[ how many times is he allowed to break jughead’s heart? that summer had been the first; he’d let his best friend think he’d traded up for a varsity jacket and the popular kids. the second was when he and veronica went behind his back to search fp’s trailer from top to bottom and what should have been the last was when he played the middle man for betty, splitting the two of them down the middle with a few carefully constructed sentences. when are they going to wise up? that’s about the only thing plaguing him, ricocheting off the corners of his mind in an echo, before jughead joins him on the couch.
he stops staring at his shoes and twists his body to face jughead. he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. that’s pretty much life these days. archie feels like there’s a puzzle in front of him nearly finished, yet no matter how he turns the remaining pieces, they won’t fit together. he’s missing something. the weight of jughead’s gaze isn’t lost on him. he’s looking at archie like he hasn’t seen him a thousand times in a thousand different ways.
he shifts on his seat uncomfortably, unsure what to say, or what he’s hearing exactly. he’s used to being looked at but this is jug. ]
Like, moving in together? [ he fills in with too much emphasis. he’s not naive, not in all aspects. sometimes he misses cues. archie has a sneaking suspicion of what’s being brought up, skirted around, but it is crazy. if he says something else before jughead can fully elaborate on his thought process, then archie doesn’t have to pretend that he didn’t hear him. ]
No. [ it’s too late to cut him off, once he’s asking if it’s even the wildest idea they’ve ever entertained. ] Jughead, don’t. I love you, and I love Betty, but it isn't like that. [ he can't fathom what it might be if he allowed it to happen. they're his best friends and they deserve to cling onto whatever happiness they have left. and maybe he knows archie well enough to know that when he gets scared, he shuts down and pushes as hard as he can. he's about to shove them both over a cliff. ]
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he stops staring at his shoes and twists his body to face jughead. he doesn’t like what he’s hearing. that’s pretty much life these days. archie feels like there’s a puzzle in front of him nearly finished, yet no matter how he turns the remaining pieces, they won’t fit together. he’s missing something. the weight of jughead’s gaze isn’t lost on him. he’s looking at archie like he hasn’t seen him a thousand times in a thousand different ways.
he shifts on his seat uncomfortably, unsure what to say, or what he’s hearing exactly. he’s used to being looked at but this is jug. ]
Like, moving in together? [ he fills in with too much emphasis. he’s not naive, not in all aspects. sometimes he misses cues. archie has a sneaking suspicion of what’s being brought up, skirted around, but it is crazy. if he says something else before jughead can fully elaborate on his thought process, then archie doesn’t have to pretend that he didn’t hear him. ]
No. [ it’s too late to cut him off, once he’s asking if it’s even the wildest idea they’ve ever entertained. ] Jughead, don’t. I love you, and I love Betty, but it isn't like that. [ he can't fathom what it might be if he allowed it to happen. they're his best friends and they deserve to cling onto whatever happiness they have left. and maybe he knows archie well enough to know that when he gets scared, he shuts down and pushes as hard as he can. he's about to shove them both over a cliff. ]