Chapter Text
Jughead falls asleep early that night and sleeps most of Wednesday. He wakes up at noon, the sun at its zenith and it’s bright even for fall.
He stumbles around his suite and proceeds to do nothing of real importance, letting the last week sift through his brain, letting the gears turn.
Why would Archie think he’s going to leave him?
It’s definitely something he should be thinking about, but it keeps going in a loop. Because he left. Because he wants to leave, to run at the first sign of trouble. Scout said he wasn’t emotionally ready, and now he’s wondering if he’ll ever be.
What has brought Jughead to this anyway?
He draws out a word cloud, but that doesn’t help, either.
Eventually, he lays on the couch, expensive bottled water in hand and watches terrible tv. He falls asleep again, and when he wakes up, iIt’s early Thursday.
Jughead moans, stumbles off the couch and to the shower to get ready for the rehearsal. The dinner is tonight too. Jellybean comes in today.
He gets himself clean and shaved, and dresses in his what Betty calls nice sweater, and jeans that don’t have holes.
“We’ve come a long way, baby,” he says to himself, and grabs his phone. He texts Archie first: Hey Archie, thanks for the break. See you this afternoon?
Then to Jellybean: I didn’t do anything. Need a lift?
Then to August: 3:00 at the reserve?
He pockets his phone with the intention of getting breakfast, and heads out the door with his jacket on. He pushes the elevator down button when he hears a terrible hiss.;
“Jughead!”
Jughead turns, and sees Betty, all five feet four inches of whoop ass, coming for him. “What?” he asks, immediately defensive.
“What did you do?” she asks, pointing a surprisingly sharp index finger into his chest.
“I stayed in my room all day,” Jughead says, stomach growling. “I think I forgot to eat.”
Betty steps back, afraid for a moment. “You didn’t eat?” she asks. She throws her hands up. “What is going on?”
“Betty, what —”
“Okay, I thought this was taken care of,” she says, holding up an index finger. “But it’s clearly not.” She pulls out her phone, thumbing through it.
“Betty, can we do this over breakfast?” he asks, and the elevator door opens.
She rolls her eyes but steps in the elevator and Jughead pushes the lobby button.
Betty is still on her phone. “I’m texting Veronica,” she explains. “I’m mad at you, Jughead Jones.”
“I gathered.”
She huffs and crosses her arms, and Jughead senses that maybe this is more to do with wedding stuff. “Pop’s?” he asks, and she shrugs.
The drive over is quiet and when they finally sit down, Betty blurts out, “Archie thinks you’re going to leave him.”
Jughead blinks, as does their waitress. “Coffee and a lumberjack special,” Jughead requests.
“Just coffee for me,” Betty says.
“I know,” Jughead says, and waits for the server to set the mugs down and walk off, waits for the inevitable blowout.
“You know?” Betty asks, raising an eyebrow.
“We talked yesterday, about,” Jughead waves a hand, “us. About Luna. I called you.”
“Right.”
“And I told Archie I needed to think about some stuff. Like, why I want to cut and run anytime commitment is on the line.”
“And what did you find out?” Betty asks, leaning back, narrowing her eyes.
“I think,” Jughead takes a breath “I think I’m afraid of being with someone,” he says. “Because I don’t want them to leave me.” He huffs a tired laugh. “So, I’m when I’m alone, it’s because I don’t want to be alone.” How perfectly, stupidly ironic.
There’s a buzz in his pocket. He pulls out his phone, and there’s a text from Archie, Definitely. He watches as three little dots show up. Still need alone time?
Jughead shows Betty. No, I’m good for now. He types out carefully. Then, he presses the call button.
“Hey,” Archie answers.
“Hey,” Jughead says, sliding out of the booth and walking out the door for a more private conversation. “I ran into Betty.”
“Um, yeah,” Archie replies, and there’s the sounds of metal clanking together. “Sorry, I —” there’s a long sigh. “I panicked.”
“Yeah. It’s okay, I did too.” Jughead leans against the wall, his head hitting one of the windows. “Archie, I want this to work,” he says, convicted. “I don’t know how, but I want this to work,” he repeats himself.
“Me too,” Archie says. “I just, when you left yesterday, it felt like everything was repeating itself. Like I made some mistake again, I don’t know.” He says this quietly, unsure. He sounds small.
Jughead wants to punch himself in the face. “No,” he says. “I made the mistake. I freaked out because I thought you were going to leave, which, paradoxically, made me want to leave before you did, and then I did leave. I should have stayed.”
“You needed alone time,” Archie says.
