead’s voice went an octave higher at the more than possible scenario ofappearing like a complete freak show. “You know what? I’ll just go, I’ll flee,yes, that’s what I’m going to do.” He shrugged and his nervous outrage startedagain, anxiety coiling low in his stomach and making him actually want tovomit, even though he had spent the whole day famished and consuming only adozen cups of black coffee, something that spoke volumes for someone thatcouldn’t spend a day without gobbling at least five full meals.

“Jughead—” Betty tried tointerfere but it was a lost battle.

“Oh crap, they saw me lurking.”He murmured in alarm. “They are calling me over. Shit, shit, shit what do I do? Lie about having a fatal illness thatneeds immediate assistance? Pretend I’m having a stroke?” he was in full onpanic mode now, trying to give his overly sweaty self some much needed air byswaying vigorously the front of his button-up, desperately trying to fanhimself. “I think that I am actually having a stroke to be honest.”

Betty scoffed at his anticsfor exaggeration. “Stop! Just go!” she urged in a high pitched whine. “Everything’sgonna be fine, if you walk in there like the determined and over-achieving manyou are. I’ve seen you thrive in way worse; you’ve got this, Jug, you trulydo.” She offered her small pep-talk wholeheartedly, absolutely believing thathe could pull off anything he set his mind to.

“Alright.” He sighed deep butthis time it was with pure determination. “Here I go, wish me luck. And pleasechannel some of your inner sunshine and badassery vibes my way; it would bevery much appreciated.” He pleaded for her aid in a joking manner but stillserious enough, knowing that with her backing him up, even in spirit, he couldbe the strongest man alive.

Betty’s melodic laugh was atrue oasis at his time of need. “I will.” She promised before continuing in afoxier, more Betty Cooper in the sheets voice. “And if, at any point, you feellike your confidence is crumbling down think about me.” The girl suggested,before causing her voice to drop a sensual octave down. “Naked.” The adjective was colored with all the necessary unspokeninnuendos and Betty bit her lip, failing to hold back her beaming smile at theadrenaline filled state she surely got him in at this exact moment.

Jughead couldn’t hold back hisown sly smirk. “You’re not helping at all with the situation, Betts.” He warnedher in a whisper, voice husky and suggestive just how she liked, as he took a seat atthe chair an assistant pointed him to, before the man proceeded in doing a last minute check on hismicrophone.

“Oh, I think I was definitelyhelping with the situation this morning at the men’s bathroom of the airport.”Jughead’s mind got bombarded with the dirty images of Betty in a compromisingposition looking up at him while sending him flying to the sky, and he felt hisbody heat increasing in an instant, smiling awkwardly at a young woman thatfilled a mug with mineral water on the table in front of him and adjustinghimself on the comfy chair, praying to find just a small ounce of strength todefeat his raging male urges.

Thankfully, the girl thattormented his body and soul went back to her sweet, ultimately kind-heartedpersona, giving him a chance to breathe. “It’s your time to shine Juggie. Theworld doesn’t stand a chance, just like I didn’t.” her words, depicting herlove-sick smile on her lips, brought a big grin on Jughead’s face who ducked hishead in vulnerability and utter love at the thought of her believing in him. “Ilove you.” She told him the only thing he actually needed to hear in order topuff his chest with courage.

“I love you too. I’ll callyou when this sorcery is over.” He promised and sent her that boyish smile she hadlabeled as her favorite, even though she couldn’t actually see him, before reluctantlyending their short call.

Minutes after Betty hadabandoned her phone on the coffee table in front of her and curled her legsunder her on the sofa, getting more comfortable, the characteristic intro ofLarry King’s talk show filled the silence of the living room, making herstraighten her back and glue her round excited eyes on the TV.

“Welcome to Larry King Now.”The elder interviewer addressed straight to the camera as he opened the show. “Ourspecial guest is Jay Jones,” the camera panned to Jughead across him, whooffered a timid boyish smile to the audience before turning serious, the focuscontinuing to be on him as Larry King’s voice went on “writer of thebestselling novel, The Scarlet River,a post-modern murder mystery that raised quite the frenzy from the very firstmonths of its publication. After nearly a year now, the book that came to upsetthe tedious waters of 21st century’s detective fiction has sold overfour million copies through Amazon and Barnes & Noble, is featured on thebest books list of American Library Association and The New York Times and isnominated for an Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best First Novel.” He finishedlisting Jughead’s accomplishments and turned to the man in question with a warmsmile.

