The Typewriter

Jughead carried Betty's present for him slowly back to the trailer, trudging through the snow and the cold. It was a large and heavy box, with pristine wrapping, giving absolutely no indication of what it could be. Jughead racked his brain for any clues or hints she had dropped, but came up with a genuine amount of nothing.

When it came time to open the present, Jughead remembers the moment vividly and always will. He was sitting at the table in the trailer, his father sitting next to him. Jughead undoes the bow and opens the box to reveal a writing instrument. But not just any writing instrument.

"Let me guess, that's from Betty." FP said, motioning to the gift.

"It's a vintage Underwood!" Jughead exclaimed with an unpracticed amount of joy in his voice. "It's the typewriter of champions." Jughead continued, a small gasp of surprise following his remark, still in disbelief. His gift was totally him, and of course Betty knew that and his mind filled with some different scenarios of her Nancy Drew-ing her way to find him his dream writing tool.

"You want to swing by later? Maybe say thanks in person?" FP asked, a hint of encouragement in his features.

Jughead smile continued to grow on his face as he glanced over to his father. "Yeah, I think I will."

Later that night, Jughead found himself walking through the chilly streets of Riverdale as snow consistently began to fall. He wrapped his red Sherpa jacket tighter around his body and looked up just in time to see the Cooper residence come into view up the street. Jughead had debated walking or taking his bike, but after his breakup with Betty he didn't want to make things worse by shoving the reminder in her face.

Jughead cautiously made his way up the walk, before stopping near the top of the stairs to Betty's house. He could see Betty through the large bay window. His heart stopped instantly when he noticed the blonde sitting in the living room by the fireplace. Her signature and iconic ponytail was high and tight on her head, her shoulder was slumped slightly, and Jug could make out the festive red and white Christmas sweater with snowflakes that was really the essence of Betty.

He loved her. So much.

Her strength, her loyalty, her compassion, her Nancy Drew investigative skills, her high collared pastel colored clothes and her beauty. It was so endearing to him how she seemed so unaware of it. His beautiful Betts.

As Jug stared, he couldn't help but notice that she seemed defeated and almost beaten down despite her usual mask of perfection. The young woman sitting before him was broken and all he wanted to do in that moment was fix it, especially since he realized he contributed to some of that pain himself. So, he did.

Almost as if sensing his presence, Betty instinctively turned around toward the window and they made eye contact immediately. Jughead could see the fresh tears in her eyes, a pain stabbing through his heart in a way words never could. As though they were drawn to each other by an invisible force, Betty and Jughead moved towards the front door at the same time.

Betty opened to front door and warily eyed Jughead's damp clothes and hair. Then she motioning for him to enter, a reserved smile on her face. "Come in Jug, before you catch a cold."

Typical Betty, Jug thought. Always putting others before herself. Jug followed her silently, closing the door quietly behind him. They both went to sit across from each other next to the roaring fire. Jug noticed the white box on the floor with the black hood next to it, as his eyes quickly flickered up to the charred paper in the flames.

Of course, he realized. Burning the evidence. The memories.

Jughead wasn't sure how long they sat there together, but it felt like hours. He glanced at Betty, whose brilliant green eyes were focused on the fire. Jug carefully took her right hand in his left hand, his thumb caressing the back of hers lightly. At the contact, Betty glanced away from the fire, down at their joined hands, then up into his concerned gaze.