You deserve better
In which the reader starts crying because of how great Jughead is.
It was raining outside. It was hailing earlier, harsh and cold, with a concrete-like-sky and an unrelenting chill, but now it was soft, tentative, and swirling. It was one of those unsettling situations in which it was raining, but the sun was also bright. The tarmacked ground outside was wet, but shining. Raindrops were settled on my windows, but the light was shining through them, making my room even brighter than if they weren’t there. I saw him cross the road, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes squinted against the rain. I noticed he had his backpack on his shoulders, which was never good. I took out my headphones and rushed down the stairs, opening the door for him. He walked in, shaking out his hair like a wet dog and I laughed.
“I need a place to stay.” He said, his eyes pleading. I smiled.
“Of course, Jug, whenever.” His face relaxed in relief, a grin spreading across his face. This was not the first time Jughead had had nowhere to go, and had come to stay with me. The first time he had tried to hide it from me, attempting to sleep at school, but of course I had not allowed that to continue. My parents weren’t around anyway, so there was no one to tell him no.
“Maybe you should just come and live here all the time.” I joked, and he laughed as he kicked his shoes off, but then he looked up at me, and suddenly that suggestion seemed all too real. I followed him into the kitchen and lifted myself up onto the side as he leant against the sink. I didn’t ask what had happened to make him, once again, homeless, but instead started an entirely unrelated conversation, for which I know he was grateful.
My studying was abandoned, and we ended up sprawled across the sofa watching movies, as per usual. We each leant with our backs on one arm of the sofa, our legs entangled in the middle. I looked over to him as the credits rolled, surprised to find him fast asleep, his head slumped down onto his chest. Jughead never really slept, so I felt as though it was a privilege to see him do so. His face seemed so much more peaceful, the seemingly constant furrow of his eyebrows smoothed out, and his mouth relaxed. I stared at him for so long, his face now only lit up by the faint light of the white lettering on the screen. I thought about how rarely he looked calm, peaceful or content, and how much I wanted him to be. This seemingly gloomy, angry teenage boy, who had turned out to be so gentle and good. We had been friends now since third grade, when I moved to Riverdale. I didn’t really have anyone before that, and then Jughead strolled into my life with his stupid hat and satirical humour and made everything good. He deserved so much better than what he was given.
Suddenly there were tears in my eyes and a swelling in my throat as I desperately wished Jughead Jones happiness. I let out a silent laugh as tears ran down my face at the absurdity of the situation. I was literally sitting next to my sleeping friend, crying at how great he was. I shifted my legs, moving to stand up, but froze as Jughead’s body stirred at the movement. His eyes opened slowly, looking around blearily as his legs shifted. They met mine and widened in alarm as he noticed the tears on my cheeks. He sat up quickly.
“Y/N?” He asked worriedly, his hand reaching for mine. This movement, paired with the concerned look on his face, seemed to intensify my emotions, and I let several more tears leak out of my eyes as I looked at the wonderful boy in front of me. He frowned even more, distressed by my sudden onset of emotions, moving towards me on the sofa.
“Hey, what is it?” One of his hands took mine, while his other rested on my leg, rubbing up and down. He was just making it worse. “Y/N, what is happening?”
I wanted to laugh at his obvious confusion, but water just kept trickling out of my eyes. I chuckled weakly, attempting to wipe the tears off my face, but they were just replaced. I brought my legs up and off the sofa, shuffling along it towards him and leaning into his ready arms. My cheek pressed against the side of his chest as I continued to cry. It was just getting embarrassing at this point, I didn’t even know what I was upset about anymore. His arm came around my shoulders, the other one moving to grip my hand as he rested his cheek on top of my head, obviously realising I just needed a hug.
“Shh, Y/N please stop crying. Or at least tell me why you’re crying, I mean I really have no idea what’s going on.” He said, rubbing his hand up and down my shoulder in a desperate attempt to comfort me. I let out a weak and watery laugh, the occasional tear still sliding down my face.
“You’re just really great.” I mumbled into his shirt.
“You’re great okay, Jughead, that’s why I’m crying!” I said a bit louder, almost annoyed with him. There was a moment of silence before he started laughing, as I knew he would. I rolled my eyes,
“Yeah, go ahead, laugh it up, I’ll just sit here and cry.” I grumbled as he continued to laugh. He leant back to look down at me, smiling.
“You’re crying because… I’m great?” He asked, frowning and chuckling. I huffed,
“Yes, Jug, I’m crying because you’re great.”
“Okay, I’m gonna need some clarification.”
I sighed, leaning further into him, his arm still around me.
“Well I just started thinking about how much you have improved my life,” I started quietly, half into his chest, embarrassed to be confessing this to him. “And then you were asleep and you looked so peaceful and I wish you could be like that all the time because you deserve to be happy, and you don’t deserve anything bad to ever happen to you.” I rambled off, shutting my eyes as another tear slipping onto my cheek. There was silence for a moment, before he removed his arm from me and turned around to face me, his eyebrows furrowed and a small, bemused smile on his face.
“Y/N, I am happy, you know that right? Especially with you.” He looked me in the eye.
“Sure, I have a pretty shitty home life, but doesn’t everyone? There are plenty of people who have it worse than me, and I count myself lucky for what I do have.” I smiled up at him, and he moved his arm back around me, looking forward. “I think you underestimate how happy you make me. Don’t think it’s just you who’s all grateful, Y/N, that’s not fair. Sure, I may not cry about it,” I laughed, “but I have you, and as disgustingly cheesy as it sounds, that’s pretty much all I need. You know, I think the reason I looked so peaceful when you were watching me sleep, which is creepy by the way, is because I was here, with you. This is the calmest, safest place for me. Right by your side.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head, and I tried very hard not to cry again. Why does he do this to me?
I thought about what he had just said, and a small smile spread across my face. The best thing I could do for Jughead was just to be with him. To be there for him, and to make him laugh, and let him stay at my house, and watch movies with him when I’m supposed to be working. To be his friend.
I took his hand as we pressed ourselves into each other, enjoying the silence, the darkness and each other.
Okay so this is a bit of a weird one but perfectly sums up how I feel about Jughead.
@ riverdale writers make him happy pls
