Work Text
Table of ContentsFebruary
Maroon Sweater - 50sdale rainy lazy afternoon (Rated T)
time cracks like ice - 50sdale Jughead realizes something about his memories (Rated T)
Chipped Nails - Season 4 Jughead/Veronica lament in a destroyed La Bonne Nuit (Rated M-ish)
Maraschino Cherries - In between Season 2 & 3 Veronica needs to think of a signature shot for La Bonne Nuit (Rated T)
Karaoke - Season 5 Jughead remembers the last time Veronica sang Karaoke (Rated G)
In Exchange - Season 3 Jughead has a quest to raid The Enchantress' castle (Rated G)
Addiction - Season 5 Veronica and Jughead are addicted (Rated M)
A Packed Suitcase - Post Season 7 Jughead visits Cheryl with devastating news [references a scene in I Only Have Eyes for You] (Rated G)
Secrets from Future/Past - 50sdale Veronica confesses a secret (Rated T)
Coconut Shampoo - Season 4 rendezvous at Stonewall Prep (Rated E)
67 Years Ago - Season High School Jughead finds an old, faded photograph… and realizes he's in it. (Rated G)
Stolen Moment - Between season 3 and 4 Veronica grieves the trauma in her life. (Rated G)
Shocked Kiss - End of Season 4 Veronica spirals about "The Kiss" after graduation. (Rated T)
Holding Hands - Season 7 Veronica really likes Jughead's hands. (Rated M)
Seems Like Forever - Season 7 Jughead and Veronica don't know what to do about their feelings after getting their memories back. (Rated T)
White - Post-Season 7 A 71 year old Veronica revels in her timelines. (Rated G)
Finest Egyptian Cotton - Season 2 Our raven-haired pair likes to sleep together. (Rated G)
Real or not real? - Season 7 and Jughead struggles to know the truth. (Rated G)
Pretty Like Street Lamps - Seven Year Time Jump Veronica calls Jughead for help. (Rated G)
Fairytale - Seven Year Time Jump Jughead tells Veronica a bedtime story. (Rated G)
Movie - Post Season 7 Betty and Veronica Lunch and share good news... or do they? (Rated G)
Everywhere Has Valet! - Season 7 Veronica learns how to drive. (Rated G)
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Table of ContentsMarchLazy Sunny Afternoon - Season 2 Jughead and Veronica read The Princess Bride. (Rated E)
Obsessed - Seven Year Time Jump Veronica is obsessed. (Rated T)
At a Standstill - Season 4 Pandemonium at Riverdale and the boys are searching for the unexpected. (Rated G)
Jazz at Midnight - Seven Year Time Jump Veronica and Jughead enjoy the night. (Rated M)
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The pitter patter of rain running down the windows mixes with the clickity clack of typewriter keys. She drags a lazy finger over the soft wool. A dark green "S" on his maroon sweater. The edge hits the top of her naked thighs.
She doesn't feel 17. Doesn't feel like it's 1955 outside their oasis of the spruced up train car. His record player is spinning out a soft jazzy tune and she does a little twirl and ball change combo when she pulls herself from his bed.
He doesn't say anything when her fingers dance over his bare arm. He's in the zone. He's sitting in a white tank and flannel pants. His crown askew. Finished pages neatly stacked on the table. Rejects litter the floor.
She freshens his mug and pours one for herself. But, they sit untouched when she climbs into the booth behind him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, and burying her face in his neck. She breathes deep. He smells of pine and coffee. Of bacon grease and maple syrup. He's warm and broad and he grounds her as if she'll float away.
Afternoons like these are their favorite. When the world turns hazy and they straddle the line of Future/Past. His fingers still and he hums low as her lips leave little prints of plum on his neck. She whispers in his ear the five magic words he loves to hear.
"Tell me a story, Juggikins…”
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The fissures started long before. But his voice, the color television, the flood of memories breaks the protective wall around his mind. Rebuilding it is impossible. He can’t. He won’t.In the movie theater, he lets himself fall into whirlpool of happiness. A montage curated for maximum joy. He imagines going outside. Confronting his past. What it would look like if he tried to convince them to coexist. But there is no good-bye kiss. The town’s guardian angel is only a figment of his overactive imagination.The concept of time cracks like ice all around them. Some weather the change better than others. Their new reality feels more surreal. Can life be so simple? Is it as easy as getting up and putting one foot in front of the other?The horn of Archie’s jalopy blares and a new memory is once again triggered. Labor Day. A swimming hole. Camping.She’s sitting next to him demurely watching the landscape blissfully go by. He watches as raven strands escape the perfect coif. He maps out the profile of her face. Young with a lifetime behind her coquettish gaze.Her lips are soft, but his kiss is not. It’s not a kiss from an unsure, inexperienced teenager. It’s longing and desperate. A plea for a second chance. A promise that it’ll be different. They’ll get it right this time.Steam from one of their missing memories curls around them.Eyes dark as night are looking into him. An easy smile brightening the dreary late November day. The words hover on his lips. An image he’s supposed to recognize eludes him. She fits perfectly under his chin and her orchid perfume fills his senses. He misses the knowing look in a set of blue eyes or the nudge to the driver. All he can do is look at the small hand, with the dark purple nail polish, on his knee and think - When did he fall in love?
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A series of emojis breaks Jughead out of his prison. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten her SOS. Glass and dried rum cover the floor. La Bonne Nuit looks abandoned. The black Manolo pumps peeking out from the bar say otherwise.The half empty, unbroken bottle dangles in her grasp. Black cherry lipstick is smeared on chin and eyeliner smudged on her cheeks. She doesn’t offer him a drink or a seat; but he takes them anyway.“How’s your exile?” Unfocused drunk eyes stare ahead.“Damp.” He takes a swig and immediately shivers from how it burns his throat. He takes another for good measure. “Your dad?”“Who else?” She deadpans, her hand expecting the bottle back. Shreds of napkins cover her fingers. Cuts decorate her hands from where she tried to clean the glass. “I miss the Serpents,” she sighs before taking her hundredth glug.He’ll tell Betty about the new arrangements tomorrow. Now is for wallowing. He steals the bottle from her. Another shot sliding down his gullet before corking it for good.“I don’t…? What did I…?”He gently hushes her, delicately holding her broken fingers and chipped nails in both of his hands. He disposes of the bloody makeshift bandages and brings them to his lips. Tasting pennies as he drops tender kisses against them.When Veronica cries it’s always silent. If sound emerges, he’s the only one who knows she’s making a scene. He obliges her craving for the caress of another. His lips find the salt laying on her cheeks. He follows the sweetness on her lips to the taste of her tongue. He learned to never let go until she pulled away. He’s stopped counting how many times they’ve found this kind of comfort in each other.And when she straddles him, he chases her, never letting more than a shadow’s width grow between them. Only they know the sacrifice they’ve made. The brink Hiram’s brought them. On the floor of the blacked-out bar, surrounded by broken glass and spilt spirits, they reaffirm their pact in silent gasps and hungry lips on heated skin.And he doesn’t stop until she pulls away.
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Palms pounded on the dark oak bar top. Veronica was trying to invent a new shooter with her family’s rum. Tequila was fun and all, but she wanted to make her mark. The opening was still weeks away and she needed everything to be perfect. Archie was on trial, and Betty was doing everything she could to get him acquitted. All while Veronica worked tirelessly at Pop’s with Jughead playing bodyguard his Serpent tattoo on display. She was keenly aware of how his eyes followed her while she ran plates. His gaze warm against her back.Giggles burst up from her throat. “Okay Jones. You’re turn!”He shook his shoulders trying to sober himself. Despite the humid August weather, their cheeks burned with the alcohol thrumming in their veins. He playfully let out a succession of snaps. “I call this… French Toast. Maple syrup,” he dropped a dollop on the back of his hand; “cinnamon,” a sprinkle of the spice. “Rum!” He lifted the full shot glass.“Syrup, cinnamon, rum!” Veronica repeated before the two followed the instructions. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t right. He forgot the main ingredient! “Juggikins!” She whined, elongating the new nickname. “You forgot the maraschino cherries!”“Fuck!” He whispered. How many shots were they deep again?“You have the most discerning palate out of everyone I know.” Flattery got her everywhere. Except with Jughead Jones.“No, I have the palate of a seven-year-old and an insatiable appetite.” He countered, flirtatious mirth sparkling in his eyes.“Okay, okay, okayokayokayokayokay… What if… we replace the maple syrup for cherry syrup?”He raised an eyebrow. That could work. But things would get really sticky really fast.She fitted his beanie over her hair. Why or when he lost it wasn’t her concern. “But… you’re gonna have to lick it off my neck!” The viscous liquid felt cool against her heated flesh. “Neck,” she shook the cinnamon shaker onto the fruity nectar, “shot, then a cherry.” She swallowed her flirtatious smirk.“Neck, shot, cherry…” He repeated. Easy enough.The feel of his full lips and nimble tongue had her melting in ecstasy. The electricity bussing through her short-circuited her brain. What were they doing again? Shots. Right! “Jughead…” She warned and her mind sobbed when he pulled away.“Where’s the cherry?” He fitfully searched for the plate of them after he added to his shot count.With a wicked smile, Veronica revealed the sweet, plump, dark berry between her teeth.