“Yes, I did. And it was important. But this relationship is important to me too. I shouldn’t.” Jughead stops, runs a hand over his face. “I shouldn’t expect you to just accommodate me all the time. It’s,” he waves a hand in the cold morning air before tucking it in his pocket, “It’s about compromise.”
“Compromise,” Archie says.
“Yeah, like, lo —” Jughead chokes on the word; love. “It’s not an ultimatum,” he says instead. Slow it down, Jughead, he thinks. Archie needs you to slow it down.
“Right,” Archie says, and he sounds tired, and Jughead just wants to cry.
“I will see you tonight, and we will talk,” Jughead says. “That’s a promise.”
“Alright,” Archie agrees, and that’s going to have to be good enough for now.
Jughead walks back in the diner, where breakfast, thank God, waits for him.
He sits down and starts shoveling food in his mouth, Betty typing on her phone. “Got it taken care of?” she asks, not looking up.
“Yeah,” he says after swallowing. “We’re talking it out.”
“Good,” Betty says, and it sounds weirdly, heartwarmingly ominous.
Jughead has to give it to August: he is, when in his element, impressive. His element being directing weddings.
Jughead never has a moment of doubt of where he needs to be standing, or what he has to do, because August has spent the last couple of minutes mapping it out.
The reserve is slowly cooling down, and the procession is small, consisting of Archie sitting the mothers down, and then Jughead walking down between the set up chairs, followed by Luna, who has a basket, empty of flowers. She hams it up for the coos and laughter, and Archie tickles her and sets her in his lap so the brides can walk each other down the aisle.
The minister they hired, says the service is short; an exchanging of vows, and then she will present them as wives, and then August takes back over, guiding them back up the aisle.
They run through it three more times before August is satisfied. “Okay everyone,” he speaks up, clapping his hands together. “We will meet at the ranger’s office at promptly ten in the morning on Saturday. If there’s anything else you need to do, then I will contact you. Now,” he smiles. “The future Mesdames Lodge-Cooper would like to invite you to the Red Clover Inn for the rehearsal dinner.”
Jughead tries to contain his need to raise his eyebrows. The Red Clover Inn is one of the fancier restaurants in the state. It’s also a forty five minute drive out. Jughead walks over to Archie, hands in his jacket, feeling awkward. “Wanna lift?” he asks, and Archie flattens his mouth.
“I gotta wait for dad to pick up Luna,” he says. “And bring my guitar.” Archie scratches the back of his neck. “Is that okay?”
Jughead shrugs. “Sure.”
Archie nods and Jughead’s phone buzzes: the perfect opportunity to be distracted.
Jellybean: Just landed. I’ll meet you at the Red Clover, it reads. Then, Holy cow, who knew we’d ever live a bit of the high life, Jug?
Jughead snorts. Not me.
He wants to text her again, say, I did something stupid by not doing anything stupid, but doesn’t.
Luna drags his attention away from his phone, wanting to practice more. “I want to use both hands,” she says, “and throw the flowers at the people so everyone is pretty.”
“That’s a sweet idea,” Archie says, at the end of the aisle. “But maybe just have the flowers on the ground, okay?”
Luna huffs, but relents. “Okay,” she says, and makes the motion of throwing the flowers in front of her from her imaginary basket.
Fred pulls up, and Luna jumps up and down. “Grandpa!” she yells, and Archie picks her up and walks over to the truck.
There’s an exchange, and Archie walks back to Jughead, holding his guitar case. “We’re gonna have to ride in your car,” he says.
Jughead nods, and they pile in after Archie lovingly sets the guitar case in the trunk.
Jughead is nervous. This is Archie, though. Archie who he’s grown up with, Archie that he loves.
That he can’t tell that he loves.
Jughead feels like things are moving so fast because it’s been so long, and he’s loathe to wait anymore. But he needs to, for Archie.
“So what are you going to sing?” Jughead asks.
“Something New,” Archie says. Then, at Jughead’s confusion, “Something New, that’s the title of the song.”
“Hopefully it’s upbeat?” Jughead asks.
Archie hums. “It’s uh, forward thinking?” He darts a glance over at Jughead. Then he blurts out quickly: “I feel like I ruined us.”
“What?” Jughead asks, “No! No, you did not ruin us.” He frowns, wishes they had the time to pull over and talk this through. “I didn’t ruin us, I just, freaked out, which freaked you out.” He sighs. “Archie, there’s gonna be stuff in our way, but we can make it,” he says. He aches to hold Archie’s hand. Aches to tell him how much he loves him.
“I mean, what else is in our way?”
“Us. We’re two people with emotions and baggage. Like, we haven’t had this talk fully, but I’m demisexual.”