“Now, I’ve met a lot of youngwriters in my life but never came face to face with somebody that achieved allthat in such small amount of time. Is it overwhelming?” The first question wasfired.

“If I claimed that it wasn’t Iwould be lying and the dormant principal in my life is honesty and transparency.”Jughead started and Betty was immediately sold at the way his voice sounded sogravely, at his surprising in-charge posture, at how illegally handsome helooked in the blue button-up and beige jacket she had picked for him to wear onhis big day. Not to mention his raven locks that were still styled the way she had attempted this morning but a tad disheveled, certaintly because of his fingers running over them nervously, creating a messy, sophisticated look that made him look unbelievably irresistible. “It truly is astounding how people responded to my very firstwork, the blowup and the paroxysm of it all, in the good sense of the word,still blows my mind up to this date. The pace is definitely a Lamborghiniappropriate one and I’m an old rusty Buick in regards to adjusting to out of mycomfort zone situations but I’m eternally grateful to everyone that came along tothis new adventurous ride with me.” He huffed awkwardly and his lips formed anadorable nerdy smile of true happiness and Betty couldn’t help but aw at theway he was acting so charmingly sweet, her heart thudding violently in herchest at the sight. He was still nervous, she could tell, but he was masking itperfectly and gradually getting more unwound.

“For anyone that’s been livingunder a rock, care to sum up the story for us?” Alright, basic question, Jug isgood, Betty thought with a nod.

“Yeah, yeah, of course…” hepaused for a minute, shifting on his seat. “Um, the narrative begins with themurder of a seventeen year old boy, James Blake, on July 11th, spreadinga dark veil of sorrow and turmoil over the small town of Riverdale. A maypoleof lies and deceit is being weaved around the up until then lawful residents ofthe frozen in a bygone era close-knit town, its innocence and purity longbefore lost. At a mist of it all, four high school students take it uponthemselves to unwind Ariadne’s red ball of threat down the end of thelabyrinth, on the way getting face to face with their own inner demons andbringing to light their well-hidden skeletons in the closet. They seek justiceand at the end of the day they are capable of doing anything to put an end to thisvery vicious cat and mouse game.” Jughead offered the synopsis of the bookperfectly, resting back on his chair in waiting.

“You say high school kids.”Jughead nodded in affirmation. “But this book is anything but solemnly focusedon teen audiences. What do you think makes it so popular and especially in awide range of people demographically?”

A snarky smile found its wayto the author’s lips, as he watched his fingers drum on the table. “I’massuming you’re asking me how an adult-aimed book, bare of any sexual tones,survived and, not to sound boastful, succeeded in a lewd defined world. Well,yes, sex sells but gore sells better.” He replied cleverly, the elder manchuckling faintly at the response which brought a smile to Betty’s lips too.Jughead was starting to win the room and that was very pleasing to watch.

“To be truly honest with you,I believe that the key was authenticity.” The raven haired boy turned seriousto elaborate his answer more. “The innocence of a classic film noir portrayedin a modern world and being put into words, the nostalgic essence, the maturityand rawness of the characters’ feelings and actions that anyone can reflect on,despite age or sex or color or sexual orientation. It’s the Scooby Gang, as Ilike to call it,” he smirked at the inner joke “but in a total alternative,wicked universe; it’s gruesome, it’s horror, it’s mystery, it’s a trip frominnocence to reality, from childish mentality to adulthood. It’s realistic interms of people’s growth, truthful, and people nowadays need true feelings intheir lives more than ever.”

“You talked about authenticityand that opens a window for me to drop the million dollar question; how much ofthis is fiction?” the interviewer went on. “Are there any true events at all ortruthfulness just applies in regards to staying true to human nature and itsantics in a hypothetical incident of a public-shocking crime?” Betty flinchedin coordination with Jughead’s sigh on the screen. That was the most frequentlyasked question about his book and the question he always hated to face, in fearof revealing parts of their lives that weren’t mend for the public’s eye.

