[ instinct shows him the signs of danger like a series of photographs - the seat shifting under a transfer of weight, jughead’s hands fisted at his side, the rage that must be trembling within him. archie wants to look down but he holds his gaze as long as jug’s still willing to look him in the eyes. it’s plainly written all over his face: go ahead. he doesn’t like the crushing, bruising sensation of knuckles slamming into his cheekbones, his lip, but he thinks some part of him deserves it. how could he do that to jughead? how could they? he knew him well enough to at least suspect that jug was only doing what he believed was right, trying to protect the woman he loved, and hadn't archie told him not to drag betty into it?

archie stands, slowly and with his arms out. he’s wide open. ]

Then be pissed at me! [ waiting is worse. bracing for impact, waiting for the fallout. jughead is a better person than he is, less likely to go off like a wildfire at an insult. the only thing that chains him back is his own good sense. loyalty. jughead sits back down, folding in on himself, and archie doesn’t know whether to be seated or show himself out the door. he wants to go to him. his first impulse is to comfort his friend, to set his hand on his shoulder and offer some kind of consolation. but he can’t because he’s the reason he’s hurting in the first place. ]

I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I can't take it back, Jug. All I can tell you is that it will never happen again. [ the kiss hadn't been driven out of a passion, out of a desperate need to be together. it had happened because they were scared because not knowing if they would survive the night probably made betty wonder if there was anything she would regret not doing, emotions were running wild, and archie responded because he was scared, too. ( and maybe if he was going to go down fighting, he wanted to know what it would have been like. ) ]