Archie blinks. “How is that in our way?” he asks slowly.
“Well,” Jughead says, swallowing. “It means, I’m a gray ace. Asexual.”
Archie’s still giving him the same blank look. Jughead wishes there was something in the car to distract them from this conversation, even a gear shift, but no, it’s automatic.
“I only feel sexual attraction to people I have a deep connection with,” he explains. “I’m not always going to want sex. And I don’t like certain sex acts. Like, they don’t do it for me.”
“Jughead, we’re adults, we’re not always going to be having sex.”
“I just mean, you might be in the mood, but I won’t be.”
Archie is silent about this. “I don’t get it,” he says after a minute. Jughead takes in a breath, ready to explain, when Archie continues, “If I’m in the mood, and you’re not, why would that matter?”
Jughead wants to kiss Archie as much as he wants to pull his own hair out. “Because it’s inconvenient, sometimes.”
“Inconvenient?” Archie asks. “Jughead, no one’s… forced you, right?”
“What? No,” Jughead says. “No one’s forced me. It’s just, people with higher sex drives, they’ll be ready, and I won’t be.”
“So,” Archie says, leaning back. He audibly swallows. “What does it for you?”
Jughead slides a look at him. “We’re fifteen minutes into a forty five minute drive, and you have to perform, do you really want to get fired up?”
“Fired up,” Archie repeats, snorting. “That doesn’t do it for me.”
Jughead rolls his eyes. “Intimacy, mainly. Like, making out is always good.”
“Okay,” Archie says, turning, eyes wide.
Jughead clears his throat. This is such a bad idea. “Giving oral is good too, hand jobs, not so much.”
“Do you like to be touched?” Archie asks, voice rough.
Jesus. “Yeah,” Jughead says, aware of his breathlessness. “Um, I like penetrative sex sometimes. But it takes a while for me to,” he waves a hand, blushing furiously. “Warm up. Even then,” he shrugs. “Even then I won’t want to sometimes.”
“Like, be penetrated, or penetrate your partner?” Archie asks.
“Be penetrated. I don’t, I don’t like penetrating,” he says, looking over. “Is that okay?”
Archie is silent, and Jughead’s mind warps into overdrive of all the things Archie is thinking. Like, it’s not okay, and he wants out, and he really likes to get fucked, or —
“Sorry,” he says after a minute of solid panic. “I was uh, stuck on the warm up part.” His voice is gritty and soft at the same time, a dichotomy of want from his vocal chords.
Jughead wants to say his soul left his body approximately eighteen times in that one minute, and for Archie to use his words, but Archie still looks daydreamy. About Jughead. “Maybe we should talk about something else for a minute,” Jughead says instead. He clears his throat and presses the gas a little harder.
Archie looks at him pointedly, and Jughead shrugs. “There’s a gap; we’re the last people to go.”
“We’ll get there when we get there.”
Jughead laughs. “Such a dad thing to say.”
“I am a dad,” Archie says, crossing his arms, “I’m allowed to say dad things.”
Jughead smiles, and loosens his foot on the gas so Archie’s not glaring at him.
The Red Clover Inn is all simple lines and candles, white linen tablecloths, and a roaring fireplace in the corner. It is somehow cozy and elegant. He’s pretty sure Veronica picked out the venue, but made some accommodation for Betty’s taste as well, hence the cozy part.
The whole restaurant has been rented out, the tables arranged in one long line.
Jughead looks for Jellybean, and spies her near the back, laughing at something. She looks nice, even a little bit grown up, and Jughead doesn’t know if he can handle that, yet.
Archie is behind him with his guitar, and gently nudges him in the door.
“I’m going,” Jughead grumbles, and walks in. It’s suddenly real, the wedding. Before, it was all cocktails and parties, practically a vacation, and now, it’s here. Flowers on the table, candles between them, people already pulling up chairs.
Jellybean sees him and quickly steps over. “Hey!” she says, grabbing Jughead by the arms. “I missed you, goober.”
“I wasn’t gone that long,” Jughead says, rolling his eyes. “I missed you too.”
“C’mon, sit next to me,” she says with a smile, and Jughead grabs a seat, draping his jacket over the seat next to him for Archie. “It looks like things are patched up?” Jellybean asks, darting a glance over at Archie, who’s trying to find a place for his guitar.
Jughead nods. “Yeah, we’re working on it.” He smiles, ducks his head.
“Geez,” Jellybean says, rolling her eyes. “I mean, obviously everyone saw this ten miles away, but still. I’m happy for you,” she says.