“Oh, the million dollarquestion indeed.” Luckily, he had managed to compose himself quickly and brushit off with an aloof and polite grin. “I have a fear that I’ll spoil the magicif I do give an answer to that or probably get fired” he chuckled lightly andBetty scoffed a laugh “but I think people’s speculations are reaching extremes bynow so here goes nothing. The story is indeed fictional to its biggest part.”He didn’t want to lie to the people; that was never his intention. He justwanted to protect the most vulnerable parts of their adolescence.

“But Riverdale exists, it’syour hometown, and there was indeed a murder of a young boy there.” Larrypushed him further.

“Yes, that is true, along withother bits and pieces of the plot.” Jughead nodded and licked his lipstentatively before continuing. “But is it really realistic that four sixteenyear olds were involved in the most bizarre and otherworldly situations?” Hescoffed in a perfect act of disbelief, the girl watching him rolling her smileyeyes at his theatrics. “Or that Rebecca and Bughead, or Becca and Bug as theirfriends call them throughout the novel, our very own Sherlock-Watsonsleuthering duo, solved a bewildering homicide case with the aid of just theirsharp minds and a couple of cheeky adolescent kisses here and there?” Bettygasped in shocked amusement, not really believing that Jughead shared some oftheir chronic banter regarding the beginning of their relationship with the world. “I’m not even gonna mention our very ownLolita reincarnation, Alfie Akers,” that caused Betty and Larry to laugh loudly “orthe bad girl gone good, the classic riches to rugs heroine, Victoria Lewis.Every character carries a big, fat cliché on their shoulders and I think thisspeaks volumes about whether or not the story is reality or fiction after all.”He put a delicate but firm full stop on the subject, wrapping it up the bestway he could and hoping that he was persuasive enough.

The man’s agreeing nod fromacross him was all he needed to relax. “Fair enough point.” He admitted,checking something on the papers in front of him. “Now Bughead; that is a nameI’ve never stumbled upon in my life. How come you chose such an unconventionaland borderline comical name for the narrator of your story and the character thatseems to go through the most emotional turmoil?” Betty smiled pleased toherself; that was one of the very first questions she had typed down on herpersonal list, because she knew the name sounded obscure and out of place andeveryone wanted to know what the heck had inspired the writer to give hisprotagonist a name like that.

“Because he is unconventional.”He replied without missing heartbeat. “And he is a bug, he bugs people; atfirst with his dark parade appearance and dry humor and later on with hissnooping around and asking all the uncomfortable questions in thirst for thetruth. The guy is a nuisance; that was the most fitting name I ever came upwith.” The idea was actually Kevin’s, since the boy was obsessed with callinghim and Betty like that, and even though the ship name sounded weird in Jughead’s ears it was indeed fitting forthe character in his book that annoyed people and was consumed whole by Betty Cooper.

“Readers don’t see it likethat though. Bughead appears to be the most beloved character of them all.” the host contradicted.

“And I’m very happy about this.He does have a special place in my heart.” Jughead’s smile was genuine, wishingfor his younger self to have been able to see him and how his life had turned out now.

“So what happens to him at theend, then? This is me asking as a big fan here! The book ends with him sayingthat there were three people in that booth. Was he there all along? Wasn’t he? Washe just a product of somebody’s imagination, an empty phantom?” Larry voicedthe confusion of the whole fandom.

“Well, first of all I’mhonored, truly.” There was the boyish smile again and there was Betty’sfluttering heart once again, as Jughead leaned forward resting his elbows onthe table and smirking intrigued. “But now you have to go for it; humor me,what’s your theory?” he challenged, always enjoying hearing each interpretationof his ambiguous book finale.

“I finished the book with theimpression that he was there, that he indeed lived the story from up close. Theend of his narration is just him being objective, a true observer like healways was, and overly protective of his experiences and the ones of hisfriends, sharing a story but not oversharing because of his morality and hisown personal ethics as an author.” The older man had managed to read behind thelines and his spot on theory had Betty biting on her lip nervously andfrowning, expecting Jughead to not be able to hold his calm this time.