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One, two, three… darts hit the board in quick succession. He won’t come near her. Won’t cross her path. Their high school friends don’t realize that something isn’t the matter. That there isn’t a hidden, lingering history between the two.
“Jughead, it’ll be fun! We’ll have a couple of drinks, I’ll satiate my need to be on stage, and you can swindle a bunch of douches at darts!” Veronica has her arms hooked through his snuggling into him fighting off the bitter February evening.
Tabitha asked him down to the Whyte Wyrm. All he can do is hide his grimace behind a tightlipped smile when she looks at him encouragingly. Soaking in how talented his high school friends are.
They’ve spent every day together since he arrived. He writes during the day when she’s at Barnard, he cooks for her (and her roommate Katy), and afterwards, she drags him out to experience the ‘night life’. She doesn’t know she’s the only one he contacted when he arrived.
He refuses to look at the stage. Convincing himself the impromptu performance is just noise. His skin crawls when Chad starts in on the duet. No doubt from the audience to surprise her. Jughead scoffs. Amateur.
When he’s won enough, he quits. He slips $20 to the VJ to hand him the other mic. He revels in her voice. She’s still the nightingale she claimed to be sophomore year. It’s supposed to be a solo performance, but the tip has the VJ turning on the duet version.
Everyone knows she’s “The Heiress” in his book. Everyone thinks that The Viper Leader and Homecoming Queen ride off into the sunset Grease-style. No one knows that’s not the original ending. That’s how it should be, he tells himself.
Under the spotlight at karaoke and the lamppost outside her apartment her eyes sparkled. Her whole self thrummed as they walked back to her place, reminiscing. The words ‘hot tub’ barely left her lips before they’re devouring each other. And he holds onto her as tightly as he did the edge all those years ago.
He throws his next set. One, two, three…No one will ever know that kiss wasn’t their first. They didn’t know it would be their last. Their duet was a plea he was too cowardly to accept. But he’ll always prefer Rihanna over Gaga.He doesn’t have to look at the crooning newlyweds to know the sparkle isn’t there.Maybe it never was.
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Steal from the Enchantress
He said he wasn’t addicted. But he kept playing. Kept rolling the dice. Picking quest cards. With each challenge he discovered more about the connection between the game and their wicked little town. He couldn’t stop now.
Adventurer – Beneath the full moon you must penetrate the Enchantress’ fortress and retrieve a stolen pearl necklace.
She was back in her castle. High up in her tower. Guarded by The Duke. One loud noise, one misstep, and the mission would be a failure.The fire escape was easy enough to climb. Though the wind picked up at each level he ascended. Freezing his fingers and almost blowing off his woolen cap. One peek down set vertigo in motion. With a silent prayer said through gritted teeth he lifted the pre-war window from its painted pane.He’d seen her bedroom once. Walked into it by accident while they were watching that gross reality show “The Matchlorette”. Just as before, everything was in its spot. Including her. Snuggled in bed bathed in moonlight. Cool lavender highlighted her raven hair and high cheekbones.With light steps he slinked to her vanity. His eyes searched the cluttered desk for his treasure.
Upon the speculum you will find three strands. Only the most discerning will know which one does not belong.
“Crap…” He breathed, keeping an eye on the sleeping beauty’s reflection.The first hung unclasped.
“Oh no!” Veronica caught the strand as it fell from her neck. “This was my Abuelita’s. She gave it to me for my quince I can’t lose it.”
The second was small, almost too small.
“Vee, did you get a new pearl necklace?”
“This old thing? No. I got this as a little girl. I found it in a box of stuff that came from our place in The City.” She pulled on the elastic demonstrating its artificiality.
The third… The third was strung back together, incomplete, hanging like a noose. Sadly, he knew the story well. None of these were the ones she wore. Think, Jones. Think! Out of the corner of his eye he saw the drawer slightly ajar. Inside sat the black velvet box. Of course! The three were a misdirect.He wound the strand around his wrist, making sure everything was back in its proper place.As he was about to make his escape, he made a risky, uncalculated call.All princesses need a prince.Her forehead was warm, his kiss an apology. Once this turbulent time was over, he’d give it back. He just needed to finish the game.~*~“Vee, no pearls today?” Betty asked, concerned.“No, I think my mom sent them out to have them cleaned.” Her tone was so blasé it made his heart race.The food on Jughead’s plate was always so interesting to him. Today, maybe, it was a little too interesting.“They weren’t there when I woke up this morning.” Her dropped tone called out for his attention. Enchantingly.His eyes flicked to hers, but it the flash under the florescent lights that held his attention rapt. She met his gaze with the ever so subtle quirk of her lips and brow. On the collar of her sweater sat his little red pin.
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The first time it happened they did it properly. Drunk and in one of their beds so the other could sneak out before the sun rose.The second time found them in a vacant stairwell with her black lace panties being shoved to the side because they were Agent Revolutionnaire and cost more than his rent. But the way she sighed in his ear as he buried himself in her resonated through him for days.They tried sharing dinner, or drinks, or both. They enjoyed the benign form of company just fine! But Veronica would order a chocolate mousse or Jughead’s pistachio ice cream would dribble down his chin and it became a race against the clock (and Uber driver) to satiate their desire.Now, they’d spiraled so far that all it took was a text with a place and it was on. Had a deadline for his editor? Didn’t matter. About to close a big deal for her firm? Didn’t matter. All either knew was they didn’t feel whole until his teeth were nipping at her neck and her hips were rising to meet his rhythm.They didn’t talk afterwards. Not about what was important. Not about their broken hearts and why they found solace in each other. But as time moved forward, so did the sun waking them the morning after. She had a drawer in his bathroom and hangers in his closet. He had a drawer at her place and his travel sized toiletries had their own shelf in her shower.And when he moved inside her, the world around them stopped. His name was the only word that hung onto her lips. He begged her to not stop looking at him. Silently reassuring him it was real. They were real. They rode their ecstasy together, finding their peak, and swallowing the moans as they fell over the edge. And as sleep pulled them under, her fingers wound themselves in his hair. Her last thoughts always noting how young he looked in slumber, how young they were once outside their wicked little town.Was it love? Was it lust? Whatever it was, it had turned into an addiction they couldn't seem to get away from.
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He’s standing outside with a packed suitcase in hand. They’re supposed to fly out in two weeks to visit him at his new place in Alphabet City. But, here he was. Taking alternating steps forward and backwards unsure if he should knock at all.
“Brother?” Cheryl’s melodic voice cut through the mess of his mind.
Inside, Jughead is gripping the ice cold crystal tumblr filled with scotch. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he’s being told he shouldn’t drink it. But he can’t figure out where such a compulsion would come from. He’s apologizing profusely for showing up unannounced. He can’t get his mouth to make the sounds of the words he desperately needs to say. And his Jellybean simply sits, patiently, martini in one hand giving him all the time he needs.
He barely has time to put his drink down before his arms are filled with his six-year-old nephew. And he holds onto the little boy tightly. Breathing deeply trying to keep his tears at bay.
“Boys can cry, Uncle Jug-Jug,” Dale says so sweetly.
Jughead chuckles, letting a few tears escape. “I know, Buddy,” he whispers. Because even as progressive as 1973 is, they're still living in an oppressive time. He watches as Toni ushers her son to bed, never taking his eyes off the little boy until he hears the door click.
Like a waterfall, his tears come silently. He’s in Cheryl’s arms and the only words he can say are “we can’t”. Because even though the tests say Veronica is fine, medical misogyny means they haven’t, and won’t, test him at all. He feels like a failure. He feels responsible.
“Oh, Jug…” Cheryl whispers against his hair. She heard the story from Veronica before he showed. She’d never heard her friend so frantic in either lifetime. Emotions tumbled out of her. Fear that she ran him away for good. Anger that she couldn’t give him what he wanted. Desperation when she finally realized what she had done, the last flight to Oakland had already left.
