By hitchhikersguidetotheuniverse
Archie gives Betty his Letterman jacket.
Jughead’s POV. They think he doesn’t pick up on the looks they exchange. But he does.
They think that he doesn’t notice the looks that they exchange. The ones that say I love you without the words. The ones that say I’m here if you need me. And the ones that say things he doesn’t even want to think about.
Jughead has always known that he was a placeholder. He and Betty were never going to last - mysteries were the only thing they had in common. Even a town like Riverdale could run out of secrets.
The boy and girl next door were meant to be - it was inevitable that Archie and Betty would have the kind of love story that people write stories about.
He’s not bitter, not anymore, at least. Maybe the first month or so, back when they first started ‘secretly’ dating, as if no one knew and no one could tell that the stars had aligned and Archie and Betty were one.
Jughead remembers the first time he caught a look. It was only a short one, but it was there, and as much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach.
Later, Kevin smirked over burgers and milkshakes at Pop’s, looking and Veronica and Jughead over the table like a cat that got the cream. ‘Endgame. I told you. I told everyone. No one believed me. Well, the jokes on them. Endgame. I knew it.’
Jughead feels sick all over again.
It’s only several months later when Archie and Betty actually tell everyone that they’re dating. They seem so flustered and excited and happy that Jughead can’t bring himself to be jealous, or hate either of them.
The looks though, the looks. Jughead thinks that they need a censor. Maybe an alarm that goes off every time Archie and Betty exchange a look so full of emotion that Veronica and Jughead have to stop themselves from laughing. Or puking. Or maybe both.
But he’s okay with it. He really is.
So when he sees Archie give Betty his Letterman jacket, the one thing that Archie had once sworn to never part with, Jughead realises that he isn’t okay. Not even one bit.
It doesn’t help that Betty wears that jacket everywhere. It’s always around her shoulders, or in her bag or locker. If you find Betty and Archie, chances are you’ll find that jacket.
Jughead hates it. He hates it and hates it and hates it.
He hates that Archie and Betty look so right together. He hates how the jacket ties the two of them together.
But most of all, he hates how deep down he knew it would happen. He hates that deep down, he’s been steeling himself for this for a very long time.
Years later Jughead gets a cream coloured invitation in the mail, cursive writing on the front. He knows what it is immediately. He doesn’t feel sick anymore when he thinks of them. He doesn’t feel bitter.
He sends back that he’s coming.
Archie wants Jughead to make a speech. He’s not best man - Reggie got that pleasure - but as Archie had said, ‘You’re good with words, Jug.’
And Jughead had caved and agreed, because it was Archie, and it was Betty, and this was their wedding, and honestly he’s just grateful to be a part of their lives again.
He steps up onto the little stage where the microphone waits. He’s not nervous, but he is apprehensive. He’s the bride’s first love. He’s the groom’s best friend. He belongs and yet he doesn’t. He clears his throat. Catches Veronica’s eye in the crowd. Watches as she gives his a smile and a conspiratorial wink.
‘I’m going to tell you all a story,’ he begins. ‘It’s a story about two of my favourite people in the world. Some would say that it was written in the stars, and who am I to disagree?’
‘Once upon a time the girl next door climbed over a fence in an act of rebellion. Instead of finding trouble, she found the love of her life, the boy next door who had red hair…’