However, his control neverfazed. Instead, he even looked amused. “Wow, never heard of that one before.Most people think that the whole story is just a man’s reverie on his deathbedor the wishful thinking of some lonely and borderline mentally unstable vagrantthat wants to be accepted and a part of a community, of a family.” He went onincredulously, holding back the urge to roll his pretty blue eyes. “I’m sorrybut I’m gonna stay true to my character and not proceed to any revelations thathe wouldn’t want me to share.” Laconic and intimidating, Jughead drew a line in the cleverestway possible, causing Betty to grimace in appreciation.

Larry King smiled. “What aboutBecca, the girl next door? She’s the most loved character amongst the hordes ofyour fans. What’s the magic recipe behind creating such a fan-favoritecharacter?”

Question number twenty six.Here we go, Betty thought in delight that she was correct yet again, butactually fighting with the urge to bite on her nails anxiously at the state ofuneasiness Jughead was at the moment. He cleared his throat, trying toprioritize his thoughts despite the fact that with just a small mention ofBetty Cooper every logical order got thrown out of the window. Betty opened hermouth to recite along with him the scripted answer he had for this question buthe yet again surprised her.

“You said it yourself, it’s magic.” Jughead colored the worldwith a disbelieving huff and a head over heels smile. “Honestly, when I thinkabout Becca Cupper this is what comes to mind; imperfection at its finest.”Gasping, Betty fisted the front of her blouse at the sound of the words and theanticipation for more. “She is this strong, wonderful young woman and she isimperfectly perfect. But that’s the beauty of her whole magnetic character. Sheis a field of sunflowers and a sky of thunderstorms at the same time, a forceof nature that can mesmerize you and intimidate you in equal amounts. Nobodywould survive without her, nobody wants to survive without her. She is theepitome of kindness, forgiveness, strength, compassion, feminism, acceptance,but most of all she is the epitome of love. A purified love, a love that isunconditional and irrevocable. And no one can do anything but love her,unconditionally and irrevocably.” Jughead finished his perfect speech,momentarily darting his shy eyes to the camera to address her fully, Bettybeing at the verge of tears at his incredible words but most of all at his over-allincredible character. Betty was lucky; she knew that much from the first timeshe caught him looking at her from the doorway of Pop’s.

“By how you’re worshippingyour heroine, I assume this is Jay Jones’ dream woman too?” the interviewersmiled lovingly. “Or maybe she is not a dream after all and maybe you do haveyour very own girl next door in your life…?”

“Well, maybe I do.” He droppedhis head in modesty, still not believing how the heck he had got so lucky withher. “One that makes even my wildest dreams, a reality.” His smile washonest, genuine and warm and his eyes held that head over heels gaze that madeBetty weak in the knees in an instant.

“Isn’t that thetrue importance of it all?” the older man wondered out loud, sharing a smilewith Jughead before he turned to address the audience once again. “We’ll discussmore with Jay regarding writing inspiration and the industry of publishingright after this.” The show’s theme tune burst out of the speakers signalizingthe start of another round of commercials and Betty dropped back on the couch,looking at the ceiling and smiling like an idiot. His original answer, the onethey kept rehearsing over and over again, was cute and still flattering butthis was something else, a spontaneous act of love and a shot right through theheart that left her giggly, utterly in love and sixteen once again.

Apparently peoplethought Jay Jones’ love declaration was something right out of the pages of themost romantic book ever written too because the #GirlNextDoor was trending for thewhole night.