Sleep does not come easy. The events of that day haunting his dreams until, sometime in the night, Dale crawls into bed with his uncle and favorite stuffy. His nephew snuggles in tightly and the nightmares fade into the mist.
The next morning, Cheryl and Toni find him making a breakfast feast and taking diligent notes on the yarn the little boy is spinning.
Then, when the doorbell rings, and Veronica is on the other side, the pretentious brunettes make their apologies through tearful embraces. Laughter bubbles up, cracking the melancholy, when Cheryl throws them a few witty and petty barbs complete with a condescending “Forsythe” for dramatic flair.
“It would have been nice to have a Fourth. We could have called him ‘Four’ for short.” He had hoped his son would be the spitting image of his mother.
When Veronica laughs it feels like cobwebs being cleared from her being. In the span of less than a day her body has lived decades, paralyzed. “We were never going to name our son that. But…” She holds him and gazes out at the mountain range. “I was going to give him your last name.”
And knowing that, means more to him than anything.
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A snow storm is raging outside the train car. It’s turning everything in Riverdale white. Blanketing it in thick, white powder. The fire in the wood burning stove in the corner is still going, keeping the converted apartment warm against the chill fighting to get in. At their feet Hot Dog is sleeping soundly. His little snores make her long for her old smartphone to record them for posterity.
Under the down comforter, Jughead has her snuggled in tightly. Their legs intertwined, his arm heavy around her waist. Her hands are curled up around her mouth and she gazes at his look of blissful serenity. Her fingers itch to drag one softly down his straight nose. Just to make sure this is all real. Instead, in the midnight darkened room, highlighted by the lavender moonbeams, she counts all of his long dark lashes that rest on his cheek and then the freckles that dot his nose. His hair curls softly around his face and she remembers the lock that used to escape his wool beanie.
It’s the nonsensical time between Christmas and New Years. “The week that doesn’t exist.” It’s not the first evening they’ve spent the night together. It’s the first at his place though. And while Archie and Betty took no time picking up where their first life left off, after they got their memories back, Veronica and Jughead decided on a slower timeline. This is… comfortable.
She’s
comfortable. He holds her like she’s a glamourgé egg. He cherishes her in every aspect of the word.
She knows he remembers everything and why. She knows Archie remembers the least. But… She’s somewhere in the middle. In the filing cabinet there’s a drawer of stories. Stories he says he didn’t write in this time. Stories that tell the truth of what everyone decided to forget. They’re there for her to read at her leisure. He’s made her a promise that if she asks, he’ll tell her the truth. She hasn’t had the courage to follow through.
She knows she was married. She doesn’t know what happened to him. She doesn’t even remember his name. What she remembers are literary parties, nights at Karaoke, kisses under streetlights, and whispered promises on Sunday mornings. She knows what a sunrise on a rooftop in Alphabet City looks like. The feel of an August rainstorm on Coney Island as they run from security. How adrenaline from the boardwalk turned into hungry lips and fulfilled ecstasy in a hot shower. She knows the crushing sorrow of overwhelming anger; and, what it feels like to have her heart broken by the boy who swore to always protect her.
“Jughead…” She whispers so softly she almost hopes he doesn’t hear.
“Hmm…?” His sleep voice is low and gravely like he smokes a pack daily.
“Are you awake?”
“Mmhmm…”
Veronica smiles to herself. He’s not. Her subconscious teases her with how she knows. She wonders what his dreams are filled with. If he thinks of their future/past.
“I have something to tell you…” She waits with bated breath. A word or a sound acknowledging the weight in her heart. None come. She thinks that’s best. Her words will stream into his dreams. Trigger something in his subconscious. She hesitates. Blaming the heat from the fireplace.
“I remember New York.”
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“Hey Forsythe!” Brett snapped his fingers in front of Jughead’s face.
“Huh? What?” Jughead looked at the expectant faces, including Brett’s smarmy smile. He’d been staring at the empty seat in front of him all seminar.
Brett’s grin only grew as he regaled the group about Jughead’s taste in blondes.
Blondes…
He knew her the moment he saw the wig. She didn’t look as good as a blonde. Her black hair highlighted everything attractive about her. But it was a requirement for her sock-on-the-door clandestine visits. He watched as ‘Monica Posh’ peddled her rum to the party. Narrowed his eyes when Brett made the grossest pickup line. Something vile rose in Jughead’s throat when he saw Brett’s hand on her knee. He knew ‘Monica Posh’ could handle herself. That didn’t stop him from finding a way to get her away though.
They walked the quiet halls, trading the bottle back and forth, shotgunning it. He pointed out notable places that neither gave a fuck about.
“So this is where all of the big ideas are discussed?” She teased as they entered the symposium. A mysterious smirk hid her thoughts from him.
“This is where they think they have them.” He flopped down onto a wooden chair. The circle was still set up from class earlier that day.
He watched her hips sway seductively as she stepped towards him. “Have you read Histoire d’O, yet?”
“Not for class,” he took another swig as she straddled him seamlessly. She plucked at the buttons of his shirt, her lips hovering over his. “Not Monica,” he whispered, his free hand slipping off the blonde wig gently, letting her raven locks tumble down around her shoulders. Her coconut shampoo filled his senses. He didn’t want her in her disguise. He wanted what he shouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.
Their lips met hungrily. They needed this.
Craved
this. They tasted of sweet maple from the alcohol. The bottle landed with a soft
thump
, abandoned in favor of the hair at the nape of her neck. She only got half his buttons undone when he stopped them, moving them down to her fly.
“Seems the author found his voice,” she whispered hotly in his ear before tugging at his lobe with her teeth.
He snapped one of her garters in response.
Silence
, it commanded. His hand moved between her legs, finding her center so his thumb could circle and tease to his pleasure. Freed from its confines her small hand wrapped around him. She stroked him in time to his two fingers inside her. Stretching her. Preparing her.
Veronica whimpered at their loss and greedily sucked her juices when he presented them to her. The pain of his girth was sweet. The arm that held her waist kept her descent agonizingly slow. And he held her tight against him, letting her rock her hips over him, matching the rhythm of their mouths. He jealously swallowed every moan and gasp she made. These tarnished halls didn’t deserve her melodic ecstasy.
The alcohol made their blood burn hotter. Desperate. She rode him harder. Faster. Bit her cheek as he left a bruise on her neck. They could feel the coil within them getting tighter to the brink of snapping. The feel of him buried so deep inside her made her ache. She babbled against his lips, half begging, half praying for release.
He brushed the tip of her nose with his, and wrapped her tightly in his arms, their fervent kisses swallowing the orgasmic cries when the coil snapped.
Blondes? No. He preferred brunettes.
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He’s hiding in the stacks of library shelves. His current assignment? To pick a random year and write about an event as if he was there. He chose 1955 because he always imagined what it would be like to drive 88 miles per hour in a Delorean and see where he landed. He read the entirety of The Grackle, the literary magazine, and every issue of The Blue and Gold. Most of the articles read like society pages rather than anything of importance. They were all about who was dating who, homework, football, sock hops, and reviews of what was playing at a movie theater called The Babylonium. He’s decided to call his short story “The Moments that Make Up a Life”.It’s comically infuriating that the published names are obscured or initials. The editor of The Blue and Gold is only known as “B. C.”. The most interesting articles are written by an “A. Topaz”. He gravitates towards blind items about the Junior Class’s ‘Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe’. Snickering at their descriptions. She’s from “Hollywood” and he’s a “Comic Book Nerd”. Either the submissions were specifically obtuse or their classmates had a vendetta. He’s flipping through the class of ‘56’s yearbook. Taking in the candids and posed photos. There’s one of a kid leaning on a hot rod with the credit “A. Andrews”. Must be Archie’s granddad. He envies the class portrait titles like “Forever Juniors”. He doesn’t get far into the photos from the dances. Horror fills him as he stares at the newly crowned “Valentine’s Prince” and his date. The couple is smiling brightly up at him from 67 years ago. The caption reads “Donning a real crown, Riverdale’s Arthur Miller, J. Jones, and his Marilyn, girlfriend V. Lodge, dance the night away!”He’s broader. Taller? He looks older. Older than seventeen. But everyone from that time looked older, right? It wasn’t like he, the guy, was actually twenty-seven pretending to be a teenager. …Right?The yearbook clatters to the carpet, the worn seam keeping it open to the disturbing page. He scrambles. He tells himself to breathe. He searches for the yearbooks surrounding that year. The collection starts with the class of ‘42 and stops at ‘53; but, doesn’t start again until ‘68 where he finds his grandfather’s freshman picture.He furiously searches the catalogue for the rest and the students who checked them out. The screen flashes “search results not found”. The world is tilting sideways. He’s falling but his head doesn’t hit the floor. Only when he grabs the discarded yearbook does the world right itself on its axis. He flips to the individual pictures and there he is, along with his friends, smiling brightly. But not Jason. Instead it’s “Julian”. And next to his picture, looking like a Hollywood starlet with Bettie Page bangs is…The book lands on the desk with a loud thump! He opens it to their class pictures and then to his Valentine’s coronation photo. Gingerly, she holds the worn canvas. Her fingers softly caress the glossy page and a ghost of a smile appears on her face. She looks up at him through her lashes. Years of wisdom fill the dark pools until it’s the only thing he can focus on. He can’t blink. Can’t move. His breath is labored. Words, the thing he’s always relied on, have abandoned him. Nothing to describe what he’s feeling or seeing. He points at her, the book, the pictures. Anything to convey the world shattering epiphany as images and memories course through him like river rapids…Her melodic voice breaks through the cacophony. “Hey. Holden Caulfield.” Take a breath! And he sees the smile he fell for 67 years ago.