“I’m happy too,” Jughead says, and Archie comes back from an adjoining room, hair ruffled and entirely too handsome for Jughead to handle.
Archie sits down, and so do Jellybean and Jughead. The food is incredible, a soup starter and then a butcher’s plate of meat and cheese cuts. The entree is a choice between pan roasted duck, or crispy skin haddock. By the time the dessert rolls around, Jughead is feeling almost sated. It’s another choice between creme brulee, and the chocolate pot de creme, and of course Jughead picks the brulee. The best part is cracking it.
Archie’s knee starts jiggling around dessert, and Jughead looks at him. “Okay?” he asks, and Archie nods. “Nervous,” he admits, his eyes wide. “I haven’t sung in front of this many people in a long time, you know?”
Jughead nods. “Deep breaths,” he says.
Archie pulls in a deep breath and lets it out. “I wish Luna was here, she’d help,” he says and Jughead nearly melts into the ramekin that he scraped the creme brulee out of.
“What would Luna do or say?” Jughead asks.
“I don’t know, she’s unpredictable,” Archie laughs, smiling. “I got her treehouse finished and she’s desperate to have a sleepover.” Archie’s mouth goes flat. “I don’t think she’s ready for one, really. I’m not even ready for her to have a treehouse.”
“She’s lucky to have you,” Jughead says.
“I’m lucky to have her,” Archie replies, and Jughead knows it’s not rote. Archie means it.
After post dinner coffees, Veronica taps her glass gently and stands up. “Thank you all for coming tonight. We wanted our family and our closest friends to join us as we celebrate our love for each other. I won’t bore you,” she raises an eyebrow, “tomorrow we’ll have toasts.”
Jughead holds in a groan, because that’s him. He’s the toaster.
“But for tonight, Betty and I wanted to have our incredibly talented friend, Archie to sing a song for us. If everyone will come to the sitting room?” Veronica helps Betty get up and walks her into the sitting room.
“That’s my cue,” Archie says, running hands down his pants.
“You’re gonna do great,” Jughead says. He pecks Archie’s cheek.
Archie smiles, but he still looks nervous. He walks to the sitting room, running a hand through his hair.
Someone clears their throat behind Jughead, and he turns to see August, looking irrepressibly smug. “Well,” he draws out.
“August, I’d love to banter, but Archie’s performing,” Jughead says, cutting August off from further retort.
August sighs. “Whatever,” he says, and walks into the room.
Jellybean shoots Jughead a questioning look. “What was that about?” she asks, and Jughead shakes his head.
“I’ll explain later,” he says, and they follow the crowd to a smaller room, an additional fireplace and couches set up for them.
Archie is there, fiddling with the strings, soft tones coming from his guitar. He looks up and spots Jughead, smiles.
Jughead, feeling stupid, feeling full, feeling right, waves.
Archie strums once, letting the room quiet, before leading into his song. It’s about all the things Jughead wants, about growing old together, about a family, about how love is always new, no matter how old it is.
Jughead spaces out, wonders what it would be like to live like that, to be that with Archie. The song ends, and then Betty calls out, “Missing You!”
Archie looks at her, askance. “That’s a breakup song,” he protests.
“But it’s my favorite,” Betty says, and Jughead can’t see her face, but it must be the wide-eyed look of innocence, because Archie sighs, and picks at the strings, the music haunting and resounding in Jughead’s mind.
Archie keeps his eyes closed and sings.
I love your lips
Jughead sighs, feeling a tightening in his chest. He knows that August thought this song was about him, but it’s clearly not, not with that opener.
Love your strong fingers that clutch the city’s heart, like they did mine
Jughead frowns. Listens.
The chorus comes and goes, and the bridge, quiet, continues.
So if you want to go, tell me, so I can say: make him happy for me.
Jughead remembers, remembers Archie’s words so long ago before he left for New York City, “If it makes you happy,” he said.
Jughead said something flippant in reply, not listening to Archie’s meaning.
But he’s listening now.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, and August, in front of him turns, smiling like the cat that got the cream. “Shut up,” he hisses at him, and August turns back around, satisfied that he’s won this battle.
Archie gets up and sets his guitar down before Betty or Veronica can make anymore requests, giving a shy smile at the applause he receives.
There’s more milling around and talking, and then yawns, and slowly, people drifting to their cars.
Jughead pulls Archie aside. “I’m okay to drive,” he says. “I had two coffees, I’m up.”
Archie smiles, lopsided. “Actually,” he says, and then blushes, grabs onto Jughead’s hand. “I booked a room.”
Jughead’s eyes widen, enough he can feel the air on them.