Jughead came home to a darkand silent apartment as he let the door close behind him with a soft click andhis keys rattle inside the silver décor bawl they kept keys and otherlast-minute things in on top of the set of drawers by the door. Abandoning hismessenger bag next to it and kicking his oxford shoes off recklessly, he shreddedhis beige jacket off his shoulders while sock covered feet brought him lazilyto the living room, blue eyes adorably heaving with fatigue but still alertenough to go on a hunting mission for his blonde angel. The frown lines on hisforehead, him being slightly confused by the radio silence that greeted him andnot her warm embrace and loving words, immediately softened once he spotted heron the couch, deliciously sprawled on the puffy pillows in an old, brownJurassic Park t-shirt of his and just a pair of cheeky, lacey Eton bluepanties, a long leg in delightful display as it lay lightly hitched and overher other wool blanket covered one. Eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks and pinkvoluminous lips parted in a cute little pout, she was dreaming away peacefully,hand still armed with the TV remote control as faint sounds of his voice couldbe heard from the flat screen across her, his previous interview being playedover and over again for her to enjoy. Jughead couldn’t help by smile, thatcontent, lovesick smile he reserved exclusively for Betty Cooper, at heradorably disheveled state but mostly at the swelling feeling of happiness thatemerged in his chest at the thought that she was proud of him, she loved himand she would be always there to wait for him to come home.

Dropping his jacket to one oftheir vintage armchairs, he quietly sat next to her on the couch and let thepads of his fingers feather-lightly brush against her cheekbone in affection,brushing away some threads of hair that fell rebelliously from her messy bunatop her head. His smile became wider once she scrunched her nose prettily andstirred awake, disorientated green eyes turning alert and alit upon spottinghim all sweet and terribly handsome in the dark.

“You’re back.” She cooedsweetly and with the most delighted smile, fisting the material of his bluebutton-up a little over his elbows, coaxing him to lean forward and rest hischest against hers.

“I told you I wasn’t stayingin New York without you.” He was adamant to stay the night at a hotel and takea plane back to Boston early in the morning; his place was at home and home waswhere Betty lay. She smiled pleased and in love, caressing up his biceps forher arms to curl behind his neck, holding him captured in her embrace.

“Ronnie is mad at you. Shewanted to relive crazy college nights with you tonight.” The girl in his armsteased with a humorous grin. The three of them together had spent their collegeyears in New York and the Lodge heiress was starting to miss them terribly nowthat the couple was mapping up their life in Boston. So during an hours-long skypecall that the two young women had after the interview was over, the brunettecity girl was very vocal about her comic irritation at the disrespect ofJughead Jones turning her and her excellent night out planning skills down again,after congratulating Betty for her amazing hubby,as Veronica kept calling him all those years.

“Yeah, I know, I gathered thatmuch from the phone call she paid me the minute I landed in New York.” Jugheadretorted in his usual deadpanned manor, making her giggle faintly. “Firstly,you were the one satisfying her city girl antics for a good clubbing night backthen, never me, and secondly, sorry, I’m still sane enough to know better thanfollow Veronica Lodge into a night trip in the city of sin.” He scoffed like hewas offended. Yes, the two of them had grown closer through the years and heconsidered her one of his closest friends now but still her type ofentertainment wasn’t his cup of tea.

Betty shook her head inamusement. “She loved you in that interview though; said, and I quote, that youkicked some serious butt. Archie and Kevin think so too.” She kept running herfingers through his hair as she spoke, loving how he relaxed and destressedunder her touch, and loving more the messy hair look he had created over thecourse of the day. His waves weren’t anymore styled as she had done thismorning and that made him even more irresistible in her eyes.

“Saw their texts when I got ina taxi here.” The two boys had texted him a hurricane of kind and supportivewords at how incredible he had been in his maiden appearance on screen thatactually left Jughead smiling besides himself, especially at Archie’saffection-oozing message and the words ‘brother’ and ‘proud’ he read amongst his flattering others. “Ican’t believe everyone actually tuned in to watch.” He raised his eyebrowsincredulously, clearly surprised, because as he kept joking on and on the weeksprior to the show he truly did believe that the ratings of tonight’s broadcastwould be the lowest of the season, if not of the entire history of television.

“You have devoted stans now,mister, you better get used to it.” She tilted her chin up proudly, tapping hischin in fake warning. “There was also a gathering of equally hyped stans inRiverdale, did you know about that?” Seeing him shaking his head no andscoffing a laugh in disbelief, Betty went on. “Yeah, apparently there was thisbig audience watching at my mom’s; your dad was there, Fred and Hermione,Polly. Even Jason and Lizzie stayed up passed their bedtime to watch cool uncleJug’s television debut.” Jughead chuckled at that and Betty joined him, theyoung author not quite believing that everyone came together to witness him ofall people do something great but the realization seemed to intensify theperpetual lovely smile he was sporting all the way back to Boston.