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The sound of the breaker echoes loudly in the concrete hallway. One by one the overhead fluorescent lights flicker on. It’s a wonder the bulbs still worked. Their footsteps click against the cold walls as they pass the abandoned apartments. Each one decorated in mid-century decor ready for The Big One to hit. The doors remain locked, but the curtains stay open giving a glimpse into the time capsules. A light coating of dust leaving everything desaturated.
There’s a party going on in apartment 205. The fifth one in the same amount of weeks. Everyone in their school knows that Saturday Night is spent at The Pembroke. How none of the parents have caught on is a mystery no one wants solved. He still has his red solo cup in his hand.
The Pembroke’s sub-sub basement is a secret very few people know about. She found it because she pressed the wrong button one night after a late shift at La Bonne Nuit. All she knows is her key opens the door numbered the same as hers upstairs.
They aren’t interested in the apartments.
There’s a wave pool that’s still chlorinated and crystal clear; and when you flip a switch it makes waves like a real beach. The concrete is painted like sand and there’s a supply of beach towels to lay on and patio tables with umbrellas. She doesn’t ask the obvious.
Above them the ceiling is painted like the night sky. Strings of lights twinkle like stars and a lamp against the wall softly glows like the moon. They lay on the striped towels, their fingers a breath away from entangling, just watching the mid-century tech try and transport them into another world.
They turn onto their sides, looking at each other, not needing to say a word.
You know, we have a lot in common.
Why? Because my dad is going to prison and your dad is getting out?
But the opposite happened. Her parents are locked away. His dad stepped up. How can she tell him that this wasn’t supposed to be her life? How is she supposed to insult him by telling him he’s the downtrodden one and not her? None of their classmates really know or even care if they do. But he does. More than she wants to admit at times. So, she sneaks him away to her secret place where he won’t ask any questions or place any blame.
He’s so close that she can pick out the flecks of green in his cornflower blue eyes. He brushes a lock of hair behind her ear and thumbs away the tear she doesn’t realize fell. Their lives were never supposed to be this difficult. They were never supposed to be unlikely allies. But under the fake sky and the water lapping at their feet, they’re just two kids. Stealing a moment under the stars.
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It looked like nothing had changed. The world continued to spin like something momentous in their lives didn't take place. La Bonne Nuit was still outfitted like its prohibition casino night was going to happen. Dust had yet to collect on the furniture. And her mind was on fire.Veronica paced. Her heels clicked on the tile with each step. Words vomited all of her pent up emotion from the past few weeks. She questioned what else they didn't know and did it even matter to get the full truth?"Did you know she never apologized?""Why is it always her being the comforted one?"She rambled on about the authenticity, no - the legitimacy of their friendship.Jughead sighed. His bones ached from all of the drama. He knew what he told Archie. But what do you say to the guy who has been your best friend since you were six and is now going off to war? "Who the fuck cares?" he breathed, thankful Veronica wasn't paying attention.He watched her in her mini skirt, stilettos, and pearls. Always dressed. Always prepared. It was her armor. She never left the house without makeup or her hair done. In the three years they'd known each other he never even saw her in a pair of jeans. What did it matter in the end? Being prepared only got you so far and how could you possibly be prepared for your now-exes to turn on you?She was dizzy. Her brain was a mess of thoughts. She wasn't a writer. Numbers were her specialty. There wasn't a way to quantify this. She ticked off every detail and thought like a data point. She tried to find the point where it all went wrong. She thought that if she could get everything out in the open her mind would go dark and she would be able to think clearly.His hand was warm. His pull was strong. For as much as he chewed his bottom lip it was never chapped and she felt how pillowy they were. The vague memory of their kiss in the hot tub was nothing like this. That was hard and unyielding. This was tender. Compassionate.The air around them stood still. Her mind frozen. He let out a little sigh. It was only a fraction of a second but the world felt normal again."I'm so sorry," he blurted, hand pressed to his lips as if he couldn't believe he'd done that. "I shouldn't have kissed you. Not now, not without asking, I--"With glazed eyes, Veronica breathed, "Jughead." It was like she saw him, the real him, for the first time. With her mind short circuiting she wanted to blame it on the shock. The unexpected proclamation. She had to know. "Just… stop talking." Ironic as she dominated their visit with her never ending soliloquy.Softly she took his cheeks her her hands and brought his lips back to hers and sighed at the relief that came.
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She's studied every part of him. How his eyes change color from gray to blue to green depending on the mood he’s in. How tall he is. How she has to stand on her tiptoes, even in heels, just to kiss him. She hates the stupid hat he wears but she loves dislodging the pins so she can run her hands through his silky pomade locks. But, she thinks, she loves his hands most of all.She loves holding his hand with him as they promenade through the halls of school. They're always cool and dry. His fingers are long like a pianist. She knows the small calluses on his fingers from his pencils and keys. And she can never stop the blush when he kisses her palm when he drops her off at a different classroom.He's always a gentleman in public. Escorting her, holding the door open for her, letting her have his helmet when they ride. Eager to say yes when her Good-Time Girl persona comes out. His saddlebag is always stocked for when she drops her signature suffix. It's her cue.Veronica loves being evil and testing his limits. Like making him sit at the back of Dr. Doiley's science class so she can keep his off hand in her lap. Massaging and stroking until he has to bend closer to the desk. When the other girls admire the legs of the cross country runners and forearms of the basketball players, Veronica fantasizes about the pleasurable pain that comes when Jughead rolls her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. How he sets her nerves on fire with a brush against the small of her back.When they’re home, and cuddled up together, it starts off the same. She drags her fingers through his. Dropping a kiss on his palm. They always taste of burger grease. Warm and salty. The tip of her tongue delicately drags itself up one digit before nipping at the tip before sucking on it softly and slowly. Sometimes his book hits the floor. Other times his lips glue themselves to her crown breathing in her scent.While their future memories have told them that virginity is just a social construct she's fine waiting. Because, in the mornings after he's stayed over, his fingers dance lightly on her skin making her pimple with anticipation. The comforter is always suffocating but he won't let her take it off. It's their little secret that his hand palms the inside of her thigh. That she wordlessly begs for more. And he swallows her gasp as he slides his middle finger agonizingly slowly inside her.She loves to hate how he takes his time. His rhythm never changing, How the heel of his palm presses against her clit, making her rock her hips against him. Then casually slipping more inside her. Until she's screaming into a pillow and falling off the cliff.And when they walk into school together, holding hands, she relishes that no one knows that she devoured the taste of herself. Or that she has plans to pull him into the janitor's closet to do it all over again.
