Her eyes didn’t even burn anymore; Betty had no tears left to cry, and she meant that in the best way. Somehow, along the past year, something had changed. She’d changed. She’d grown up, wised up, said ENOUGH. She’d grown tired of resenting Veronica, of aching after Archie ––– of putting herself through that.
She’d decided, going into the New Year, it’d be one free of dating. Senior year meant one last year of goodnatured fun, of friendship and adventure before everything got… really real. Before everyone moved away or stayed home, or did…. whatever they were all going to do. Before they became adults.
That’s what Betty told herself, anyway. She stood by the railing of the Lodge’s mansion ––– still larger than life, larger than Riverdale –– and gazed at the stars and her friends in their dresses and shiny shoes and the sprinkler-wet grass below, and smiled. She didn’t have a date tonight, or a kiss for the New Year, but that was okay.
It was okay.
It was okay when Jughead stepped out to join her, no doubt avoiding Ethel’s relentless advances. It was okay while they stood together, hands on the freezing-cold rail, pale pinkies close together like they were on the EDGE of a promise.
It was even okay when they didn’t talk, didn’t need to, when there was so much noise and silence around them.
In a blink, the ball was dropping. The countdown thumped at their backs, and thinking she’d find understanding when she looked to him, Betty sought his gaze. Instead, she found something that, later, much later, in bed, she’d still have trouble placing. Jughead took a step; she didn’t stop him. He looked down at her, she looked up.
When their lips touched, it was both expected and not. It was… not unpleasant. It was… soft. It was sweet ––– an unassuming kiss that didn’t pretend to be something it was not.
It was a kiss that was, Betty would realize while still in bed, surprisingly, hard to forget.
THREE, TWO, ONE…. KISS! || not accepting
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joneshead said: OH MY GOD
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