“Mom even called to gush aboutyou and your articulacy and your brightly opinioned mind, but what’s new inthat?” she rolled her eyes in fake irritation, an on-going inside joke betweenthem through the years that Alice Cooper loved Jughead more than her owndaughters. He ducked his head in modesty at the complimentary impression thewoman responsible of bringing his other half to the world had for him from thevery start. “Said she’ll call tomorrow to talk to you in person too.” Bettypointed out with an exasperated sigh, not at all mad but, on the contrary,delighted and just teasing him as always about how in too deep in Alice’s goodbooks he was.

He just dropped his foreheadon hers, sighing in relief that he actually didn’t make a fool of himself, thatpeople were proud of him for the very first time. There was this deliciouslysuffocating feeling in his chest, that kind of feeling that life was actuallywinking at him, promising that everything was going to be just fine. Afteryears of him walking around lonely and uncared for, he now had a family, a big familyconsisting of people that loved him and would be there for him for every stepof the way and that was the ultimate happy ending he ever wished for. A happyending that he could witness taking form every day, with every look of love outof those green eyes that held the meaning of his existence. Yes, people wereproud of him; but what mattered most was always the opinion of the first familyhe ever came to know, Betty Cooper and the sanctuary of her love and embrace.

“And what did you think?” hewhispered unsure and vulnerable, because this novel was a part of his soul andtalking about it out in the open was as nerve-wracking as the very first nighthe gave it to her, stripping naked of each and every emotion he held for her inhis broken heart and offering everything for her to take.

“Are you seriously asking thisquestion?” she cupped his cheek, raising his head to look at her, sea of bluegetting lost in forest green in the most beautiful exchange of love anddevotion. “You were amazing, Jughead. Unique, respectful, intelligent and so terribly handsome.” She colored everyword with tenderness and determination, wanting him to know that she meant all ofit and so much more, feeling him visibly relax against her and sneaking hisarms between her back and the couch to cuddle her tighter. “You don’t even knowhow irritated and sad I am that I missed it.” She sighed in regret, stillbeating herself up for having an icy-hearted boss.

“Betts, you would have gottenfired if you pushed the subject of a leave more.” Jughead cut her off with afierce shake of his head. “There’s not only one of us building a career here,you are too, and you must pursue the hell out of it.” He reminded like theperfect boyfriend and guy he was, Betty smiling up at him in gratitude. “Seriouslybabe, stop worrying about it, I know that you wanted to be there. But you werethere for every step of the way before that and you will be there for thenext ones to come, so ease your pretty little head off, okay?” his soothingvoice urged her to relax, brushing the tip of his nose a couple of times overhers, before smiling against her already smiley lips. “Plus, I wouldn’t be ableto utter even a single word if you were standing there watching in person soit’s a win-win.” He shrugged matter-of-factly and Betty giggled lightly, bothof them clearly remembering how distracted and flushed he became every time hecaught her eyes watching him with admiration through the crowd at his first andonly book launch event in Boston. Jughead Jones still got tongue-tied like hissixteen year old self under the power of those crystal clean green orbs.

“So, you do love your girlnext door, don’t you?” she cheekily asked in a candy cane voice, squirmingadorably under him to hug him more.

“I thought we’ve establishedthat by now.” He replied with equal amount of sarcasm seeing her smile growfonder and more dashing. “The question is, did I win her affections back?”

Betty tilted her head againstthe cushion of the sofa, a sigh trembling on her lips at the way he stillsought her confirmation of love after all those years and the way her chestheaved with maddening, head over heels adoration every single time he did. “Becca pulled back and sighed heavily againsthis still parted lips, the force of her kiss causing the course of the planetsinside his mind to change in lightning speed, disturbing the perfect dullnessof his universe. “You taught me what it truly means to fall in love, Bughead. Idon’t wanna settle for less, I can’t settle for less, not after you. I love you.”Betty recited perfectly the lines of his book, quoting every word she haddeclared that night at end of sophomore year when he tried to flee town like amad man, after he had broken down inside her arms as everything around them wascrumbing down. She still meant those words and he knew it, knew that they wouldalways be together, Betty and Jughead being the definition of forever in theirpersonal dictionary of life.