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They catch each other's eyes when they pass in the hall. They want to say hello. All they can muster is a look of longing or a halfhearted wave. It's bad enough that all of their friends have picked up where they left off. They can forget what came before because the future seems like forever. The problem isn't whether they want to. Because they do. It's the not knowing if they can.It's when their best friends invite them on a double date that they realize just how far they've drifted."Can we give you a lift?" Archie asked the pair outside of Pop's.A flashback to the discomfort from sitting next to the Necking Nancys during the movie made Veronica smile and politely decline. "Jughead said he'd like to walk me home.""Do you think they made curfew?" Jughead asked humorously. He'd been focusing on the forest lined streets. Seeing past the trees to the businesses and housing developments that would come as the town grew.She giggled softly, shaking her head. Easing the tension between them. "They have their own parking space up at Lover's Lane.""So-""Hey-"Again, laughter bubbled between them."Ladies first," he offered. The first night they spent together echoing in the phrase."Why didn't you reach out?"Jughead felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu. This conversation happened before. With whom, why, and where eluded him. "Shucks… I didn't think you wanted me to. We were in such different places BC."Veronica fell quiet. Their footsteps on the cobblestones the mocking them. "That wasn't my intention. I'm sorry if it came off that way. But same old Archie. Wanting everyone to be happy and content."Jughead shoved his hands into his pockets. He was about to scoff when he heard the words from before. He was so cynical in their old life. He had a second chance now. A chance to be… different. "What is it that you want?" He was afraid his quiet sincerity would be lost in the quiet evening."Golly…" What did she want? Did they have to make it so official? She doubted he had a school pin. But did she even want to be pinned? "I want to see you again. Without Betty and Archie." That felt obvious.He rubbed at the back of his head, nerves catching up to him. "I would ask you to a movie…" But, she literally owned the theater. "I'm happy to take you to Pop's," but that's where everyone went. "Or… you could come to my train car and we could watch TV and listen to music." The taste of that felt scandalous."I'd like that." Veronica blushed deeply. The truth of their memories stripped away all airs of pretense. The forested sidewalk turned into the downtown cityscape where the lights of The Pembroke shone ahead. Before the doorman could catch her, Veronica pulled them through an ivy wrapped gate.Soft light from small street lamps illuminated the secret garden. They stood on the brick walkway by a willow tree, its branches rustling in the spring breeze, the sounds from the city gone. The fragrant floral bouquets wafted through the air shifting the tone of their evening.She squared her shoulders, and turned a light smile up at him, heart pounding in anticipation. "What is it that you want?" Her attempt at being flirtatious. But disgusted with any coyness."I'd like to walk you to school." His voice dropped low, just above a human decimal."You can hold my hand when you walk me to my locker." Her feet slipped them fractionally closer. "If you want.""Would you let me carry your books?"Underneath the lamps her eyes shone dark and magnetic. "And read to me under the big oak tree at lunch."He took her hand tenderly in his. "Can I can be old-fashioned?" He dipped his lips against her knuckles.She gasped at the butterfly touch. Her other hand twisted the collar of his shirt and fingers danced at the nape of his neck. "Only if you're bold."He pressed their foreheads together lamenting how difficult they were. Confusing and pretentious. Everything between them needing to be a discourse of emotions and semantics. "If we name this," he whispered. "It gives it life. It'll change. It'll…" end."Then let's not name it," her whisper reverberated against his lips. "Let the others decide. I just…" She stuttered. "I need to know…"She fit against him like a glove. Neither knowing where one began and the other ended. Only one thing made sense in this crazy messed up time. One fact was cemented and solid. It insulted their silliness. Laughed at their pretension. Sealed with a desperate and bruising kiss, that fought to make up for all the times they missed, he answered, "I want… you."
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Sunlight streams through the window of her bedroom. Her vision is filled with white. White sheets, white walls, white sunbeams. All keeping her limbo between dreams and reality. Straddling The Pembroke and Alphabet City. Future and Past and Future/Past. Jughead is warm against her back. His breath coasting over her ear as he dozes soundly. She softly plays with the tips of his fingers as the calling birds and life outside lure her awake. This is her favorite part of the day.She's both 71 and 9. She knows her teacher's name is Miss Hamda. She has three meetings on her books at Riverlodge's New York office. The apps on her iPhone 4 are nostalgic. She's beaten Angry Birds and slashes to her hearts content on Fruit Ninja. The traffic sounds like an old song when they drive down Park Avenue.He holds her tighter, bringing her further into the present. She rolls over to study him further. His black hair has gone silver turning his eyes monochromatic. She can see the coltish boy he once was. The broad shouldered man with heavy bags under his eyes. He carried the weight of too much once upon a time. She misses his reluctant curls."What is today?" He asks, still lost in his own dreams. It's a question they've found themselves asking more and more. A habit between old lovers who have lived two lifetimes together.Even with her eyes closed she still sees white. "Today…" Taking a moment to think about the date, she turns on the movie projector of memories finding the right reel. "Is the Fourth Grade Spelling Bee."He hummed. "And you won with what word?"Her smile grows wide and bright, showing off her pearly white teeth. "Poisonous," she breathes contentedly. Glad that Angel Tabitha let that memory stay."You were venomous," He corrects, making the old joke as she squeals with delight when he tickles her. Their age (9, 25, 17, 71, and everything in between) transcends time; because in the haze of white she can see black.
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Veronica sleeps in the most unladylike way. Her tiny form takes up the entire bed. Spread Eagle. She hogs all of the blankets too. A lot of times, you can't find her tiny form under the pile of white down until you see one lock of raven hair sticking out. She's also someone who can sleep anywhere at any time. If she's comfortable tiny snores will soon follow. Archie hates watching movies at home with her. Thirty minutes in and she's out like a light.Jughead clings. He has to be the big spoon. He holds on tight until morning. For someone so tall, he takes up the least amount of space. He has his sliver of the bed and he stays there. He used to have night terrors but they stopped when he started leaning into the macabre. Though his insomnia persists. He blames it on writing or gaming. But once he's out, good luck getting him up. He'll even have full on text conversations while asleep, much to Betty's chagrin. His record is 36 hours straight. And he went back to bed eight hours later.On field trips, Betty and Archie, and by extension Jughead, lost the fight long ago to sit with their significant others."Oh, Archikins. For as much as I love your broad shoulders and tight abs, they just aren't conducive to mitigating the motion sickness I get from the bus." And ten minutes after cupping his cheek, and giving him an apology kiss, Veronica was curled up under Jughead's denim clad arm.It's not just bus rides either. The faculty and most of the students have caught the raven haired pair dozing together on the couch in the student lounge. They should get detention for the "closeness" but everyone knows about The Serpents and their newly crowned Prince and Hiram Lodge's attempt to bulldoze the town.It's become their little secret that Jughead is "the last to leave" when they have study sessions or hangouts at The Pembroke. They have a thousand excuses about why Archie can't stay and Jughead can't take Betty home. "You live next door to each other", "It's raining outside and I drove my bike", "Who else is going to eat the rest of this food?" Any sane person would point the infidelity finger. Any sane person would be committing the adultery!Instead it's quiet nights of bedtime stories, whispered jokes, and heavy lids. It's pretentious takes of Quentin Tarantino films, nervous confessions, and "they'll never understand". It's Veronica fighting with herself to stay up with him, hoping the Sandman catches him before he catches her. It's Jughead clinging to her like a shield, trying to keep the terrors of the day from following him into the night. It's sheets made from the finest Egyptian Cotton and a comforter made of Veronica Lodge.
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The mid-1950s sparkle. There's a shine to everything that doesn't exist in the future. You know how toothpaste commercials ping a sparkle to show the teeth are clean? It's like that, but everywhere. The sun hitting a car driving down the street? Ping! Toast pops up out of the toaster? Ping! Miss Thornton's teeth when she smiles at you for a job well done? PING!The luster of this world has put all of the students from the 21st century on edge. Is it so hard to ask for a little angst? Something to balance the scales just a little? Even with only our 'good' memories back, the need for something raw simmers underneath.So we devised a system. A proverbial pinch when things get too Howdy Doody in the Town with Pep. Nothing too intricate. Just one question with two answers. And if the person doesn't know they go to the next and so on. So far, it's never taken more than two people to ask the question to get the truth.Jughead, with his 'unofficial chronicler' status, has become the arbiter for most of the questions. Generally, he hands them a short story. One of about One-Hundred-Thirty-Six ready to read and absorb.But there are times when he can't see through the shimmering facade. Times when he second guesses what he's written. Humans aren't infallible. There are signs. He's quiet in a conversation, lost in his own thoughts. He blinks rapidly like he's trying to get his brain to find what he's lost. Or he bites his lip until looks like it's been stung by a bee. Often he finds what he's looking for and his shoulders relax from the anvil being lifted.Then there are the times when the weight becomes too much. When he puts his ego aside to finally find the answer. He'll interrupt anyone and anything to get to the truth. Much to everyone's chagrin.And today, is one of those days. His eyes are intense and wild. He's lost in his lightbox again. The comfort of the grunge a siren's song. Afraid that Archie will have him committed to the Sisters of Quiet Mercy. “You love me? Real or not real?”I tell him, “Real.” Because even if he doesn't know the truth of what's spooked him that's the only thing he needs to ground him.And he presses his forehead against mine, silently counting to ten, as I watch as his breathing slow. "Thanks 'Ronica," he whispers before kissing me like that of a drowning man looking for air. Like he's making up for all of the times he couldn't, shouldn't, or even wouldn't in that timeline, this lifetime, and the next.