“I got it when I thought it was going to be Dad, Luna, and me,” he admits. “But, you’re welcome to stay. We don’t have to do anything,” he follows up quickly, Jughead’s mind racing. “Veronica and Betty are staying tonight too, I can get a ride back with them.”
“Archie,” Jughead says firmly. Archie stops babbling. “I’d like that. Staying here, with you.”
Archie smiles, wilting under relief. “Great. Let me grab my guitar, I’ll get us checked in.”
Jughead stands there awkwardly, and the last few guests leave, including Jellybean. “See you,” he says, giving her a hug.
She frowns. “You’re not going back to The Pembrooke?” she asks, putting on her jacket and Jughead blushes. She smiles, then frowns. “Oh gross,” she says. “I mean, I’m happy for you, but I don’t want to think about it.”
“Yeah,” Jughead agrees.
“I’m going to leave now, and then pass out in a luxury bed. Goodnight!” she says, and walks out, hands up.
“Okay,” Archie says, guitar case in hand, and he motions over to the front desk. Jughead hangs back as Archie checks them in, and as soon as they are handed their actual key, not a plastic card, they follow the bellhop up the stairs.
The room is spacious, and Jughead is wondering how many fireplaces one place can have, and then the door quietly shuts, and he’s suddenly in a room alone with Archie.
“This place is really nice,” Jughead says.
Archie nods, toes off his shoes.
Jughead’s heart starts racing. He sits on the edge of the bed, shrugs off his jacket and takes off his shoes. He waits, looking at Archie to lead them.
Archie comes and sits next to him on the bed. “We really don’t have to do anything,” Archie says. “This is kind of spur of the moment,” he looks at Jughead, searching for something. “And I want you to be comfortable.”
Jughead swallows. “How about we just wind down for a bit?” he asks, and Archie nods, and stands up, goes to the adjoining bathroom.
Jughead putters around in the room, poking the embers on the fire, putting another log on. He listens to Archie getting ready for bed, water running, and he unbuttons his cuffs, slowly takes off the pressed shirt. He’s still ramped up, but now, down to his boxers, he feels like whatever happens, happens.
It’s not fatalism. It’s not even karma. It’s a sense of belonging. Jughead knows he’s supposed to be with Archie, knew even as a stupid teenager. He missed his chance then, but now, now he gets to live it all over again, to choose Archie this time.
It feels like all the parallel universes Jughead ever lived in clicked in this one moment, this breath holding moment, so that he and Archie could be together.
Jughead is splayed on the bed when Archie finally comes out, face clean, shirt off, and pants still on. He looks at Jughead, and looks wanting. Like Christmas morning came but he can’t open the presents just yet.
“Hey,” Jughead says. “Take off your pants and get in bed.”
Archie nods. He takes them off and drapes them over a nearby chair and then gets on the bed. They both lay side by side, looking up at the ceiling.
“So,” Jughead starts. “I should probably wash my face,” he says, making a move to get off the bed, but Archie grabs a hold of his hand.
“Can it wait?” he asks, squeezing. “I like this.”
Jughead huffs a laugh. “Arch, we’re not doing anything,” he says, rolling over to his side in the middle.
“I like doing nothing with you,” Archie says, low. And it sounds dumb, Jughead should roll his eyes, but it’s Archie, so he scoots closer. He runs his hands through Archie’s hair, traces the fine lines on his face, smoothes the large eyebrows down. Archie closes his eyes and sighs, Jughead brushes down Archie’s neck, stopping at the dip in his clavicle.
Archie opens his eyes, brown and beautiful, and lifts a hand to Jughead’s face. Jughead nods, and Archie slides his fingers into Jughead’s too long to be stylish hair, gently nudges off his hat. Jughead swallows, ready for whatever Archie’s ready for. Ready for forever, even.
Archie draws him in for a kiss, and Jughead rolls on top of Archie, feels the surety of his body, the strength of his breath as he inhales, pushing them up, and Jughead feels alive. Feels like he could brush his lips against Archie’s for eternity, would like to. And Jughead closes his eyes, trusts that Archie will catch him if he falls. Their lips meet again and again, becoming tingling and bruised in only the way kissing or a fight can bring.
Jughead tries to move impossibly closer, sounds of want rising from his throat. Archie loosens his hold on the hand he’s still holding to wrap around Jughead, drawing up his spine, clutching there. Archie grunts, shifting and Jughead pulls away.
“No,” Archie says softly, “don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jughead promises. And he kisses Archie like a fragile and precious thing, a man held together by threads of gold, all the more beautiful in his healing.