Jughead’s lips formed ananosecond smile at the memory and the way her words and his were mingledperfectly on her lips before Betty continued, eyes focused solemnly on his. His previous words, his public declaration of love and confession of how truly one of a kind she was in his eyes, had stirred something in her, something that commanded her to shower him with her own words of affection. “There’sno one in the world like you, Juggie. You see the world in a way that no oneelse does. And your version of the world is the only one that I want to picturemyself in for all the years to come.” Her hands came to caress his cheekslovingly, Jughead relishing in her touch with fluttering eyes and a flutteringheart. “I can’t even find the words to describe how much I love you, how myheart skips a beat every time I wake up and you’re lying next to me, how Ican’t help but smile every time I hear you whistling in the kitchenabsentmindedly, how I just have to stop and stare whenever you’re typing deepin thought or how butterflies still flutter in my chest every time you look atme with that intense gaze you only reserve for me.” Both of them were seriousand emotional by now, Betty’s voice barely over a whisper in fear of disrespectingthe sanctity of the moment. “You are the person that I admire the most, my bestfriend, my soulmate, my everything in a world of nothing. I never liked beingthe girl next door. But you came along and made that a badge of beauty andhonor and all I ever want now is to be that girl, but only if this door leadsme always to you.” She ended her confession with a trembling but at the sametime certain voice, seeing him look at her like the moon or the stars werenothing in comparison to her.

“Marry me.” Jughead blurted inbarely a heartbeat, mind numb and heart thudding in his chest, not reallyregistering the importance of his question because for him that wasn’t aquestion, he already considered her his everything too; his best friend, hissoulmate, his wife, his person, his own anchor.

Betty’s gasp and blinking wateryeyes were the prettiest reaction he had ever witnessed in his life. “Yes.” Shereplied in simplicity too, like agreeing to them having burgers instead ofsomething healthier for dinner or reassuring him that there was plenty of hotwater for him to take a shower. There was no question, no need for any biggestures or extreme shocked reactions, no thinking about it, like there was noneed for the earth second guessing its centuries old rotation or for the sun torise in the sky at every crack of dawn.

The boyish smile that curledJughead’s lips was the most content and the most make-you-weak-in-the-knees onethat Betty had ever seen him sporting. “God, I love you so much.” He breathedin a disbelieving chuckle before crashing his smiley lips against her damp fromsome rebellious happy tears ones, kissing her senseless and more than terriblyin love, like their life depended on it and they were coexisting because ofeach other’s breathing. And that was maybe indeed the case with them.

“Take me to bed, JugheadJones, and make love to me until I’m gasping for breath and the only thought inmy mind is your beating heart against mine.” Betty pleaded lovingly against hisalready bruised lips, wanting to get completely lost inside of him, the mostwonderful man she got to call hers.

“Is this a wife’s order?” hesmirked against her own red and irritated lips, feeling like the luckiest manon earth at that very moment and vowing to give her everything she ever wantedand so much more.

“Say that again.” Betty’swhisper caressed and warmed his whole face with its tenderness, the girl of hisdreams melting at the sound of the word spilling lovingly out of his lips.

“My wife.” Jughead repeated, husky and with his usual devotionregarding anything Betty Cooper, his eyes caressing every inch of herstunningly beautiful face, falling a little more in love with her at how evenmore breathtaking she looked radiating utter happiness and sunshine in the dark.

She kissed him again,intimately and affectional, heart drumming way too much for her to form actualwords, squealing into the kiss happily as he raised on his feet abruptly,bringing her up with him and causing her to curl arms and legs around him in atight koala hug. And as he continued ravishing her lips while making his way totheir bedroom only one thing was more certain than the power of their love;that Betty and Jughead wasn’t just a happy ending of a book but of an entirelifetime.

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