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The first time his phone rang, he didn’t pick up, certain it was a butt-dial. The garbled text that followed assured him it was a mistake. The third phone call, however, said something was up.“Juggikins!” Veronica’s shrill voice practically screamed through receiver. Nope. He didn’t like that name at all.“Veronica? Why are you calling me at… one-thirty in the morning?” He had a deadline for his next set of pages and he needed to focus.“Oh, so it is one-thirty for you. I thought Iowa was an hour behind.” It wasn’t a question.Fuck. “How did you know?”“You’re soooo bad at Instagram!” She cackled drunkenly. “Anyway, I’m at a bar near your place and I need you to pick me up.”His glasses clattered to the desk. “Why don’t you call an Uber?”“Because the last time I did, Katy threw up in the car and it was on my tab so I got banned.”He sighed. He didn’t have a car. He had his bike but he sure as shit wasn’t going to put her drunk ass on the back of it. She’d fall off and die with a helmet on. “The best I can do is walk you home.”“Perfect!”The night air was brisk and had him shoving his hands in his pockets to keep warm. She was sitting on the curb eating a gyro. He almost walked past her. Where were her friends? Worse, her cheerful voice belied the truth. “Isn’t that an Alaïa?” He taunted, sitting next to her on the curb.“Jughead!” She cried through a mouth full of lamb and tried to wrap her puffy coat covered arms around his shoulders. It was like hugging a child with water wings. She flashed a bill, and called out to Muhammad, the cart owner, for another for her ‘bestie because he’s the best’.Jughead tried to decline but Muhammad said, “what Miss Veronica wants, Miss Veronica gets.” And Jughead knew very well the truth of that statement.As they walked back to her apartment, she bombarded him with questions. When did you get here? Summer. Why are you here? I got a book agent.But she dodged his until he wouldn’t let her. How’s school? Great. Why did you call me? Shrug. Have you talked to Archie and Betty? No. Why were you alone? I wasn’t. Why did you call me?“I had this boyfriend… Chad." She practically spit out his name through a mouthful of her second gyro. "He broke up with me. So, I was letting the city know that Veronica Lodge doesn’t need a man! What’s worse, he's like every other guy I’ve dated. Archie, Reggie, Nick. All assholes. All wrapped up in their own shit. And me just taking what I can get. What happened to me?”"There's nothing wrong with you." Jughead admitted softly. As they crossed the blocks to her apartment he couldn't remember his old schoolmate being so chatty. Even when they got drunk as a group. "You're still the smart, beautiful, successful girl I once knew."Veronica sighed, holding up her pita so he could take a bite. She knew better than to get him just one. Automatically, he complied taking a large bite out of the lamb, peppers, and onions. Veronica had a thing against tomatoes. She hated them. "You think I'm beautiful?" There was such awe in her tone.Jughead cleared his throat, tamping down old, inconsequential memories about questions concerning his allegiance. "You know you're beautiful."Like a bouncy ball the drunk babbling came back. "You're not so bad yourself. You look almost as pretty as this moon."He chuckled. "That's a street lamp.""And you're almost as pretty." Her index finger slowly flew to his nose with a "Boop!"She begged him to come up saying, "A gentleman always walks a lady to her front door." Once inside, Veronica in a whirlwind, introduced him to Katy, and threw her coat and shoes and purse wherever she wanted. Jughead's eyes and half-words pleaded that this wasn't what it looked like and Katy simply waved him off knowing her roommate better than most.He followed her dutifully, picking up the clothes she was dropping behind her. She was in bed, snuggled under the covers, waiting for him. "Tell me a story, Juggikins." Yep, he still hated that name. "Tell me about my character in the book you're writing."He gave her a dubious look. She protested that there was nothing else to write about. He watched her wide and expectant eyes shine in the moonlight. "Alright," he finally acquiesced knowing he had never and could never say no to her. "Once upon a time, oh about seven years ago, in a far away place called 'Manhattan', lived the heiress to a vast real estate empire overseen by her father, The Baron…"
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"Once upon a time… about seven years ago, in a far away place called 'Manhattan', lived a beautiful heiress-""A beautiful, smart, and successful heiress." Veronica sleepily interrupted."Right," Jughead acquiesced. "Once upon a time… about seven years ago, in a far away place called 'Manhattan', lived a beautiful, and smart, and successful heiress to a vast real estate empire overseen by her father, The Baron. The Baron was not a man to be trifled with."Trifled?" Veronica scrunched up her nose in disgust.Annoyed, Jughead asked, "Do you want me to tell the story or not?""Sorry.""The Baron was not a man to be trifled with. He had a legion of capos loyal to him, ready to defend the empire. Nothing and no one would get in his way." He cleared his throat, the memory of the end of Sophomore year still fresh. "But the prize of his life was his daughter. He believed that everything he did was for her. To protect her. For her devotion. Until one day his kingdom was threatened by The Red Paladin.""Uh-uh," Veronica hummed. "He's a traitor." She threw an arm around Jughead's waist, her nose buried in her pillow."Oh? Then who does she work with to take down her father?""The Serpent Prince, of course.""…Of course." Jughead sighed against the flood of memories from the family who'd abandoned him. "Until one day a traitor approached. The Red Paladin wore his faith on his chest, his loyalty for sale to the highest bidder. He charmed the heiress with his easy smile and outward devotion. He promised her the world. Assured her that his actions were treachery against her father, only. He made oaths of love when another waited, dutifully, across the river." He held his tongue hoping he didn't over step unsure of how fresh the wound may be."Don't stop," she whispered.Jughead's fingers continued to lazily weave through her soft tresses."The Baron had his sights on the kingdom to the south. A democratic land that on the outside was poor in gold but wealthy in strength of bond. He promised the citizens riches that even the north could not obtain. He hired thieves to squander and pillage. And in his lust for power he orchestrated a civil war between the rival riverbank kingdoms."Through cotillion the Prince of the South knew of the Baron's daughter. Realized she was the key to his undoing. Through secret rendezvous, and sealed with a kiss, the two schemed to take the evil tycoon down. What the heiress did not expect, was for her father to imprison the Southland's King. Forcing the Prince into a corner. Fight for the future of his kingdom or relent and save his father."The heiress begged her father to renege. But the Baron would not relent. Reminding her that everything he'd done was for her to know his anger. She had chosen wrong. She had chosen another over blood. But, he would make a wager. Let the Prince and the Paladin duel. If the Prince won she was free to leave but nothing to aid her. Not even her name. But, if the Paladin won she would come home and wed as he had arranged."Now, the Prince didn't want to fight the Paladin. It was the Prince who spread the holy knight's conquests and heroics far and wide. But he has no choice. When they stepped into the ring for their honor. It was quickly apparent that The Prince and his weapons were no match for his old friend turned foe. But in the crowd the Northern Duchess could be seen. A scheme concocted by the Heiress. Have her see who her true love really was. The shock from the Paladin was enough for the Prince to overtake him and force a surrender."Angry, the Baron rushed into the fray demanding his pound of flesh. Forcing the Prince on his knees in the name of saving his kingdom. To release his father, the King, from the Baron's clutches. What no one knew was that the Heiress, knowing her father's hubris, rescued the King herself.""Told you she was smart and successful…""Never doubted you for a moment. So, with the King rescued, they were able to hail the sheriff and have the Baron arrested for his crimes.""No happily ever after kiss?""They kissed in the hot spring.""That was to seal their allegiance. So… he didn't like kissing her?""That's not what I said.""He didn't enjoy kissing her?""…He did. Maybe more than he was allowed.""Do they live happily ever after?""You'll have to read the book."
