Smut
**************
He stood at the back, behind the crowd, avoiding any stares of discomfort. She stood under the spotlight, behind the podium, daring people to overcome that discomfort and meet her eye.
Mayor McCoy had called Archie 'Riverdale's hero'. Bullshit. Jughead Jones had watched Riverdale's hero plan, and think, and get frustrated, and rethink―risking her neck to carry out some of those thoughts and plans in between―for months. He had seen Riverdale's hero struggle with injustices great and small. He had heard her voice late at night when she called, nearly in tears after pushing herself towards a breakthrough that just wouldn't come. He had held the hand of Riverdale's hero and was aware because of it that she was never the first one to loosen her grip, never the first to give in. Jughead knew damn well who Riverdale's hero was, and he was looking right at her.
He knew she saw him applaud first and felt sure that, even with the rest of the attendees on their feet cheering her message of fairness and forgiveness, she still heard the ring of his clapping above the rest.
Jughead would tell Betty tonight―tell her he loved her. He would tell her because it was true, and after all of the lies, manipulations, and concealments, just the truth, as it was, would mean the most.
Looking back through the doorway to a dishevelled Betty waiting inside, Jughead felt the world stop around him for a moment. Before him stood the payoff of his dad's silence. The loyalty was in their eyes and on his back, that intimidating, judgement-inducing, unmistakable Serpent jacket. Jughead felt it shaping over his shoulders, already molding itself to him.
"Juggy," Betty repeated.
Her loyalty wasn't something he'd ever have to trade for.
Jughead slid the jacket from his shoulders and handed it back.
"No disrespect. I'm sure my dad will be wanting to get it back from you when he gets out."
The Serpent handled the jacket reverently, giving Jughead a hard look.
"Keep it, Jones. I'm sure FP'd rather have it hanging in his closet than hear some drunken punk was trying it on at the White Worm."
Jughead smirked and accepted his father's gang jacket back.
"We won't forget what he did for us. You need anything, you know where to find us."
The Serpent and Jughead exchanged nods. Jughead stayed on the step, getting misted by the rain, until his father's compatriots were out of site.
Back inside, Jughead met Betty's eye as he passed her, heading to the closet to hang the jacket. Throwing it on the pile of his and Betty's coats on the couch felt like an intrusion. He turned back to her and couldn't help but smile, though he knew there might be a rough conversation coming. Anyone short of an entire gang Jughead might have punched in the face for interrupting them at such a critical moment.
"I'm not going to―"
"I heard. I was standing right here."
"Right." Jughead ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to add. Betty's eyes looked vaguely past him.
"Uh, Betts?"
She focused on his face.
"Now that you know I'm not going to skip off and join a gang, what could possibly be worrying you?"
She blushed. "I wasn't worrying."
"Oh no?"
"I was distracted."
Jughead raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth on a similar upwards path. "By?"
"Trying to commit to memory the way you look in a leather jacket."