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"Betty!" Veronica cried as she rushed up in her Chanel suit and teased flip bobbing behind her. The two young women embraced in a mismatched fashion. Concern crossed the brunette's face. "Betty, you look absolutely pallid!" Are you feeling okay?" Before the blonde could answer, she flagged down a waiter. "Martini, extra cold, extra dirty. And a Grasshopper, for you, right?"Betty shook her head, "oh none for me. But a Coca-Cola would be nice."Veronica sat her Kelly bag on the open chair. "Betty, we're lunching!""I'm just not feeling well. I don't think a cocktail will help." With the best smile she could muster she reached over and patted her friend's hand. "We have so much catching up to do.""You have to accept my sincerest apologies." She lit up a cigarette when their drinks came. "Every time I come back I'm leaving before I've even realized I've arrived!" Between visiting her mom, and her and Jughead finding it difficult to leave his apartment, there wasn't much 'girl time' allowed.Betty was just glad to see her at all. "Your letters and phone calls are enough." She leaned in making sure no one would hear. "I do miss texting though."It took Veronica a moment then she inwardly chastised herself at forgetting the 21st century invention. She was so used to the frivolity of Hollywood, but the city, and little moments like these, grounded her. Brought her back to her senses. "Well. We're still trying to get The Comet off the ground. Jughead and Clay have made that script tighter than the ponytail you used to wear. Sydney is still signed on and I guarantee it'll be an Oscar contender for sure!""If anyone can make it happen, it's you, Veronica. How are you and Jughead doing?"That question got her to slow down. Veronica stared off into space for a moment. "If you had told me a… lifetime ago that I would be spending my personal and professional life with Jughead Jones I would've laughed you off the face of the earth! Speaking of writing, I never miss an issue of Betty's Diary. One of these days you're going to let me put that column of yours on screen."When the waiter came for their order, Betty almost threw up at Veronica's request for extra anchovies in her Cesar salad. "You said you had something to tell me?""Right! So, Jughead is a nervous wreck when he flies or when I do. And this visit was no exception; but more so than usual. We're at the terminal and he tells me he has somewhere special to take me. Of course my first fear is that he's going to do the thing. We're just not those people!"The blonde only smiled knowing about the blue box in his top dresser drawer. She was the one to help him pick it out."You know that he's become the music writer for The Village Voice, yes?" The comic author only meant to be a beat writer. Something to keep him busy and get some seed money for Madhouse. "So, he takes me to this little hole in the wall and it's packed. I mean, we have a table but barely. Then, he tells me that he's there on business. He has an interview and he wants me there. Of course I'm happy to oblige. So we go to the 'dressing room', which is really no more than a closet, and who is standing on the other side?" She leans in and whispers, "very four distinct mop tops with the most fantabulous Liverpudlian accents!"Betty's mouth dropped to the table. "The Beatles?" She whispered. That meant Veronica was meeting them at the beginning! The world at large had no idea just how big they were going to get."John, Paul, George, and Ringo! I don't know what came over me, but something poked at me from 'back when', and I found myself asking if they wanted to make a movie… and they said yes!" Veronica sighed. "This is going to be the first project I'm heading up by myself. I'm going to cut my teeth on The Beatles." She patted her friend's hand excitedly. "So, what was your big news?"The young woman placed a hand on her stomach, under the table so the brunette couldn't see. Her mouth bobbed open like a caught fish trying to tell her something about her life that wasn't the truth. "That I…" Betty prayed that Tabitha would rewind the clock five months. "That…" Or create a time bubble for her to live in permanently. "That Betty's Diary is going into syndication." She finished weakly, ignoring the little flutter under her palm.
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Jughead kept one hand on the dash and one hand on the back of his chair as Veronica slammed on the break for the fifteen-thousandth time. It was the only way to keep his neck from breaking. How was she so bad at this?! "I think I'm gonna be sick…" It was worse than the Tilt-o-Whirl at Coney Island!"You're doing great, V!" Betty cried out. She jabbed Archie in the side. "Tell her she's doing great," she said through a gritted smile.The redhead rubbed at his side. "Swell, Ronnie!" He whispered over to Betty, "why did we have to use my hot rod again?""Because Jughead only has his dad's motorcycle," she reminded. "Do you really want to see her try and drive that monstrosity?""I'm afraid she's going to break something!""She'll be fine!" Betty hissed."Are they talking about me?" Veronica asked anxiously to Jughead. "What are they saying about me?" This time when she slammed on the break it was to make a point."Ow!" Jughead rubbed at his forehead when it hit the rim of the windshield. This was getting ridiculous. She was never going to get her driver's license at this pace. "Veronica, just take your foot off the break and lightly put it on the throttle.""But what if it goes out of control?!" She shrilled."It doesn't go over 25 and it's got a steel frame, you'll be fine. Maybe we should practice your parallel parking.""What's the point? Everywhere you go has Valet!"Betty's brain itched at Veronica's claim. Where had she heard that before? A radio program? Or a book? Had to be because the images she was picturing was of a blonde girl whose hair was uncoifed and was swept back by the breeze. And it was in color.Veronica slowly took her foot off the break, letting the car begin to roll forward in the parking lot. Something about this felt familiar and not because she'd been attempting it for the thousandth time. There was a tickle at the back of her head that whispered something about a Halloween mask and a little black sports car. The right hand turn to circle the green was coming up and she could feel her confidence building."Veronica, you know I love you, but Riverdale isn't LA."Just before she was about to slide the wheel to make her turn the weight of what he said hit her like a ton of bricks and so did her foot on the brake. Jughead was propelled forward and he hit his head on the windshield rim causing his neck to whip back. "OW! FUCK!"Throwing the car into park she whirled around to him. "What did you just say?""Ow my neck…" He rubbed the back of it feeling deja vu. "I said it's Riverdale, not LA. Valet parking doesn't exist here.""No, before that! The-the-the love part?"Betty and Archie ran up to the car to make sure their friends were okay when they heard the last bit of the conversation. Betty pulled Archie back a few steps to give them some privacy. This was definitely not a moment they should be apart of.It took the brunette a moment to get his faculties back and he inwardly chastised himself. "Yeah… I guess I did…?" That wasn't how he meant for it to come out. He had a whole plan! He was going to buy her her favorite flowers, even though they were out of season; and, cook her her favorite meal, from her favorite restaurant (The Brown Derby). She deserved the world and not some sentiment thrown out casually to win an argument.But, Veronica had other plans. She didn't care how he said it. Just that he did. And his face was in her hands and she was kissing him soundly. "I love you too, Jughead!""Yowza!!" He cried, his ear-to-ear smile matching hers. And as he kissed her again, he forgot about their audience. Who would have thought the perfect place to profess his love was in the school parking lot being beat up by his girlfriend's lead foot?The adrenaline of the moment quickly dissipated as the pain in his neck came flaring back. "I really think I need to go to the hospital. You might have given me whiplash.""Right-o!" Veronica exclaimed. "I'll drive!""NO!" Jughead, Betty, and Archie screamed at once.
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The unseasonably warm day had them swinging in a hammock at the far edge of Sunnyside Trailer Park. Jughead held The Princess Bride over them as they read silently together. Taking a bite of a proffered macaron when presented. Kids and fellow Serpents could be heard from over the hill.He flipped the page with his thumb at her nod, his hand splayed over her stomach, the curve of his thumb and forefinger lightly cupping the underside of her breast. Veronica arched slightly, encouraging his touch. And he rewarded her by circling her cotton covered nipple. At another page turn, he slid his long thin fingers into the low neckline of her dress, softly rolling her hard peak between them.She was at the mercy of his soft teases. She pressed her thighs together; afraid she’d tip them. She didn't want to risk breaking the soap bubble around them. FP was home and the other Serpents were sure to demand Jughead's time if they were found. Pulling his hand away, she kissed his palm and rested it at her waist, nudging it downward.He kissed her softly and repeatedly. Caving to the attention she was soliciting. The spring breeze played with the hem of her lilac dress, giving his fingers access to the warm olive skin of her thigh.With a sigh, he lifted the book again, drawing their attention to the words on the page. "Let's keep reading," the words reverberated in his chest as he laid his head over hers. But his fingers caressed the soft lace at her hip. They made tantalizingly slow circles where his hand rested, with one dipping under the elastic every so often.In her heat, Veronica let her own fingers play. They snaked under the hem of his gray "S" shirt and danced over the dark trail of hair on his taut stomach. Flicking at the button of his fly making him shift slightly under her ministrations.He rewarded her with slipping the tips of his fingers under the waistband and down into her soft, wet curls. Her thighs parted slightly, giving him better access. "You can turn the page," her voice high and light.The paper rustled as Jughead did as requested and used the opportunity to dip farther down and rub at the bundle of nerves eliciting a sharp gasp. It echoed in the lazy atmosphere. The scent of pollen and honeysuckle mingled with the scent of her own arousal.And then there were two, pressing and circling. She silently counted each ring as they slowed to an agonizing pace. The flip of the paper shocked her out of her head. With a twist the button of his fly slipped open, her small hand coaxing the zipper down."Not yet," he whispered and her hand stilled. He resumed his caress over her clit, feeling her breathing becoming labored again. His forearm coaxed her thighs open just a little farther and his middle finger slid deep within her beginning a soft rhythm. Her walls clenched around him.The book rested on his thigh for camouflage. She abandoned her own advances to ball her fist into the hem of his shirt. She wound her ankles around his calves to keep her balanced. But his arm was strong against her hips."Shhh," he whispered. Knowing that she didn't realize how loud she was starting to get. "We don't want anyone to find us…" And he added a second digit into her tight embrace. He kept her attention present with his words drifting into her ear. He taunted her with what would people think if they were caught, or if her father found out. How much he wanted her, all of her."I'm yours…" she repeated weakly, pleadingly. Her nerves were on fire. She buried her sob of ecstasy in his chest. His fingers were opening her, spreading her and her body screamed for him to be inside her. He brought her to the edge and his words rumbled against her ear coaxing her to let go. The way he said her name felt like velvet.His lips crushed against hers, his tongue danced with hers, as he captured every moan and squeal. Sliding her under him, he switched hands so the heel of his palm could massage her clit and fingers could press harder and deeper inside her until he felt the coil within her snap.Veronica saw white behind her eyes and her body shiver and pulse until she went limp. His beanie had fallen off and she could slide her fingers through his loose waves as she gave him short, soft kisses. She felt empty when he withdrew and fixed her dress, careful with what fingers he used.Their phones went off with a barrage of texts. Asking where they were, and threats to send out a search party had them righting themselves and sealing promises for the next time with a kiss."And I'll choose the book," Veronica said, looping an arm through his.Jughead smiled. "As you wish."
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Veronica was not an insecure person. She was a very thorough person. She liked to know everything about her friends. She observed the tiniest of details in the name of a better friend. Including paramours. Light IG sleuthing into her exes exes wasn't unusual in this post-James Franco world. This was why finstas were invented.If anyone were to ask Veronica about Jess, they might think she was in love. She practically knew everything about her - star chart, third grade teacher's name, blood type, etc. And with as much as she focused on the woman's social media you might think they were best friends. Jess putting everything out for the world to see!"Jonsey!" Jess smiled brightly as she popped up to greet Jughead in the busy Brooklyn restaurant. Her eyes were shining with alcohol, and she kissed each of his cheeks as if she were cultured enough to be European."Jess," he said politely with a tinge of curt.The tall Asian woman looked at Veronica and gasped, pretending that she forgot who the socialite was. They'd only met half a dozen times! "Vanessa…?"Inside, Veronica was boiling with rage. All of the words she wanted to use about the 'writer' were unacceptable in polite society. "It's Veronica," her voice was smooth with wealth. "But you spend every night with someone new I wouldn't expect you to possibly remember my name." Did she just insinuate the woman was a prostitute? Yes, yes, she did. The cherry on top was her expression was that of wide-eyed naivety.Jughead curled his girlfriend into his side tighter, smiling close-lipped, and Veronica gracefully snuggled closer. She would apologize later."So, there we were…" Jess was regaling some random happenstance about Jughead to the table. "…And I almost knocked him out because he tickled me and hit a reflex." The table chuckled and teased Jughead for his misfortune."That's so funny!" Veronica chuckled airily. Aww, she thinks we're playing The Girl Game… "That's nothing." She leaned in conspiratorially, looking at everyone, drawing them into her orbit. "I almost broke his nose when he was going do-""Ohhkay!" Jughead interrupted, clearly embarrassed. But the rest of the table broke out in raucous laughter, giving the point to Veronica.Veronica shot an evil side-eye that Sofia Loren would be envious of. Have fun with the Junior's edition, bitch.Back in Jughead's apartment the two were practically blowing the ceiling off. It was the same old song and dance. Jughead almost threw in a 'are you trying to manage me right now?' for good measure."What has gotten into you? This was a work event for me!""Yeah! And I had everyone wrapped around my little finger! A ‘thank you’ would be nice!" She kicked her shoes off angrily into some random corner, making her even smaller against his tall frame."A thank you!? You went Battle Royale with Jess all night!" He dragged his hands through his hair, the acupuncture giving him something to focus on.How could she tell him that the woman got under her skin like no other? That she hated how he went back to her when things got rough? Or that she'd been insta-stalking her the whole time through her finsta? "And what do you think she was doing?""That's just how she is!""So, if I go into your Instagram there's not a stream of messages from her?" His face said it all. She knew he wasn't cheating. But just the thought of 'I miss how great we were, Jonesy' made her sick. "It kills me that she still thinks she has a chance. That, no matter how many times you wash your sheets I can still… still… smell her!"Jughead sighed defeatedly, pulling her into him. Veronica pouted as he left a lingering kiss on her forehead. "They really did a number on us, huh?""I know you would never," she said looping her arms around his neck.Jughead snored softly as Veronica stared at the ceiling. Even though they made up, she still felt antsy. She couldn't even fall asleep replying to the comments on the Instagram posts of her and Jughead and the rest of the party, sans Jess, of course. VeronicaCLodge and ForsythePJonesIII were becoming NYC society page darlings.A notification trilled on her phone. Rum_Goddess__13 had a message from JessTheWrtr.
Ugh, that bitch gf of his was there 2nite
And Veronica relaxed into her pillow, smiling giddily, and sent off a quick reply.
Tell me everything!
No, Veronica was not an insecure person. But she was obsessed.
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It was pandemonium. The unspeakable happened. Kids were running everywhere, teachers yelling - trying their best to wrangle everyone up, bodies crushing against each other to get out. The damage was only beginning. Their core four were scattered - Archie in Math, Veronica in English, Jughead in Chemistry, and Betty in Spanish. They should have run to their respective exits like the rest of the students and faculty. Instead…"Betty!""Veronica!"
"We have to tell them. The longer we keep it from them, the more it'll hurt."
The pair stood in the hidden janitor's closet under the stairs. Foreheads pressed together, drinking each other in. A few moments of respite before the next bell. Before they would have to slink back to where they belonged. What a terrible secret to keep.
"I know. But this is nice, right?"
"BETTY!""VERONICA!"
"You came…"
Under the bleachers, the slatted metal blocking them from the cold breeze. They held each other, hands slipped under a quilted jacket. One match, that's all it would take. Who knew they would be the flint.
"It's not like we can do more than this…"
The two boys pushed through the throng of students looking for a certain accessory and coif. The names they were calling out at the top of their lungs died in their throats. Time slowed to a stop. Students moved around them as they stood at a standstill. Like a glass dome separated them from the chaos around them. Their minds screamed that they were yelling for all of their friends. That they just happened to catch each other at an inopportune time. The two childhood best friends knew the lie before it was even spoken.Another cacophony broke them out of their stupor. Time sped up around them, catapulting them back into the time stream. They would discuss this if they ever got out. But to get out would mean they needed to find the girls. The two stared each other down, daring the other to do the unthinkable.With eyes never leaving Archie's, Jughead shouted for "VERONICA!"
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He's leading her with their unbreakable barely entwined fingers. Their footsteps echo in the concrete stairwell as they pass couples, and throuples, and quads. Talking, drinking, making out. She sips on beer she hates, trying not to make eye contact with whom they pass. He's promising her one more level again. But, no really, it's the last one. And the horny 20-somethings thin the farther up they go until they disappear.The door marked "Roof" is propped open and when it swings open the cold breeze surprises her. And he's there to catch her when she trips on the deceptive dip. He tosses her cup to the side and gives her a dirty look when she says she wasn't finished. In his corduroy jacket he has tiny bottles of rum to spike the empty cups and a bottle of Coke he brought.There's a lounge chair in the middle of the roof; and she's sitting between his legs, her back pressed against his chest, as they watch the lights of the city twinkle before them. He's always amazed at the midnight view. The river is inky black just beyond the skyscrapers and jazz wafts up from somewhere below.He laces his fingers through hers and she kisses the back of his hand, quickly nipping at the tip of his thumb. His lips dance over her shoulder and rest against her flushed skin. This is their vibe. No questions. No declarations. It's easy to get lost in each other. Pretend they're normal.His hair is soft, and she misses his beanie sometimes. Sometimes wonders what she would look like in it. But the thought dies as his teeth nip at her diamond studded earlobe. And she's tasting the rum on his tongue.She straddles him, pressing her black lace against him, amazed at how hard he gets for her. He thinks her satin dress doesn't compare to the softness of her when he dares to caress. But she won't stop kissing him and they both let out a sigh of relief when they're once again complete. They push and pull and drink deeply from each other.FP asks how he's coping in the city. Wonders if the collective trauma in the book will have a good reception. Hermione says letting the audience hear her story will be beneficial. Tells her she'll be a Bravo! darling. They tell their parents they're okay. They have all they need.They're just two kids from the hell of Riverdale disappearing into each other.